Tymber Dalton by Out of the Darkness Page B

Jenkins was bent over a chain that looked like a maniac had gone padlock crazy. At least twenty different locks had been attached.
    “Hi, Tom.”
    He looked up, startled by her silent approach, then smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Corey. Beautiful morning for a ride.”
    She nodded. “I like midweek the best. I don’t have to worry about the horses spooking.”
    “It is quiet, that’s for sure.” A new length of sturdy chain lay at his feet. He worked on the one on the gate with a pair of bolt cutters, but had trouble maneuvering the cutters with all the padlocks in the way.
    “Hold on a sec. I’ll help you.” She dismounted and looped Mutt’s reins around the truck’s side mirror. She grabbed the chain and held it up and away from the fence post, allowing Tom to gain purchase with the bolt cutters and cut it loose.
    “Thanks.” He removed a heavy-duty combination lock from the old chain and used it to attach the new chain to the post. The new chain was much thicker and heavier than the old one, and looked like it would take more than a pair of bolt cutters to break through.
    “We used to allow people to put locks on the gate. This is the legal access for park residents and the utility companies, but as you can see, too many people have taken advantage of it. This lock is like the one on the front gate. We can change the combination on a regular basis.” He held up a pair of signs she hadn’t noticed before.
    This gate for utilities, official use, and residents ONLY. Unauthorized access will be prosecuted. No lock placement allowed. For access, call park ranger 24/7 at (352)555-0808.
    He used sturdy zip ties to attach one sign to each side of the gate.
    “I didn’t realize this gate was even here,” Sami said.
    “It’s not a publicly used road. Mostly it’s used by the volunteers who live here and work in Brooksville. Those who don’t want to drive all the way around to the main gate. It’s also the legal right-of-way access for your property.”
    He pointed toward another clay road that intersected the one they were on. “The ranger compound is a few hundred yards down there. The main road’s not so bad on a day like today, but if it’s sloppy, or a while since it was graded, or on the weekend with a lot of traffic, people use this gate. That road’s a lime rock road. It does get rough, but it’s never as bad as the main road on its worst day.”
    She nodded. “I guess that would be a time-saver.”
    He picked up the old chain and started to sling it into the bed when he remembered the horse. He carefully lowered it into the truck so as not to spook him. “How are you getting along in the house?”
    There was more to his question. She knew it from his tone of voice.
    “It’s been…interesting.”
    “See anything?”
    “Like what?”
    He looked around, as if to make sure no one could overhear him. “You know your house has a history, right?”
    She thought about her encounter with the librarian and picked her words carefully. “I know it’s had an unusual past, if that’s what you mean.”
    He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. If you repeat this conversation, I’ll deny it. My dad and grandfather both worked here, even before the state set this area aside as its own park. It used to be part of the Withlacoochee Forest.
    “My grandfather said since the Prescott family, no one’s lived there longer than a year since it was built and George Simpson’s family disappeared. I personally think he killed them, so do a lot of folks, but they never found any proof. Most residents only last a month or two, if that long. People have died in the house and around the property. You’ve been the longest residents there in over ten years. It usually sits vacant at least a year or two between tenants.”
    Killed his family? She hadn’t read that. Then again, she got sidetracked. Maybe that’s what Jane McCartyle wanted to tell her. “What about the owner? I saw it keeps getting deeded back to