LITMIR.BIZ

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his brother rising beside him. “Time we got out of here, too. I promised Mom I’d give her a lift to church tomorrow.”

      The other brother walked around the bar and hooked Shawn under the arm. “Come on, buddy. We’ll give you a lift home.”

      Shawn muttered something Quentin couldn’t hear, but he wobbled off the stool and let himself be led to the door.

      “Thanks, Donnie,” Flynn addressed the shorter of the two.

      “No problem.” The man clapped Flynn on the shoulder. With a parting wave for Tucker, he followed his brother and Shawn Preech outside.

      Flynn seemed to realize there was someone else in the café. Catching sight of Quentin, he rubbed his chin and approached slowly.

      “Sorry you had to witness that. I hope Shawn didn’t give you any trouble.”

      “No problem.” Up close, Flynn looked a few years older than Quentin, his eyes light gray. He had a strong chin and wore his black hair cropped close to the back of his neck. “I heard that guy Shawn say you were a sergeant.”

      “Yeah. Caden Flynn.” The man held out his hand. “My wife, Eve, owns the hotel.”

      “Quentin Marsh.” Quentin shook, surprised Flynn gave no reaction to the roadmap of scars crisscrossing his hand. “Since you’re with the sheriff’s department, any chance you can tell me where I might find records on early settlers? I’ve already been to Fort Randolph.”

      It had been a bust, the same as Tu Ende Wei. While both were rich in town history, providing a wealth of information related to Point Pleasant’s founding, neither could supply the details he needed.

      “The courthouse would probably be your best bet, but they’re closed until Monday.” Flynn took off his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. “My wife’s friend, Sarah Sherman, could probably help you. She works there.”

      “Sarah?” Surprise slipped into Quentin’s voice. “I met her earlier today.”

      “Well, outside the staff at Fort Randolph and Tu Ende Wei, Sarah knows just about everything there is to tell about Point Pleasant history. If you’re tracing a family tree or something—”

      “I am.” Quentin jumped on the idea. He wanted to settle the mess and get back home. It wasn’t that he was eager to return to the world of advertising, but he wanted the curse put to rest. For Penelope and her unborn twins. Maybe even for him.

      Flynn shrugged. “I’m not sure how well you’ll do on ancestry, but check with Sarah. Some of the early records are sketchy from what I understand. In any event,” Flynn held out his hand, “welcome to Point Pleasant.”

      Quentin shook again then watched the sergeant walk away. Interesting how everyone seemed to know everyone else in the small community. Strangers stood out, but were readily welcomed.

      That thought led him back to the Cadillac, a car that had crawled down the street as if engaging in surveillance.

      What would a vehicle like that be doing in a sleepy town like Point Pleasant?

      * * * *

      Shawn was ticked. “I can make it inside myself. Just leave the damn thing there.” He waved angrily at the front stoop. It was bad enough Donnie had taken his keys and driven him home while Duncan followed in their vehicle, but he wasn’t about to let the brothers tuck him in like some pathetic loser. Besides, he needed fresh air to clear the buzz he had going.

      “Let me set it inside the door.” Donnie looked at him over the plastic tub in his arms. Sarah Sherman had left it at the hotel and Shawn had stashed it on the passenger’s seat in his car before he’d started drinking at the River. Since Donnie had to move it for Shawn to crawl into the Charger for the ride home, he must have felt obligated to do something with it.

      “I’ll get it in the morning.” Shawn was tired of arguing, and the exhaust from Duncan’s idling car was starting to make him sick. If the two brothers didn’t leave soon he’d spew all over the yard. Pressing a palm to his throbbing forehead, he ground his teeth. “Just leave it the fuck on the stoop. Don’t make me say it again.”

      “Okay. Don’t have a cow.” Donnie’s tone indicated his patience had reached an end. He dropped the thing with a thunk, and it teetered off the edge, spilling its contents onto the ground. “Shit! Now look what you made me do.”

      “Just get the hell out of here. I’ll take care of it.” Shawn bent over, picking up a few papers.

      Donnie moved to help then seemed to think better of it. “You know what, Shawn? You make a hell of a lousy drunk. Do yourself a favor and lay off the booze.”

      “Get the hell off my property!”

      “Gladly.” Donnie flipped up his middle finger in a parting salute.

      “Bastard.” Shawn waited until he heard the car door slam, followed by the squeal of rubber against asphalt. The old Ford LTD rattled down the street spewing exhaust.

      With a groan, Shawn clutched his stomach and dropped to a seat on the front porch. Not that long ago he’d shared the home with Suzanne. They’d argued a lot, but she was a hell of a looker. They’d made a great pair—the dirt track king and a former Miss Point Pleasant. He’d still be flaunting her around town if she hadn’t found out about Belinda. Two weeks after she’d kicked him out, the thing with Belinda had gone belly up. By then Suzanne had rented a new place and stuck him with the lease on Barnwood Street.

      She pissed him off something fierce, but damn if he didn’t still want her.

      That was the hell of it. All they’d done was fight when they were married. But now that the divorce was pending, he couldn’t get her out of his head. It didn’t look good for his image that she’d kicked him out. If anyone was going to get dumped, it should have been the other way around.

      Muttering, he kicked the upturned tub, disgorging more of its contents over the lawn. Damn Suzanne for dragging the thing over to Sarah’s place to begin with. He collected a handful of papers and stuffed them back inside. In his inebriated state, he couldn’t see shit.

      Let the stuff blow away. Who the hell cared about old documents and photos anyway?

      God, his head hurt. If only the damn pounding would stop. At least his stomach wasn’t churning anymore. Maybe he should go inside and lie down. Sleep it off.

      He staggered to his feet, bumped against the tub, and nearly fell. There was something heavy among all those loose papers. Curious, Shawn bent and weeded through the mess. A few stray sheets blew down the driveway. Another caught on a rosebush Suzanne had planted under the front window.

      Spying a wooden case, he grabbed the thing and teetered to the side. A bark of laughter escaped him when he recognized the etchings on the top. His dad had tried to give him the case a few days before his wedding, one of the few times the old man had treated him well. He said it was some kind of family heirloom that needed safekeeping. Then his mom came along and freaked out. She’d babbled about devil magic and witchcraft, ranting like a lunatic, until he finally returned the case just to shut her up. He hadn’t needed the headache any more than her incessant Bible-thumping.

      Chewing on his bottom lip, he studied the lock. His old man had told him there was a release mechanism, but no one in the family had been able to manipulate it. Generation after generation, male descendants passed the case to the next in line. Sometimes his dad could act as loony as his mom. No wonder he never bothered visiting their graves.

      Turning the box over, he looked for a weakness in the wood. He could always get a hammer and smash the top, but he liked the look of the carvings and hated to ruin the case. Probably why no one else had ever bashed it to pieces. The spider was bizarre, kind of grotesque. It would make a great tattoo.

      A drunken giggle burst from his throat. On a whim, he angled his fingers over the lock and pressed. Something clicked into place. The lid sprang loose in his hand.

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