by Becki Willis
“I can give you a lift.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
Genny pursed her lips as she considered his offer. “I may just take you up on it. Maddy seemed a little anxious when I talked to her.”
“No problem.” He flashed his charming smile, doing that thing to her stomach again. “All you have to do is ask.”
***
By the time Genny arrived at the mansion, Brash had finished dusting for fingerprints and turned the room over to Maddy for her search.
When she saw her friend, the homeowner broke out in a smile. “Ah, reinforcements.”
“And I come bearing gifts.” Genny rattled the white bakery bag with the Gennydoodle cookies inside. In the other hand she had two disposable cups of coffee.
“As always, you are a lifesaver, my friend.”
Sipping on her coffee, Genesis surveyed the room at large. At one time, the room had been the height of fashion. Thick carpets covered the gleaming hardwood floors. Heavy drapes adorned the windows, their large rose pattern identical to that of the fluffy duvet. Everything in the room was color-coordinated and artfully arranged, the dark burgundies and forest greens softened with splashes of cream and pale pink.
“It looks like Miss Juliet must have had this decorated right before her death,” Genesis mused. “This matchy-matchy color scheme has the hallmarks of the eighties. So do the ribbons and roses sprouting all over the room.” She motioned to the walls and winced. “They’re even on the wallpaper.”
“Miss Juliet was nothing, if not fashionable.”
“So what’s the plan? Where do we even start?”
“I don’t know, but if you come across anything that looks valuable, box it up to take with us.”
“I thought Amanda wanted you to clear the room on camera.”
“I’m more concerned with preserving Miss Juliet’s legacy and the contents of the house than I am about being ‘personable’ for the camera,” Madison retorted.
Genny grinned. “I think I detect a hint of green in your voice.”
Not amused by her friend’s astute observation, Madison denied being jealous. “A reflection off all these climbing vines, I’m sure,” she said with droll sincerity.
Genny’s blue eyes twinkled. “Why, yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
After an hour of fruitless searching, the twinkle had dimmed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not finding a thing,” Genesis declared, shutting the bottom drawer of an antique oak chest.
“Me, either.” Madison huffed out a sigh. She was seated in an upholstered wing chair, resting her swollen ankle.
“Where else could we look?”
“One or both of the libraries would be my best guess. I assume the one on the second floor was more for her personal reading pleasure, the larger one downstairs more for reference. And, of course, for show.”
“Of course.”
“The sad thing is, who did she show off to? According to Granny, she had very few friends, even fewer visitors. She opened the house once a year for a Founder’s Day celebration and a few afternoon teas here and there, but she wasn’t exactly a social butterfly.”
“So let’s finish up in here, and then we’ll tackle the library.”
“Or they could be in her sitting room,” Madison noted, gazing through the opened door of the adjacent room. “Or her dressing room. Her suite of rooms takes up this entire side of the house, you know.”
“For all we know, it could be in one of her secret passages. Or another secret room we don’t know about yet.”
“As long as it doesn’t have another skeleton stuffed inside,” Madison muttered.
Her friend grinned, tossing a throw pillow her way. It bounced off Madison’s shoulder and fell to the ground. “So off your seat and on your feet. We have another five acres of ground to cover, and that’s not counting the library downstairs.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have too much energy?” Madison grumbled, gingerly getting to her feet.
“That’s how I get so much done, girlfriend. Now come on. I’m cheap labor, and time’s a-wasting.”
“You missed your calling. You should have been a drill sergeant.”
Genny flashed a dimpled grin. “But you love me.”
In reply, Madison scooped up the pillow and tossed it back. Without a doubt, she did love her best friend. More than once, Genny had saved Madison’s sanity.
It was no secret that Madison’s father had a chronic sense of wanderlust; by now, even she knew the man would never grow up. Her mother willingly followed behind, as eager for the next adventure as he was. When Maddy was thirteen, Charlie and Allie decided the crazy lifestyle wasn’t suited for a child, so they did what was best for them. They left their only daughter behind. More importantly, it turned out to be what was best for Madison. Granny Bert gave her a good, steady home, and Genesis Baker became her true and forever friend. Without Genny, Madison was certain she would have gone mad.
The friends were inseparable. They even went off to college together for another two years of side-by-side adventures. After that, Genesis took a break in traditional study and went to France to learn to be a pastry chef, and Madison met and married Grayson Reynolds. Even as Genny began a career and Maddy started a family, they remained close. When Madison’s marriage began to fall apart two years ago, Genny came to her rescue, offering the emotional support that she needed. Last summer, Genny moved back to Naomi and opened a café. When Gray was killed in an automobile accident a few months later and left his family penniless, dear Genny convinced Madison to join her back home. Once again, Genny was her salvation.
So here they were, both living in The Sisters again, both starting over. Madison returned with decidedly more baggage than her friend did. Gray’s betrayal cut deep, stirring up old insecurities of being unloved and unwanted. If anything, she depended on her friend now more than ever.
“You finish up in here,” Madison decided. “I’ll start on the library.”
