Free Island of the Forbidden by Hunter Shea

find this is just one of many peculiarities of not only Ormsby House, but the island as well. Come, I’ll introduce you to my wife.” He looked at Paul. “Would you mind keeping the children occupied while we discuss matters? I believe they’re both in their room.”
    Paul nodded. “Sure thing, Tobe. Hey, it was nice meeting you both.” And with that, he bounded up the stairs. Jessica listened to his heavy footfalls overhead, followed by a knock and the sound of a door opening and closing.
    â€œI hope my brother-in-law didn’t make you sea sick. He has a penchant for speed in that thing,” Tobe Harper said. Jessica was having a hard time not only placing his age—he could be anywhere from forty to sixty, the creeping gray in his hair clouding her judgment—but his accent as well. It was a mix of Louisiana Creole, the South Side of Boston and a touch of British aristocracy. Words flowed from his lips with a melody and cadence like Chopin filtered through a hard rock garage band. Strange.
    â€œIt actually felt good catching a nice breeze off the water,” Eddie said. For some reason, his eyes kept flicking to the rooms on their right. They were dark and presumably empty, but Jessica knew he saw other things that were not necessarily attracted to light and crowds.
    â€œGood,” Tobe Harper said. “Daphne is in the library.”
    He turned and they followed. Jessica felt like she had been thrust into some old time movie, the genteel butler leading the way to the parlor. Their footsteps sounded like small-arms gunshots, the aged hardwood floors a symphony of pops and sighs. She looked over at Eddie who had fixed his eyes on Harper’s back as if he could X-ray the man’s soul. For all she knew, he could.
    There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, but what was there looked antique and expensive. There were no framed pictures on the walls or mantle. Gliding past the great room’s fireplace, she could smell the sweet char of last night’s fire.
    Tobe Harper pulled a set of double doors open, sliding them into recesses in the walls. The library had four south-facing windows that went from the floor to the ceiling, filling the room with light. A large, round table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by four leather chairs on casters. The shelves that had been installed in all four walls were empty, save for some surface dust.
    A very pretty redheaded woman stood beside a small wet bar, pouring drinks. She wore a high-necked dress and if Jessica’s eyes were accurate, she also had a tight corset on underneath. She wore no makeup on her cream colored skin, not that she needed it. She looked as if she had dressed for one of those gag period photos, the kind people took at county fairs.
    â€œOur very special guests are here,” Tobe said.
    â€œI was just getting drinks ready. I’m Daphne Harper. We spoke on the phone,” she said to Jessica.
    â€œIt’s very nice to meet you,” she said.
    A warm smile lit Daphne’s face. “Do you like Tom Collins?” She tilted a crystal decanter over a glass filled with ice.
    â€œI never had one before. I’m happy to try.”
    She looked at Eddie and he said, “Same here.”
    Tobe gently ushered them into chairs while Daphne delivered their drinks.
    The vacant shelves diverted Jessica’s attention. It just felt odd, being in a library without a single book. It made the room seem barren and unfulfilled, like a dying wish arriving seconds after a final breath.
    Daphne noted her interest. “It seems some historical society had all of the books removed when the last of the Ormsby family passed on. For all the trepidation the locals on the mainland had about the island, they found a way to look past it when it came time to pillage the place of its valuables. I guess it’s knowledge of that darkness of man’s soul that made a man like Maxwell Ormsby retreat