he’d ever see again. Caden waited a beat but she didn’t say anything further. “What’s so odd about him?”
“I’m not sure.” Eve pressed her lips together, considering. “When I asked what brought him to Point Pleasant, he evaded the question.”
“Why is that so strange? It’s no one’s business but his.”
Eve made a pffing sound. “Most guests chitchat, Caden.” The concentrated look on her face indicated Marsh’s reluctance to talk was only half of what was troubling her. “I told him about my great-grandfather building the hotel, and it got me thinking about him and my grandparents.” She swiveled to face him, her eyes wide and probing. “Did I ever tell you what happened to them?”
Something told him he should already know.
A buried memory stirred awake in the back of his mind. His father shaking his head, talking in hushed tones to Caden’s mother. A tragedy.
“There was a fire at the hotel,” Eve continued before he could answer. “I was four when it happened, so I only know what I’ve been told.” She rubbed a thumb over the diamond ring on her left hand. “The fire broke out on the third floor. No one knows what started it, but they were all up there together—my grandfather and grandmother with my great-grandfather, Clarence.”
“Yeah.” Caden’s voice dropped. “I remember now. I was ten. I remember walking down Main Street the night after it happened. The brick on the third floor was black in the front where the flames shot through the windows. My parents went to the funerals.”
“That’s when my parents took over running the hotel, along with Aunt Rosie.”
Caden tensed. Rosalind Parrish had died over a year ago, taking a secret to her grave that still made him bitter. He lived in the house she’d bequeathed to Eve but wasn’t certain he’d forgiven her. “This is old history, Eve.” His voice sharpened, a knee-jerk reaction to Rosie being mentioned. “Why bring it up now? Because some guy asks about how long you’ve lived here?”
“Yes.” Eve gripped his hand. “Quentin has me thinking. I grew up hearing about that tragedy and about grandparents I don’t remember. Daddy said they never did find the cause of the fire.”
Caden drained the last of his beer. “Old wiring. That’s what I heard.”
“That was speculation, but my father would have known. Do you know what my mother said?” Eve’s gaze held challenge, but she hurried ahead before he could answer. “She blamed it on the curse of Chief Cornstalk.”
Shaking his head, he stood. “Everything that happens around here gets blamed on Cornstalk’s curse. Wayne Rosling’s dog got hit by a car yesterday and he blamed it on Cornstalk.”
“Oh, no.” Eve looked stricken. “Is Brisket all right?”
“He’s fine.” Caden headed for the kitchen and another beer. “Broke his leg, but otherwise he’s going to be okay.” Rosling, a senior deputy with the sheriff’s department, had told Caden about the incident while they caught up on reports. Wayne’s frisky Labrador had slipped its leash and bolted into the road just as a Vega rounded the bend.
“Let ancient history be ancient history,” Caden called from the kitchen. He paused with his hand on the refrigerator door. The tip of the scars he carried from the Mothman poked from beneath his sleeve. Three branded marks he’d had since 1967 when the Silver Bridge fell, the welts had never changed in appearance or texture.
Until today.
His gaze narrowed.
Normally vibrant red, they were now jet black.
* * * *
Quentin pulled into a parking space at the Parrish Hotel as a small red Volkswagen Rabbit slid in beside him. He’d slept decently last night for being in a hotel and had spent the morning visiting Tu Ende Wei State Park, the site where Cornstalk was buried. Given Penelope’s preoccupation with curses, it seemed the best place to start. He’d learned a good deal of historical fact, studied numerous monuments and wandered the grounds, but came away no wiser about breaking spells. Rain departed with the dawn, but the threat of severe weather huddled on the horizon.
A petite redhead exited the Rabbit and hurried to the back where she raised the hatch. She hitched the strap of a leather purse onto her shoulder, then struggled to lift a plastic tub from the rear of the car.
“Need some help?” Quentin walked closer in time to catch her startled glance.
“Oh.” She balked slightly then fumbled a smile. “It’s not heavy, just awkward.”
“Going in the hotel?”
She nodded.
“I’ll carry it for you. I’m going there myself.” Before she could protest he took the carton and waited while she closed the hatch.
Her smile blossomed into something genuine. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.” She led the way. As they walked up the steps to the covered porch, she cast a glance over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a guest here?”
“Yeah.” It was the reaction he’d been getting most of the morning no matter where he went. Apparently, strangers in Point Pleasant stood out like sore thumbs. “Visiting for a while.” Once inside, he waited for her to tell him where she wanted the carton. The lobby was empty, even the check-in desk vacant.
“On the registration counter is fine.” The girl pointed to the empty desk. “I’m sure Eve or Katie are around somewhere.”
Quentin set the carton down. It was light as she’d said, just awkward in handling, especially for someone petite like her. “Katie Lynch was here when I left earlier.” He shrugged when the girl glanced at him in surprise. “She introduced herself.”
“Oh. Well…” Flustered again, she held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Sherman. Thank you for your help.”
He grasped her slim fingers, noting the flick of her gaze to the scars that crisscrossed his skin. At least she didn’t recoil as if he were diseased. “Quentin Marsh.”
Her eyes widened. “Q.M.”
“Pardon?”
She appeared to backpedal mentally. “Um…nothing. I just…” Quickly, she withdrew her hand. “Thank you.”
He nodded, started to turn away, then hesitated. Light from the windows on the east wall reflected off her necklace, a flat blue stone in a silver setting. He hitched in a breath.
Noticing his reaction, she looked at him curiously. “Is something wrong?” Her hand rose to her throat.
“Your necklace…” Opaque cobalt blue with veins of black. A flawless twin for the amulet tucked in his pocket. An heirloom that had been passed down through generations in his family. “It’s…” He guarded his words, unwilling to share the connection without understanding how it was possible. “Unusual.”
“Thank you.” Her smile reflected melancholy. “It belonged to my mother and has been in my family for generations.”
He