The cozy retreat was an extension of the grand master suite. Boasting its own balcony at the front of the house, it opened off the grand staircase with elaborately carved double doors. A smaller set of doors, tucked into an alcove, connected the repository to Miss Juliet’s private domain.
As difficult as it was to comprehend, all of this was hers now. Every inch of the huge old house. Every pompous piece of furnishings still inside. Every outdated piece of floral wallpaper. All hers, even though little of it suited her tastes.
True, Nick Vilardi had grand plans for the master suite of rooms. Convert the original dressing room into a huge closet, complete with custom built-ins. Create a new master bath extravagant enough to fulfill her every fantasy. Update the sitting room nestled into the turret. Add double French doors leading onto the balcony. Allow in plenty of natural light. New floors, new paint, new bedding.
With spectacular ideas of her own, Amanda was already talking about decorating the room. She had the perfect person in mind, too: Kiki Paretta, a Texan with her own popular show for the network. Amanda was excited about the possibility of a huge crossover audience for Home Again. It would be wonderful for their ratings, she gushed. Reality home-makeover television at its finest. Without asking what Madison had in mind for the rooms, Amanda arranged for Kiki to visit next month. She then ‘accidentally’ leaked word of it on social media. Fans were already delirious with anticipation.
If I think it’s crazy now, just wait until Kiki hits town, Madison bemoaned silently. Maybe I’ll just hole up in here.
She could stay in here for days, Madison decided. Although quite a bit smaller than its formal counterpart downstairs, the room was impressive. The private sanctuary was a treasure trove for the written word. Hundreds of books lined the walls, everything from hardcover classics to modern day paperbacks. There were books of every genre: mysteries and love stories, poetry and sonnets, self-help books and autobiographies. Just as Granny had said, it w
as obvious that Juliet Randolph Blakely had a voracious appetite for reading.
Maddy sighed. She planned to look through each and every book, searching for the missing journals. The task was daunting.
Chapter Eight
The oddities began that week.
Throughout the years, there had been rumors of ghosts within the old mansion. It was said Miss Juliet encouraged the rumors, perhaps starting a few of them herself. Granny Bert claimed it was done to keep noisy visitors away. Once Madison’s grandmother inherited the house, she found the rumors to be a great deterrent for looters and would-be squatters. Only the bravest daredevils were adventurous enough to sneak onto the grounds and break into the house. The few who did break in seldom took anything. It was one thing to defy the spirits and walk among them; it was another to steal from them.
Over the past decade or so, the rumors had died away. Madison liked to think it was an indication of maturity. After all, ghost stories were fun for teenagers, offering harmless entertainment on a small-town Friday night. Many a teenager from her generation had kept the legend alive and well, often based on tales passed down from their parents and grandparents. But the arrival of the new millennium had brought new families into the sister cities, most of whom knew nothing about the rivalry between the Randolph sisters and the man they both loved. Rumors of ghosts and disgruntled spirits had slowly faded away.
Content to let the legend of the so-called ghosts lie, Madison never mentioned it to the Home Again team. She was afraid Amanda Hooper might exploit that aspect of the home’s past.
The first few weeks of filming had gone smoothly, but soon after the skeleton was discovered, unexplainable things began to happen around the mansion. Madison suspected some prankster was at work, reviving the old superstitions of ghosts for the benefit of national television. The public seemed to love that sort of thing, after all.
It started with the tools. When the workers arrived in the morning time, things had been tinkered with. It was harmless enough — saws unplugged, batteries turned backwards, things moved from one spot to another — but it cost precious time on a schedule already stretched thin. After a couple of days of the pesky inconvenience, they arrived another morning to discover a wall had been painted overnight. The paint of choice had been bright red, reminiscent of blood, particularly when it was splashed upon the walls with long dripping tendrils.
The cameras were of no help. The permanent cameras, the ones left running twenty-four/seven, had been disabled, or re-aligned to record blank space. By the time the problem was discovered and alarms were installed on the cameras to alert tampering, more mischief had occurred.
Windows were opened, doors were locked shut. Radios came on at random. Furniture was moved.
More alarms were installed, these on the premises. Madison and her family had one code, Nick and a crucial handful of Home Again team members had another. The electronic tattletale recorded each entrance and each person engaging the alarms.
Yet still the oddities occurred.
Today’s event had been the most disturbing of all. Nick was the first to arrive for the morning, only to find several messages written on mirrors throughout the mansion. The blood-red paint gave a chilling tone to the ambiguous words. Leave well enough alone, demanded one message. Get out, said another. No more. A fourth mirror’s message was the most ominous. Stop before you’re sorry.
Officer Perry had come to investigate. Madison would have felt better with Brash there, but he was out of town for the day. Official business, dispatch said, but she could not help but notice that Amanda was missing today, as well.
Stop it, Madison. You promised to give him a chance. You’re learning to trust again, remember?
She kept reminding herself of that fact as she made another sweep through the upstairs library. After almost a week of looking for the journals, possible places to search — and her patience — grew thin. Add the cryptic messages and Amanda’s sudden absence on the very day Brash was out of town, and her nerves were on edge.
