Return to Red Creek Nathan Hystad (e books free to read .txt) 📖

sorts of things planned for them, including a private tour of the New York Public Library. He was so thrilled she had the writer’s bug and wanted to be a journalist. She was certain he hoped she’d turn that passion into fiction writing like he had, but that was a ways off, and Taylor wasn’t even sure if she had the skills necessary.

Journalism was different to her. She could investigate things, uncover truths and long-buried details. The skills she’d been honing for the last year in classes at Bellton were going to come in handy when she went back to Red Creek. She was going to learn the truth her dad wanted to leave buried.

“And what’s the subject? The downfall of small-town America in the modern globalization age?” Brent asked, sounding smarter than she normally gave him credit for. That was a good summary of a fake story.

“Exactly. That’s why we’re so good together; you get me,” Taylor lied. Not about the good together part, but the understanding her. He rarely did.

“Then I’ll come there. I’d love to live in the trenches for a week, watching you at work. I can be your driver,” Brent offered.

It wasn’t a bad idea. She’d be staying with Isabelle and her aunt and uncle, but maybe they’d make room for Brent as well. It could be fun to have her boyfriend along for the ride. At the very least, he could make her feel safer than she would scouring the Creek alone. “Let me think about it,” Taylor said to her phone.

She surveyed her dorm room and picked up some errant clothes off her bed, folding them up and sticking them into her suitcase. Spring break was two days away, but she wanted to get a head start, her midterms all over now. Tomorrow’s classes were useless, filler to give you work or readings for over the break, which, from what she was told, no one ever did. Even half of the professors bailed out early, so she decided to leave for Red Creek a day before she’d been planning on heading home.

She still needed to tell her dad. After a deep breath, Taylor dialed his number. It was early, before her first class, and Karen had already left for the day.

The phone rang three times before she got his voice mail. She thought about hanging up, but after being ready to spill the beans about not coming home, she was in panic mode.

“Dad, it’s me. Taylor.” She felt stupid. He knew his daughter’s voice. She needed to get it together. “I have some bad news. They gave us a gigantic assignment right before break, and I’m already behind on the class. I can’t come home; there’ll be too many distractions. I’m really sorry. Maybe I’ll swing by for a day or two next weekend before classes start up again. Anyway, we’ll talk soon. Sorry. I was looking forward to spending time with you guys.” She was about to end the call, but she always ended their calls with his three favorite words. If she left them out now, he’d be suspicious. “I love you.”

With that gargantuan task out of the way, she felt a little of the pressure ease from her incoming headache, and she continued packing for her stay in Red Creek. She hadn’t been there for twelve years, not even for Isabelle’s birthday parties. They had to have a separate party for her at their house when Aunt Beth could make the couple hours’ drive to Manhattan. It was so weird, but if Taylor’s vivid memories of that time were accurate, there was good reason.

But her dad swore the Smiths were gone now. Conway, the old man who’d held a gun to her head, was dead, shot by a sheriff. Any time her father spoke of Sheriff Cliff, it was with the utmost respect and care. After hearing the tale again when she turned eighteen, she could visualize all of the events easily. Her dad, being a best-selling storyteller, hadn’t held any details back.

She closed her eyes and could smell the damp room, feel the ropes around her wrists, and hear Vivaldi on the record player’s speakers.

“Taylor?” someone asked, and Taylor’s eyes snapped open in a hurry. She blinked away tears, and ran a hand over them for good measure.

“Karen, what’s up?” Taylor turned from her roommate, zipping up her suitcase.

“Everything okay?” the other girl asked.

“Sure. Just packing up. When are you leaving?” she asked Karen.

“I’m sticking around, actually. My dad called last night, and he has to go out of town for work, so I decided to save the money from the flight and spend it on a new computer. He said that was fine,” Karen said. “How about you?”

Taylor wasn’t sure what to tell her. “I’m heading out in the morning. Skipping tomorrow, I guess.”

“Back home?” Karen asked.

“No, but if my dad calls the school or anything, just tell him I’m out for a bit.” She hated to lie to her family, but she didn’t have a choice.

Suddenly, the room felt too enclosed, and Taylor wondered what her dad had felt when he was a kid, trapped in the tunnels under Granny Smith’s Orchard. “I gotta run. Classes.” Taylor didn’t wait for Karen to say anything; she hastily grabbed her backpack and took off down the hall.

Even though she was worried about what she might find, she found she couldn’t wait to get to Red Creek and finally face her fears.

 

 

Three

“What is it about coffee at a local sheriff’s office? Do they make special beans for you guys?” Detective Tom Bartlett asked the deputy. It had to be the second worst cup of joe he’d ever had.

The man stood there, open-mouthed like a fish out of water. Tom was regretting picking up the case.

“I don’t know what you mean. We buy it at the store like everyone else,” Deputy Rich Stringer answered.

“Any idea when the sheriff will come by?” Tom asked, doing his best to ignore the ineptitude