BooksBarbecue
Back Nightingale House
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Steve Frech
  4. Praise for Steve Frech
  5. Nightingale House
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. Acknowledgments
  42. Dear Reader …
  43. Keep Reading …
  44. About the Publisher

I know it’s dangerous. I know it’s wrong, but I don’t care. It’s harmless fun. Besides, I have no friends, the pharmacy is failing, and Father and Carol rarely speak. Those beautiful eyes and thrilling conversations are the only good things I have in this town.

I will now begin counting the hours, minutes, and seconds until the Fourth of July.

Good night.

16

Portland Beacon, September 29th, 1900

GIRL MISSING

Police are searching for Katherine Carrington, the eight-year-old daughter of Thomas and Abigail Carrington. She disappeared from the platform at the Portland Train Station on the night of the 28th, sometime around 9:30 p.m.

According to a statement by Thomas Carrington and the family’s valet, Theodore Whitlock, the girl wandered off from the platform while they were securing luggage. After several minutes of searching, Mr. Carrington reported his daughter missing to the station superintendent, Frank Buckland, who contacted the police.

Under the article is the same photo of the Carringtons from the Kingsbrook Herald. I quickly return to the search page, desperate to find out more, but there’s just one more article that only states that she was still missing. After that, the stories stop.

I do a search for Thomas Carrington. There are some short biographies that mention he was the son of a lumber tycoon, and the articles about the disappearance of his daughter, but nothing else until I come across one more mention in the Kingsbrook Herald, dated October 2nd, 1900.

Thomas Carrington, son of Adolphus Carrington, was found dead of a sudden illness early yesterday morning, in the bedroom of his home, the Nightingale House, on Willow Lake.

I stare slack-jawed at the screen. The faces of the Carringtons stare back, especially Katherine with her wide eyes.

The silence of the house becomes unbearable.

I’m rethinking everything that I’ve dismissed over the last two weeks; the noises, the visions, the girl I saw last night in the hall.

What if …? What if …?

I look up, half expecting to see someone in the room with me. It’s empty but I don’t feel alone. The shadows have grown long from the setting sun.

Okay. That’s it. I’m out.

I shut off the computer and walk out of the Writing Room. I go to the kitchen, grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and leave through the back door.

I need to think right now and I damn well can’t do that in this house.

*

The streetlamps are just beginning to blink on as I park the car in the main square.