The Sugar Hill Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  Avery laughed at us. “I can’t take any credit for it either. It was in the refrigerator. I’m sure Robin left it for me, and thankfully there was enough to share. Can you ever go wrong with gumbo?”

  “I’m thinking no. But this is the first time I’ve ever had it.”

  “Are you serious?” they asked in unison, as if I were admitting some deep dark secret.

  “Well, I generally eat food from a diner. Nothing this delicious.” I refused another glass of wine and reached for a bottle of water from the basket on the table. I sensed movement in the bushes just beyond the porch and half expected a cat to step out, but nothing happened. Still, I knew someone was there. As the hairs rose on my arms, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Avery’s eyes were riveted to the same spot. She looked at me and our eyes locked, but she said nothing and admitted nothing.

  I finally asked, “What’s beyond there? Beyond that row of hedges?”

  Reed said, “Woods, bushes and some overgrown monuments farther down. I’ve heard there were some old tombstones out there, but to be honest I’ve never explored the area. There used to be a tidy little park back there when I was a child, but it’s been in disrepair for quite a while. I could always have someone come clean that up for you if you want, Avery.”

  “No. I like it just like it is. Maybe we’ll go do some exploring tomorrow.”

  “Let’s go now. We have a little bit of sunlight left,” I said as I stood and dusted myself off.

  “Not me. I’m full as a tick and don’t think I could handle a walk through the woods right now. But you go ahead, Jessica. Let me know if you find anything interesting.” Avery gave me a sickeningly sweet smile, and I pretended not to notice the edge of ice in her voice.

  “Great. I’m on it. Just call me Jessica the Explorer.” Reed didn’t look at all comfortable. I could tell he was conflicted about whether to stay with Avery or come with me. In his world, accompanying me would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

  “I’m okay, Reed. I like exploring all on my own. I’ve got my phone, and it has a flashlight in case it gets dark.”

  I was already up and walking down the path when Reed called back to me, “Okay, but don’t be gone long.”

  “You got it,” I said as I tossed a smile over my shoulder. Reed had already gone inside, but Avery watched me walk away from Thorn Hill. I got the sense that she knew I was going to find something or someone.

  With a deep breath and squared shoulders, I walked into the woods.

  Chapter Twelve – Jessica

  I walked through an invisible wall of humidity and felt my hair dampen. That was odd. Or maybe it wasn’t. It made sense that sometimes in these woods you’d run into atmospheric anomalies like cool spots and patches of humidity. Nothing paranormal about that. It was par for the course. Sure. Right. So why was I so creeped out right now?

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, but I knew it wasn’t Avery following me. She’d walked back into the house without a word, and Reed never reappeared. So it was just me and whatever else was out here. I began to hum the tune to a song I barely knew.

  What a little moonlight will do…

  It was one of the songs Handsome was prone to sing or whistle. My heart warmed thinking of his friendly face. He was a unique, honest individual, and I looked forward to one day sitting with him and listening to more of his stories. I believed every one of them. Handsome was nothing if he wasn’t honest.

  “Ow! That hurt.” Somehow or another I managed to tangle my tennis shoes up in hardy, thick blackberry vines. Why hadn’t I worn socks? Oh yeah, I remember now. A ghost threw my clothes out the window.

  I carefully navigated the vines and then took a moment to look around me.

  I heard squirrels chattering above me as they ran along a tangled web of tree limbs. From the look of it, there were several of them. They had a nice nest going up there. Bits of pine straw scattered down on me, a blue jay squawked at me, and I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. Just ahead about fifty feet or so, I spotted the remnants of an old wooden building, probably an old storage building or a potting shed. I walked toward it, determined to get a peek inside. It turned out that was easy to do, as the doors and windows were missing. Fragrant green vines and trees thrust through those empty spaces. Yes, the forest had claimed this old place. I ducked under a branch and walked inside, surprised to find an old wicker chair with the back missing and a glass votive that held a half-melted white candle.

  Had someone been here recently?

