Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Luke’s barely concealed grin. He shot her a conspiratorial wink, and her stomach flipped.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Cynthia, clearly losing interest. She nodded to her gold SUV. “I brought a bunch of leftovers from the charity luncheon. The caterers prepared some truly delicious dishes. I thought it would be helpful, especially with Luke here.”
Callie could almost sense Alice gritting her teeth. Tension flowed between the two older women like a live current.
Luke jumped in. “Gram cooks great meals. And I have been known to survive on my own, if you remember.” His words were nonchalant, his tone pleasant, but he looped a protective arm over Alice’s shoulder.
“Well, there’s no need for it to go to waste. I already gave some to Ryan, and it’s too much for John and me.”
Alice smiled brightly, patting Luke’s hand. “Thank you, Cynthia, we appreciate it. Why don’t you drive back up to the house, and we’ll bring it in and put it away?”
Cynthia sniffed and nodded, walking back around to the driver’s seat. “Does anyone want to ride up with me?”
“Callie, can we offer you a ride?” Ryan asked as he slid his hands into the pockets of his pressed khaki pants. His gaze traveled up and down her body before landing back on her face. “Or do you need some more time to look around? It would be great to have you here at Hillwood.”
“We’ll walk,” Luke said firmly. “I can fill her in on the remaining details on the way. Why don’t you two go ahead and start getting the stuff in the fridge?”
Yes. “That sounds perfect.” She was more than ready to get back to her apartment, as quiet and lonely as it was. A dull ache had settled in the back of her head, and she needed some time to process the strange things that had happened here today. Besides, she was apparently coming back to the farm tomorrow. Her pulse skittered at the thought of a trail ride alone with Luke. What in the world had she gotten herself into?
Callie assured Alice and Luke she was feeling fine as they followed the SUV up the sloping drive, and she tossed the melting ice into the dirt, insisting on taking the old towel home to wash. Once she was alone in her car, she closed her eyes for a moment, massaging her temples. As she reached back to touch the tender lump forming on her scalp, another band of frigid air curled around her, and she froze. Her gaze shot to the dashboard temperature reading, but it remained unchanged. A shiver crept up her spine. Something strange was definitely going on at Hillwood Farm.
Chapter 5
The lights began flickering just as she was getting out of the tub.
A late-night bath was her usual routine now, a way to unwind and relax after her workout. Most evenings, she taught either a Pilates or a Barre class from 6:15 to 7:30. It was a good way to supplement her income, and she received a free gym membership to boot. But most importantly, it got her out of her apartment after days spent mostly behind the computer screen, working as a freelance editor from home. After the accident, she’d begun avoiding situations that brought her around a lot of people—too many of them seemed to have restless spirits hovering around them, waiting for the opportunity to communicate. Her new abilities were like a beacon, flashing a welcoming light in the hazy realm between worlds.
But she’d found that while she was leading a class, as she’d done in college before the accident, her mind was too focused to let anything else in. Afterwards, she usually headed for a treadmill or bike in the farthest corner of the nearly empty gym to get her cardio in, headphones firmly in place.
A warm bath, a glass of wine, and a TV show or book would finish her night. It wasn’t the most exciting life a 25-year-old could envision, but it was a life.
She paused as the bathroom lights blinked on and off sporadically, a towel pressed against her damp chest. A low crackle accompanied the flashes, and she frowned. That didn’t sound good. With a sigh, she murmured, “Guess I need to change the bulbs,” to the empty room. Living alone had her talking to herself more and more, just to break up the constant silence.
Steam filtered out as she opened the door and padded to her bedroom, wrapped in a towel. It was already after ten o’clock…she’d leave the bulb-changing chore till the morning. Hopefully there wasn’t a wiring problem that would need the landlord’s attention. The two-story building housing the 20 apartments wasn’t exactly new.
