When Twilight Comes - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,32
holding. It came with a sob, and she dropped back into the water, suddenly too weak to pull herself out.
His voice was velvet. And familiar. She’d heard it last night in her dreams and had known it was the voice of the man in the old photograph.
She stared into the steam rising from the surface of the pool, knowing no one was out there and yet at the same time bracing herself for his touch, yearning for it, feeling terrified that, like the voice, it would be familiar.
“I can’t…” She tried to climb out of the pool, but something pulled her back down.
You don’t have to go yet.
She felt hysterical laughter bubbling up. “This isn’t happening.”
Yes, it is.
She sucked in a breath as she felt him pull her back down to him. She closed her eyes, telling herself this wasn’t real. But it felt more real than anything she’d ever experienced.
“Tell me I’m not losing my mind,” she whispered.
You’re not. I’m here.
Her body revved up like an engine taking off. “If you knew what I was thinking…”
She heard a soft chuckle. Don’t I?
She could feel him under the water, his touch cool. Familiar.
Sometimes things are exactly as they seem.
She shook her head, unable to accept that this was happening. How could she have feelings toward…what? A man from a seventy-year-old photograph? Or something else?
“Who are you?” she whispered, feeling tears well in her eyes as she pulled free of him. “What are you?”
You know me.
“No.” She didn’t know him. But she sensed things about him. Both good—and bad.
“Mommy, look!” Lexi called, breaking the spell.
Jenna jerked free and reached for the side of the pool. In an instant she had pulled herself out. “Lexi, come on. We have to go. Now.”
From the shallow end of the pool the little girl started to protest, but Jenna hurried toward her, drawing her out. Holding her hand, she moved quickly to their towels.
It wasn’t until she’d covered herself and Lexi that she turned to look back.
But of course there was no one there.
Chapter Nine
Jenna scooped Lexi up into her arms and ran toward the lobby, praying that Elmer had returned.
“How did you like the swimming pool, little lady?” he said, smiling at her daughter. His gaze shifted to Jenna and his expression changed. “You saw them.”
Her heart dropped. “Them?”
“I’m sorry but I didn’t want to say anything to scare you, but I’ve felt them. Even saw one. Some old gal in a purple hat with feathers.”
“She’s nice,” Lexi said. “She waved and smiled at me.”
Jenna drew her daughter closer as she stared at Elmer. “You’re telling me…”
He nodded. “From what I could learn, she was the hotel owner’s wife. She was—” he glanced at Lexi “—lost opening night in 1936.”
In the fire. Jenna took a ragged breath, her gaze going to the photograph of the man from her dream. “What do you know about Bobby John Chamberlain?” she asked, motioning toward the picture.
Elmer stepped closer and frowned. “Bobby John Chamberlain.” He reached under the counter, then stopped, his frown deepening.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“There was a box of Fernhaven pamphlets under here. They seem to be gone.” He looked confused and a little scared.
“Maybe you moved them and didn’t remember,” she said, wondering why it mattered. She’d obviously rattled the poor man.
“It’s just…odd. But you’re right, I probably moved them. Or someone else did yesterday and I didn’t notice.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he seemed to shake it off as he reached under the registration desk and brought out a stack of photographs. He went through them, mumbling to himself, obviously still agitated over the missing box of pamphlets.
“The owners of the hotel got photographs from the newspaper archive,” Elmer said. “A lot of the photos ran after the fire. It was big news as you can imagine.”
Jenna held her breath as he drew out a photo and handed it to her. Like the other photo, the name Bobby John Chamberlain had a line through it, with “Harry Ballantine” neatly printed underneath in different handwriting.
“Who is Harry Ballantine?” she asked, afraid she didn’t want to know.
Elmer nodded as if to himself. “I looked up some of those old newspaper articles from June 1936. It’s funny you should ask about Harry Ballantine. There were a lot of famous people at Fernhaven that night. But Harry was without a doubt the most infamous. He was a renowned jewel thief in his day.”
“A thief,” Jenna said, wondering why she would be surprised. She’d married Lorenzo, hadn’t she?