Page 38 of In Her Memory

“Don’t play dumb with me, Greer. You’ve been sabotaging this place from the start.”

“Can you prove that?” Now Nolan did turn, a challenging gleam in his eye. “Maybe this place is just what people always said it was — cursed. Maybe Pete Shannon doesn’t want it turned into luxury apartments for rich folks who don’t know the first thing about this town or its history.”

Boyd stepped closer, feeling the pulse pounding in his temples. “And what about Donna Marsh? Did she get in your way somehow? Find out what you were doing?”

“I had nothing to do with that. It was an accident.”

“An accident that happened in a building you’ve been systematically sabotaging?”

“Think what you want.” Nolan picked up the duffel bag and slung a strap over his shoulder. “But I didn’t kill her. I didn’t need to. This place was going to fail on its own — I just helped it along a little.”

Boyd’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Why? What did I ever do to you?”

Something dark and bitter crossed Nolan’s face then. He stepped closer to Boyd, close enough that Boyd could see the deep lines around his eyes, the gray at his temples.

“It’s not what you did. It’s what your precious Calloway House represents,” Nolan said, his voice low and intense. “My great-grandfather worked in Pete Shannon’s mine, broke his back hauling coal while that bastard lived like a king up here on the hill. His brother died when a shaft collapsed. Shannon never paid a penny to his family—not even for his funeral.”

Nolan gestured around the apartment. “And now here you come, turning this place into luxury condos, acting like you’re claiming some noble family legacy. There’s nothing noble about this house. It was built on suffering. It should have been torn down years ago, or turned into a memorial for the miners who died making Shannon rich.”

Boyd felt the familiar pain starting to build in his chest. He pressed a hand against his sternum, trying to steady his breathing. “I didn’t know about your connection to the mine,” he said, his voice strained.

“Of course you didn’t,” Nolan replied with a bitter laugh. “Nobody from Kansas City ever bothers to learn the real history of this place. You just saw a business opportunity.”

“That’s not fair. My own ancestor was cheated by Shannon— “

“And got rich elsewhere,” Nolan cut him off. “Moved to Kansas City, built a new fortune. The miners’ families got nothing but graves to tend.”

Boyd opened his mouth to argue further, but the tightness in his chest warned him to calm down. This confrontation wasn’t worth another heart attack.

Nolan seemed to take his silence as confirmation. He picked up his bag again and reached for another. “I hope this place fails, Calloway. I hope it fails spectacularly. I hope the maintenance problems pile up until the residents all leave. I hope that woman’s death scares off any potential buyers. I hope your fancy renovation becomes the money pit everyone in town predicted it would be.”

He brushed past Boyd, bumping him on the way to the door. “And I hope you’re here to see it happen.”

Boyd turned, watching as Nolan gathered the last of his belongings. “You can’t just walk away. There are legal implications to what you’ve done.”

Nolan paused in the doorway, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “Sue me, then. Make it public. Let everyone know how the superintendent sabotaged the great Calloway House restoration. I’m sure the Gateway Herald would love that story. So will the Trentville Weekly News.”

Boyd knew Nolan was right — a public legal battle would only bring more negative attention to the property, more whispers of curses and haunted halls.

Without another word, Nolan Greer walked out, his footsteps receding down the hallway. Boyd stood alone in the empty apartment, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. His superintendent was gone. Donna Marsh was dead. And somewhere in the building, other residents were sleeping, unaware that the man responsible for maintaining their homes had just walked out.

Boyd felt the pain in his chest sharpen. He leaned against the wall, breathing slowly through his nose. In and out. In and out. Dr. Wexler’s voice echoed in his mind, warning him about stress, about pushing himself too hard.

But what choice did he have now?

He reminded himself about tomorrow morning’s meeting, which was going to be even more trouble than he’d expected.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Deep and dreamless sleep claimed Boyd Calloway after the day’s tumult. He had collapsed onto the bed in his private suite at Calloway House — the finest unit in the building, reserved for his occasional stays — without even removing his tie. Exhaustion had dragged him under, his body finally surrendering to the stress that had built since that morning’s phone call. But peace, like everything else at Calloway House, proved fleeting.

“Boyd Calloway.”

The voice pulled him from the depths of sleep. Boyd’s eyes fluttered open to darkness so complete he wondered for a moment if he had actually awakened. The bedroom — with its restored Victorian moldings and modern amenities — was pitch black, not even the usual glow of streetlights filtering through the heavy drapes.

“Boyd Calloway.”

The voice came again, clearer now. Male. Unfamiliar, yet somehow expected, like the arrival of a long-anticipated storm. Boyd pushed himself up onto his elbows.