Her room was small and dated, but she’d done her best to brighten it up with artwork and fabric. Pictures of sunflowers hung on the white walls, and blue and gold dragonflies danced across her fluffy comforter. A spider plant hung from the ceiling in the far corner, its green and white striped leaves trailing from the decorative pot. Tugging her fingers through her long wet hair, she crossed to the one set of windows and peered out into the night. A lone lamppost cast a cone of light onto the parking lot below; beyond the row of cars, a small clearing with picnic tables gave way to thick woods. She drew the pale yellow curtains partially closed, leaving the windows cracked to allow the cool air in.
Grabbing a comb off her dresser, she pulled it through her dark strands, careful to avoid the swollen lump on the back of her head. “I thought horseshoes were supposed to be lucky,” she muttered, fighting with a tangle.
The lamp on her dresser flickered, and she froze, the hand holding the comb suspended in midair. So, the wiring then. Maybe it’s about to go throughout the entire building. Great. Heaving out a heavy sigh, she adjusted the towel around her chest as she trudged over to the closet. The two sliding doors were paneled with mirrors, which served as a daily reminder of just how long it had been since this place was originally decorated. She slid one side open to peruse her wardrobe choices for tomorrow. “What am I supposed to wear on a trail ride with a hot guy?”
With a sharp pop, the light went out, plunging the room into darkness. Callie stilled, her heartbeat filling her ears. Something rustled behind her, and the hairs on her bare arms prickled. Probably a noise from outside, she told herself, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the trickle of faint light from the parking lot.
Another rustle, too close to pass off as wind in the trees. She was rooted in place, suddenly very sure she was not alone in the room. A soft moan floated through the blackness. Panic gripped her, fierce and primal, clawing at her lungs. Did she have a weapon? Would it even work against whatever was here?
She struggled for air, a rancid odor filling her nostrils as she slowly inhaled. Death. Decay. Shadows shifted to her left, and her gaze jerked toward the movement. Behind the solid mass of her reflection in the mirror, the gauzy outline of a face peered over her shoulder. Empty eye sockets stared out from gray, filmy features, the hollow black holes somehow filled with menace.
A sob gathered in her chest, clogging her throat. Please, God. Let me wake up from this nightmare. Something cold and wet brushed against her upper back, and she screamed.
The mirror exploded, shattering with a tremendous crack that reverberated through the silence. The horrific image disintegrated into fractured slivers as glass rained down onto the floor. She spun toward the door and fled from the room, her heart threatening to burst apart like the mirror. Pain flared up her leg as a jagged shard of glass pierced the ball of her foot, but she kept running until she slammed up against the front door, her chest heaving. She slapped at the light switch and miraculously, the room lit up. Still clutching the door knob, she searched the living area for signs of her ghoulish intruder.
No skeletal apparition pursued her from the bedroom. Her mind begged her to conclude the vision had been a figment of her imagination, but she knew that wasn’t true. She hadn’t imagined the mirror shattering—her throbbing foot was proof of that. No, there was something in this apartment, and it wasn’t human.
Every cell in her body urged her to fling open the front door and run into the night, even in her current state of undress, with her bare feet leaking blood. Just get away. From that thing. But where would she go?
Her pulse thumped in her ears as she weighed her
options. It didn’t take her long to realize there were none. Zero. She couldn’t afford a hotel room in this tourist area, and even if she found a vacant room offering a reasonable rate, it would only solve the problem for one night. She could sleep in her car, maybe…but it would be cramped. And what was to stop the specter that had found her here from finding here there, curled in her small sedan, with nowhere to run?
Her predicament reminded her of all her losses, and her shoulders slumped as she leaned back against the door. Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes glued to the entrance to her bedroom, watching and waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing materialized, and eventually the violent shudders wracking her body subsided to mild tremors.
