Chapter 9 #2
“But can’t messy be beautiful too?” she asked, not because she thought Zane would give her a satisfactory answer but because Jennie ached to voice it.
To a stranger. To someone who’d experienced the gross abuse that life had to offer.
She longed to believe that somewhere in the muck of it all, there was hope.
When Zane didn’t respond, Jennie could almost sense another brick settling into place, solidifying the truth that, yes, the bad should remain closed off and bricked over. Opening it would release the demons and the ghosts. And no one wanted to go to war with those creatures.
Zane hadn’t left her like she’d thought he would. Instead, after she’d delivered her unanswerable question, he’d motioned for her to follow him as he bordered the foundation of the Hall.
“Newton Creek used to be a growing town. It had a promising future.” He paused at the base of the bell tower and looked out over the valley, a haphazard patchwork quilt of trees, cornfields, red barns, and weatherworn farmhouses.
In the distance was Newton Creek, or what was left of the town, with its small grocery store, two gas stations, five bars, and a residential area that included Jennie’s Airbnb.
“That all ended,” Zane continued, “when Leopold Traeger was murdered.”
Jennie glanced at him, stuffing her hands into the center pocket of her red hoodie.
She then looked down to see water springing up around her rain boots.
The earth was still so saturated from all the rain.
She hadn’t expected Zane Harris to give her a lecture about Newton Creek history, but then the information might aid her in determining her next steps.
“My mom was studying the Traeger murders before she died,” said Jennie.
“I’m sorry she passed,” Zane responded.
Jennie offered a little nod in acknowledgment. “It was cancer.”
“Merciless,” he said, then pointed toward the old sawmill.
“Traeger owned the mill and the bank,” he continued, as if sensing Jennie didn’t want to elaborate on her mother’s death.
“When he was killed, the manor was bricked up and sealed according to his last wishes, and the town went on as though all was normal—at least for a while. Eventually, though, the sawmill declined due to mismanagement, and with the Great Depression the bank was rendered worthless. Newton Creek suffered as a result.” The sarcasm in Zane’s voice trailed behind him as he took a step back to peer up at the bell tower.
“No one really knows what happened with Leopold Traeger.”
“Wasn’t there a young woman he was guardian over?” This might be her chance to garner Zane’s support.
Zane nodded as he squinted up at the brick belfry. “Yep. Waverly Pembrooke was her name. She was a distant cousin to my family. My mom could tell you more—she knows our family tree.”
“So she’s not a direct relation to yours?” Jennie confirmed.
Zane shot her sideways glance and sniffed. “Don’t worry. We’ve no interest in claiming Traeger Hall as ours.”
“I didn’t mean—” Jennie started.
Zane shifted to face her. “No, but it seems everyone in Newton Creek has a theory about how we’re related and deserve the place, as though I’m willing to do anything to keep people out because I think the treasure belongs to my family.”
“None of that’s true?” Jennie felt bad asking so outrightly, but she felt she hadn’t much of a choice.
Zane drew a deep breath, leaning his shoulder against the base of the tower. “Listen, I’m sure it’s already been made clear to you that this place is an important landmark to Newton Creek, and what side you’re on with opening it up or keeping it closed depends on your outlook.”
Jennie nodded, her silence urging him to continue.
Zane obliged. “For me, it’s personal. Because of Allison.”
She hoped the expression she offered Zane was appropriately empathetic, but she couldn’t tell if the man was heartbroken over Allison’s disappearance and now confirmed death, or if he was something else entirely that Jennie couldn’t put a finger on.
“Allison disappeared from Newton Creek eight years ago,” Zane stated.
There was a catch in his voice that made Jennie believe he was compartmentalizing emotions while communicating facts.
“She was . . . a great friend, a young romance gone too far, and . . .” Zane seemed to measure his words and then he met Jennie’s gaze.
“Her folks were old-fashioned and insisted that we marry because of Milo. I was willing to, Allison not so much.”
“Oh.” Jennie wasn’t sure what else to say. She was surprised to learn that Zane had been agreeable to do the stand-up thing by a woman he apparently hadn’t been in love with, while Allison was the resistant one.
“Allison was a free spirit, full of life, and she had big dreams. She thought this place was the gateway to adventure.” Zane slapped the side of the bell tower. “Some adventure. It got her killed.”
His sentence hung between them for a long moment until Jennie felt she should say something. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.
Zane shook his head. “You’re not to blame.
I thought Allison had tired of trying to figure out a legal way to get into Traeger Hall to do her treasure hunting.
Instead, she abandoned Milo and me to go do it somewhere else.
But after yesterday, I can no longer blame the wanderlust of a young woman of twenty-two who was full of dreams. Now I don’t know who or what to blame .
. . and that’s maybe the worst part of it all. ”
Jennie frowned as Zane’s words sunk in and confirmed one of her worries.
“Allison’s remains . . . they don’t think she died naturally?
” She’d hoped that whatever had trapped Allison Quincy beneath the sawmill wheel had been accidental.
A horrible, freak accident Jennie had yet to hear an explanation for.
But this was different. This meant—
“A concrete block was tied to her ankles.” His voice was flat. “The block was wedged beneath the mill wheel. They said Allison probably drowned. But—” Zane swallowed hard—“they don’t know for sure. Either way, it was no accident.”
Jennie wanted to reach out to Zane but hesitated. He was hurting and bitter toward Traeger Hall. She slowly lifted her fingers and grazed his arm. “I’m so, so sorry,” she murmured. And she was. Horribly sorry.
“I don’t know what you hope to achieve here,” Zane said, stepping away from Jennie’s empathetic touch, “but it would be best if you left Traeger Hall alone. Newton Creek has let sleeping dogs lie here for years. It’s better that way.
Allison tried to awaken them and look what happened.
” His face contorted as he attempted to collect himself.
“For eight years we didn’t know what happened to her.
But I always suspected it had to do with this house with its stupid bell tower and its—” He bit off his words.
“Its what?” Jennie asked.
“You see the top of the tower?” Zane pointed up, and Jennie nodded, following his index finger.
“Everything’s bricked up to keep trespassers out.
You might be able to see the bell, but like I said, you still can’t squeeze your way inside.
No one since has been inside the tower or the Hall itself.
Yet the roof has been maintained over the years.
My dad helped to install metal roofing over the old roof.
There’s been no evidence that anyone has stepped foot inside the place since the day it was sealed shut. ”
Jennie waited, a heaviness settling over her chest with the expectation of something coming she was not going to like.
“And yet somehow,” Zane went on, “the townspeople heard distant echoes of a bell the night Allison disappeared. It’s enough to make folks wonder if Leopold Traeger still has some hold over the manor—and over Newton Creek.
It’s almost as if Traeger’s ghost is locked away inside the house, and he dares anyone to disturb its peace. ”
“But how would the bell ring if no one can get to it?”
“There’s the mystery,” Zane concluded. “Did anyone really hear the bell ring, or was it just our imagination because of the stories?” He paused and leveled his gaze on Jennie. “And why do some people swear that they heard the bell the night Allison disappeared?”