The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (great novels of all time .txt) 📗

pressed his father to buy a family home. For years she complained that the living shouldn’t sleep under the same roof as the dead. In the end, his father was persuaded. He often said his wife poured so many libations to keep the spirits at bay that the living room smelled like a vat of overproof rum. So, to keep the peace, his father purchased the great house and converted the second story home into storage space.

For a few months, Holden had faced the very real possibility that if business didn’t improve that he’d have no choice but to climb the dusty stairs and clean out the cobwebs on the second floor. But then Eileen arrived and things picked up considerably. Eileen was organized and full of great ideas. He made many more grief visits and the bills were paid on time. Her make-up skills were exceptional and soon, word spread that if you wanted your relatives to look good in the hereafter that Davis and Sons was the place to go. She had recently suggested that with her artistic talents and the unused refrigeration space, she could easily start creating wreaths for retail, a venture which she forecast could bring in hundreds every month. She was also shrewd enough to suggest that she be paid a handsome commission for each piece, an observation which Holden didn’t argue with. Truth be told, it gave him a slight thrill when she was so assertive with him; at times he found himself being difficult on purpose just so she'd square him up.

Work had become an effortless hobby. Eileen was smart, funny and so energetic that she made him yearn to spend his days in the warmth of her smile. At first, it was unthinkable that he would find her sassy antics endearing. Now, he felt he couldn’t live without them.

He had avoided broaching the line between passion and professionalism with her before, but earlier that night, he had felt himself heading perilously toward the void. Maybe it was the intimacy of the dark or their close confinement inside the car, but either way, he didn’t like it. His stomach churned when he thought about businessmen with an endless stream of secretaries that they took for mistresses. It was contemptible when men tampered with their businesses and jeopardized their marriages. His father had been a captain of commerce above all else and never approved of such base behaviour.

“Six children in four houses, a wife and two outside women that can’t stand him,” Holden Senior had said to his boys at one shipping merchant’s funeral. “His daughters won’t trust men and his sons won’t respect women. What a lovely legacy he’s left.” Holden Senior shook his head in disgust before escorting the coffin down the church aisle. As the casket went by, Holden remembered the outside women looking daggers at each other from opposite pews at the back.

Holden never wanted that kind of life for himself. He sighed as he headed into the shower. He pressed his hands against the wall and leaned forward, letting the warm water flow through his hair and down his muscled back. Eileen drove him crazy in more ways than one. Sometimes he worried that the thrill of having illicit desires might be to blame for his attraction to her. He truly hoped it was. Because the alternative — that he might have deeper feelings for her — was terrifying.

Chapter 10

Two of a Kind

It was too late on a Saturday night for the phone to ring. And yet, at 9 p.m. it jangled in the darkness, rattling a loose linoleum tile on the apartment floor. Eileen rubbed her eyes, her mind caught between sleep and wake when dreams and reality intertwine. It was Holden calling to say that another body had been found in a cane ground. “Do you need me to pick you up?” she asked as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and fumbled for her clothes in the dark.

“No. Clifford and his son are going.” The line went quiet, with only the gentle ticking of Eileen’s alarm clock counting the seconds that passed.

“Hello?” Eileen said, after a moment.

“I’m still here,” Holden replied.

On the surface, his response seemed ordinary, but the heaviness in his voice told Eileen it wasn’t. “Holden?” she said. His name sounded strange coming out of her mouth, the first time she had ever uttered it. She had never liked the idea of calling someone her “boss”; it didn’t seem like a smart thing for a woman to imply to a man that he owned her. But the flip side of that was not calling him anything at all. Holden had become known as “he” when she mentioned him to Clifford or “excuse me” when she spoke to him directly.

He exhaled as though releasing a breath he’d held for hours instead of seconds. “It’s just…,” he faltered and tried again. “…sometimes descriptions and situations can make you presume the worst.”

Eileen was confused for a moment before recognition flooded her consciousness. She squeezed her eyes shut as the image of a moonlit cane field took shape in her mind. The bent body of a woman with light brown skin and a shock of thick curly hair lay among a patch of young green plants. Glassy eyes identical to her own stared back at Eileen.

She blinked.

The scene vanished and Eileen’s bedroom floor and wardrobe slid back into place, her nightgown clinging to her body and the cold telephone receiver gripped in her hand. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You thought it was me.”

“Yes.”

A chill crept through her body and with a start, she realized she'd been holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

“I’m fine,” was all she could finally whisper. It was a trite thing to say at that moment, the bed still warm enough to remind her that her life and all of its inherent potential were safe. The fragility of her existence exposed itself, laying bare the