If something like this had happened before she’d helped Karen communicate with her sister, she’d have already called 911. Lord knew she’d thought she was going crazy right after the accident, when she’d kept hearing Andrew’s voice in her head, begging her not to blame herself. Wishful thinking, she’d thought at the time. But now she knew her abilities were real. Inexplicable, but genuine. Powerful.
It was just that she’d never actually seen a spirit. She’d imagined them flitting about, hovering over her as they whispered demands in her head…but this was a whole new experience. A terrifying one. Had it been Henry? If so, why would he smash her mirror? From all accounts, he’d been a kind, gentle man.
Perhaps tonight’s incident was completely unrelated. But that was a tough leap to make, considering she’d been poked in the back and pelted with a horseshoe earlier the very same day.
In her gut, she knew it was connected. Something—someone—had followed her home from Hillwood Farm. And it seemed intent on scaring her, if not outright harming her. Worst of all, there was no one who could help her with something like this. It was up to her to figure out what was going on, and hopefully put this malevolent spirit to rest.
Pulling in a deep breath, she pushed away from the door and rewrapped the towel around her chest. She crept toward her bedroom, doing her best to avoid putting weight on the ball of her right foot. Her eyes remained laser focused on the bedroom doorway as she paused by the kitchen counter and snagged a towel off the tall stool. The same towel she’d brought home from the farm today that she’d planned to wash tomorrow before she returned. What difference would a little more blood make? A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back down. Hold it together. She quickly swiped at her cut, hoping no glass remained embedded in her flesh. There’d be time to clean and examine it later. Assuming she survived till then.
Keeping her gaze glued on the door, she retrieved a flashlight from a drawer and drew a knife from the knife block, which made little sense but still felt right. Thankfully, the hall light clicked on when she tried the switch, and she ventured into the doorway of her room, sweeping the darkness with the beam of her flashlight.
Empty. Or, at least, no visible ghosts. A shiver bolted up her spine as hundreds of mirrored slivers glittered beneath the beam of light. What a disaster. How was she ever going to clean that up? She’d be charged for the damage, too.
The fact that practical thoughts were surfacing after the tidal wave of terror made her feel more in control. She could handle this. She had to. Still, there’d be no sleeping in here tonight, that was for sure. With a sigh, she looked longingly at her comfy bed before shutting the door to her bedroom firmly.
She quickly cleaned her cut in the bathroom, then brought her flashlight and her knife with her to the couch. Overhead lights still blazing, she curled up with a blanket and the television remote and settled in for a long night.
Chapter 6
Luke fought to remain focused on the piece of wood he was cutting, because being distracted while using a table saw was a bad idea. But he was agitated. Slightly off-kilter, as though there was a problem he needed to address, but he just couldn’t remember what it was.
Callie.
He frowned, pulling the board off the table. She was coming back over for a trail ride this afternoon, and while he hated to admit it, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or the conversation he’d had with his brother yesterday.
He and Ryan had lounged on the porch for a few minutes after all the caterer’s trays were inside and Gram and Mom were dividing portions into plastic containers. Ryan leaned back in one of the wooden Adirondack chairs, taking a pull from an amber beer bottle.
“Happy Hour already?” Luke asked, raising his eyebrows.
Ryan shrugged. “It’s 5:00 somewhere. I don’t really need to go back to the office today.” He tipped the bottle in Luke’s direction. “Why don’t you join me? Being your own boss is almost as good as having Dad as a boss.”
He shook his head. “I still have a ton of work to do. I need to take care of the horses. Plus, I’m building a house, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan rolled his eyes, but a grin twitched at his lips. “I could build a house if I wanted to.”
“Sure you could. Probably about as well as I could practice law.” They shared a laugh, gazing out over the sloping hills that hid all signs of the main road connected to Hillwood’s long, winding driveway. A group of turkeys gathered in a field by the edge of the woods, the male fanning his tail, protecting his flock. Overhead, an osprey soared, making its way to the pond.
After a few moments, Ryan broke the silence. “So. That chick Callie is hot. You think she’ll board her horse here?”
