Read Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) for Free Online Page A

story?” Taryn asked. “Who is she?”
    The woman smiled and sat down on a log, turning her face so that she could watch the water. Taryn followed suit and sat beside her.
    “Mary the Wanderer was an immigrant many years ago. Her family died on the boat ride over but one of the wealthy gentleman on St. Simon’s offered her a job at his plantation. That’s when the trouble started,” the woman began.
    Taryn nodded in encouragement.
    “By all accounts she was happy there, although the gentleman was reportedly a hard man to like. Soon, however, she fell in love with the rich man’s son. And he fell in love with her.” A red glow spread across the woman’s cheeks, much to Taryn’s delight. She appreciated people who could get caught up in a love story. “As time went by Mary and her young man grew even closer. They were madly in love with one another and wanted to marry. Of course, that would not do. When the young man approached his father, his father was furious.”
    “Because she wasn’t wealthy and was just a servant?”
    The woman shook her head. “No, because he was in love with her as well!”
    “Oh,” Taryn said with a frown. “I guess that would put a kink in their plans.”
    “Yes, it did. When the young man found out he was furious as well. In his anger, he ran from the house and jumped onto his boat. He loved to sail and his boat was his pride and joy. He was just going for a little ride but a storm came on quickly. He didn’t come home.” Although Taryn assumed this story happened two centuries ago, the woman’s eyes turned downward and she sighed, as though the tale was almost too painful. “Well, Mary went looking for him. When she reached one of the cliffs she looked down and saw his boat. It was beaten to death and in pieces. Floating next to the boat was her young man’s lifeless body. In despair and hopelessness, she threw herself into the water. If she couldn’t be with him life, she’d be with him in death.”
    “And now she haunts the beaches,” Taryn finished for her.
    “Yes, because suicides don’t always turn out the way we’d hoped. She thought, once dead, they’d be together. They aren’t, however. She’s never found him and wanders the beaches each night, watching for his boat to come and take her away.”
    Taryn grimaced. “Oh my, well, that is sad. Poor thing.”
    “Mary the Wanderer is what they call her,” the woman smiled, her eyes lighting back up. “Our resident ghost.”
    “Have you ever seen her?” Taryn asked.
    The woman stood and readjusted her fanny pack. “When you get to be my age, dear, there isn’t much you haven’t seen.”

A dena Cottage saddened Taryn greatly. She didn’t think she’d be so upset at the destruction of the cottages; after all, they were just vacation houses for rich folks a long time ago. It was just so darn sorry looking, though, that she couldn’t help it. Taryn was a sucker for old houses of any kind. Although Andrew had been the one obsessed with architecture, she had gone for the soul and had found it in everything from shotgun style cottages in New Orleans to antebellum mansions in Mississippi. For her, it was the ambiance of the place that was important, not how many rooms it had or how many fancy features.
    And Adena Cottage had soul.
    Taryn desperately wanted to slip inside the Jacobethan walls and see what the interior looked like, but the collapsed roof stopped her. Although the left side looked sturdy enough, the last thing she need to do was break her fool neck taking pictures. She’d have to be content with the exterior.
    As she walked around the cottage, aiming Miss Dixie high and low, she tried to imagine what it would’ve looked like in its prime. The colors would have been vivid and bright, and there would’ve been many of them. This was no wallflower; Adena Cottage would’ve taken after her sisters and stood out like a proud peacock with its pseudo-Tudor style. The porch would’ve been full of small