It had been difficult enough this week, conducting a clandestine search in a house filled with dozens of extra people and cameras in various locations. As owner of the house, Madison had every right to be there each day, but she felt uncomfortable doing so. She found it easiest to come after the workers were gone and she had the house to herself.
She brought the twins with her one evening to search the library. As comedian of the family, Blake found amusement in the titles, particularly the British love sonnets and Edwardian-era poetry. With his flair for dramatics, he acted out titles such as Whither Thou Goeth and The Death of a Toad. Between laughing at her brother and discovering her own proclivity for romance novels, Bethani was of no more help than her twin was.
Another evening, Granny Bert offered to help, but that, too, proved fruitless. Caught up in memories of days past, her grandmother spent more time reading favorite passages from books and relaying old stories than she did looking for the journals. Her grandmother’s stroll down memory lane was interesting, but Madison could accomplish more when she worked alone.
So here she was this evening, giving the library one last opportunity to produce the journals. If she still came up empty-handed, she would move on to another room.
She was at the desk, making certain she had not overlooked a false bottom in any of the drawers. Nothing. She sat back in the elaborate executive chair, running her hands over the soft burgundy leather with its delicately rolled arms and decidedly feminine design. Miss Juliet had excellent taste, she thought distractedly. The chair fit Madison’s weary body like a glove, coaxing her to sit back, relax. Stay awhile.
She gave in, but just for a moment. It was almost dark out. Even though she would soon be living in the house, she avoided being here late at night by herself. She was not exactly afraid, but the recent mischief had her uneasy. Would-be ‘ghost’ aside, there was the matter of the trespasser Brash heard in Miss Juliet’s room.
Madison swiveled the chair from side to side, absently contemplating the matter. Perhaps it was all connected. Perhaps the intruder Brash heard was their prankster. Perhaps she or he had a trick planned for the master bedroom but was frightened off before implementing it.
It could be kids. Madison wasn’t sure how they were getting around the alarms, but most kids these days were geniuses with electronics. So far, the ‘ghostly incidents’ had been innocent enough. A bit juvenile, in fact. So definitely the work of kids, she decided.
Or was it? A whispered thought echoed in her mind. It could be a marketing ploy. For all she knew, Amanda might even be behind it, trying to boost ratings for the show. Nothing like throwing in a little ghost action to intrigue people.
In case her deal with Kiki’s show fell through, a good ghost story might appease the masses, Madison realized. Amanda would definitely know how to market such a twist, how to spin it to their advantage. Why, with only a two-hour pilot and a barrage of sneak-peak commercials, the producer had already stirred interest for their upcoming premier to a fevered pitch. It was practically a hit already, before the first episode even aired. A nice ghost twist would only propel it to new heights.
Yet something about that scenario felt off. Would Amanda stoop so low? And if the network and Nick knew about it, would it even be considered stooping? It could all be a carefully orchestrated plan. It slowed progress, that was for certain. They were already behind schedule because of the skeleton. Throw in a late start for most of an entire week, and Nick was ranting about lost time and added costs. There was talk of working overtime this weekend, pulling in extra workers if need be to make up for the delay.
Perhaps all of these scenarios were off. This could very well be about the skeleton.
Her lips puckered as she considered that theory. If someone wanted to hide the truth about the skeleton, he or she could be sabotaging the renovation project. But why? What could they possibly hope to gain? Madison tried to imagine how stopping the renovations could be of benefit.
Or information?
Information contained inside a journal, perhaps? Madison nibbled her upper lip. Were the messages meant for her?
‘No more.’ No more searching for the journal, perchance?
‘Stop before you’re sorry.’ As far as scare tactics went, the events so far had been rather lame, but they did seem to be escalating. Was it because she was still looking? Because she might find the journals and discover a secret someone was trying hard to keep?
A new thought occurred to her. Did that make Miss Juliet somehow guilty? Not necessarily, she reasoned. But the journals might offer some insight into the secret room and its purpose.
Madison drew in a deep, calming breath. There was a chance she was completely wrong. The incidents might have nothing to do with one another. It could be coincidence that one day after Granny Bert mentioned the old journals, the intruder defied police orders and rifled through Miss Juliet’s bedroom. It could be mere chance that the oddities started immediately after that. Random occurrences that just happened to coincide with one another.
But she didn’t think so.
Her eyes traveled around the room, more of a mental exercise than a visual one. What was she missing? Not physically, although the obvious answer was the journals themselves. She was missing something else, something that could explain the sudden appearance of their message-writing-work-disrupting ‘ghost.’
The saccade of her hazel gaze swept the room, snagging on a far corner near the window. Madison spied one last cubbyhole she hadn’t searched. The small cabinet was tucked between a large bookcase and the heavy folds of the drapes. Thinking it would be a perfect place to hide personal items, her hopes soared.
She tugged on the lower cabinet door, only to find it locked. Seeing no keyhole, she determined it was merely jammed. She pulled and tugged, twisted and turned. The small knob refused to budge. After several minutes of trying, she banged the top of the cabinet in frustration. Maybe she needed a hammer.