Doubtful, Luke thought to himself, suppressing a smile. “I don’t know,” he answered out loud. Maybe she’ll board her imaginary horse here while she hunts for our Pop’s imaginary ghost. Even as the silent sarcasm rolled through his mind, a tiny spark of satisfaction glowed at the memory of the moment he’d shared with Callie down at the barn earlier, when she’d so quickly come up with a cover story. She was clever and quick on her feet, in addition to being attractive. Probably necessary traits for a scam artist, he reminded himself. Still, he couldn’t deny the heat he’d felt when he held her close, the arousal ignited by her body’s proximity to his.
“Well, it wouldn’t be a hardship to have her around here on a regular basis. Is she single?”
Luke tensed. “No idea.”
“Seriously? You are clearly off your game. That would have been the first thing I’d have tried to find out.”
“Yeah, well…after everything that happened over the winter, I’m not exactly looking for relationships.”
Ryan let out a strangled groan. “That again? Seriously, Luke, you need to let that disaster go. Besides, getting some from a hot girl doesn’t necessarily need to lead to a relationship.”
It was a valid statement, something he agreed with. And yet, irritation bristled in his chest. “I’ll let her know if she comes back again.”
Ryan chuckled. “No-strings-attached sex with one of the Turner men would certainly be a selling point, don’t you think? If she’s on the fence about Hillwood.” Swallowing a sip of beer, he waved his free hand inward, up and down the length of his chest. “Hopefully she makes the right choice.”
Luke’s muscles tightened, his fingers curling into an involuntary fist. He had a sudden, intense urge to punch his brother, which made no sense. Ryan was just joking around. At least for the most part. And so what if Ryan did want to sleep with Callie? If she was single and willing, it was none of his business.
So why did the thought of them together make his blood simmer? Even now, as he lined up the next board with the saw’s blade, he ground his teeth together at the idea. God. Could he actually be falling for the woman who was probably hoping to con his grandmother out of her money?
Even if Callie was legit, he had no interest in romantic entanglements after his last train wreck of a relationship.
Blowing out a breath, he wiped the sweat beading at his hairline with his forearm. As he chugged from a nearby water bottle, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. Almost noon. Callie was due over at 2:00 for the trail ride. He capped the
bottle and surveyed the morning’s progress. Not bad. He’d get a little more done; then he could break for a shower and lunch. Afterwards, he’d get down to the barn to start tacking up the horses for his ride with Callie.
Her image flashed in his mind—the long, sable brown hair that shone with copper streaks. Clear green eyes, full pink lips, and smooth skin dusted with the faintest hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was gorgeous. He’d noticed her scent, too, when he’d held her in his arms…her perfume had reminded him of green apples. And her body was strong and lean, with curves in all the right places.
His own body stirred as he thought about her pressed against him yesterday, and he shook his head to clear it. Enough. He had work to do, and losing a finger to the saw’s blade would definitely be a detriment to his plans to help Gram. And to save Hillwood.
Rolling his shoulders back, he returned to his task.
Alice hummed to herself as she sprinkled flour across the countertop, preparing to roll out the pie crusts. For at least twenty years now, Thursdays had been her baking day. There was something infinitely soothing about the routine, even though making pies from scratch could be fairly labor-intensive. But along with all the work came the anticipation of her weekly dinner with the ladies. Every Thursday evening, Alice and her friends—both old and new—gathered at one of their houses for a potluck meal, conversation and catching up, and of course, dessert. Alice always brought one of her famous pies, although she varied the fillings. Today she was making two cherry pies—one for this evening’s dinner, one to have here at the farm for her and Luke.
Henry had loved her pies. A wave of grief washed over her as she spread the flour out with her palm. Now, more than ever, she valued the support of her friends, but oh, how she missed her husband. “I miss you,” she whispered into the air, blinking back the sting of tears.
The Haunting of Hillwood Farm Page 4