  I sniffed the stale air and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. It was as if someone had just left the room. I hurried to the back door, which was also missing, and peered outside through the tangle of weeds that had grown up around it. I didn’t bother calling out, and I didn’t hear anyone stirring. Surely I would have heard them. I sniffed again. Yes, definitely cigarette smoke. My breath caught as I saw a narrow wisp of the smoke vanish out the front door. And now I did call out. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  I nearly tripped over the glass candle as I walked back to the front door. I ducked down and went back outside, determined to find whoever was spying on me. But there was no one, and the scent of cigarette smoke had all but vanished. Now what? Should I go back to Thorn Hill? With so many briars and poisonous bushes around here, it was no wonder where they got the name.

  Handsome’s song ran through my head again, and I couldn’t help but hum along as I returned to my previous exploration down the narrow path. I had walked about a hundred feet or so when something caught my eye. It was a broken stone cross poking up out of the ground—that was a grave marker! It had to be!

  I inched over a broken stump and squatted down in front of the stone. The top was broken off but lay close by, half hidden in a patch of greenery. I began removing the leaves that cluttered it and ignored the stickers as much as I could. If I’d known I was going to be doing some gardening, I would have brought gloves. I could handle a little pain; I had high hopes that I would get a better glimpse of the monument. The stone felt rough and cool to the touch, and I could hardly believe it when my fingers found distinct grooves on the surface of the crossbeam.

  Yes! That was an S and a U and another S—Susanna!

  Could this be the grave marker for Susanna Dufresne? Why would such an important person be forgotten here in the woods behind Thorn Hill? Unless this had originally been a family cemetery? I glanced around and saw no obvious markers. On my hands and knees now, I brushed away piles of dried leaves and eventually found even more markers. None were as grand or as tall as Susanna’s, but they were markers all the same. Most had no discernible writing on them. After an hour, I had found seven, three with names on them besides Susanna’s. There was also an Annalee and an Ida, but I could not make out the rest of the names. Now I was exhausted, and the air felt heavier. I caught another whiff of cigarette smoke and turned my head slightly to the left and then to the right, hoping I could spy whoever spied on me.

  Nobody was there.

  I sniffed my clothing. Was it possible that somehow I had picked up the scent of cigarette smoke earlier today? I didn’t remember encountering any smokers. And that wouldn’t explain seeing it, either. I found that scenario improbable, and suddenly the scent got stronger.

  And there he was.

  A tall, slender man in a white shirt and black pants. He had long dark hair and piercing brown eyes, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. He watched me, appraised me, and even though I’d never seen him before, I knew who I was looking at.

  He was Ambrose Dufresne, and this forgotten cemetery was his garden.

  I rushed to my feet, hardly thinking about my dirt-covered blue jeans or grubby hands. I was standing twenty feet from him. He flicked away the butt of his smoke and leaned back against the decrepit wooden fence rail. Where had that come from? A bird sang, not the blue jay that had accompanied me here but a songbird. I glanced up and noticed that the sky above me had a strange, smoky sepia color
to it, as if I’d stepped into an old-fashioned picture. The forest around me darkened, but Ambrose’s skin and shirt brightened slightly. Surely that was a trick of the light.

  He flicked a match and lit another cigarette. Smoke curled around his face, hiding it for a second and making him look like some kind of magical creature. He was definitely a negative energy, a negative being, no matter how he tried to convince me otherwise. Yes, this was not a living person.

  He might be dead, but he wasn’t so dead that he couldn’t stand here smoking a cigarette watching me.

  He took a long pull on his smoke and then nodded toward the graves. “How do you like my garden?” His words chilled me. Gooseflesh rose up all over, and I heard a barely audible chorus of sighs coming from all around me and from the graves beneath me. And then came the whispering, I heard each voice whispering the same name: “Ambrose, oh, Ambrose.” Their dead voices were full of longing and desire for the one who had put them there. And I had no doubt he’d put them there. I’d dealt with spirits before, including murderous ones. They had a certain energy about them, a malevolent vibe that couldn’t be hidden. Even behind a seductive smile, which he wore quite proudly.

  “What do you want?”

  “My garden…” he said as he waved his long fingers, “how do you like it? I keep all my lovelies here.” More sighs and whispers echoed from the darkening forest around us. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as if he could sense something I couldn’t, like the spirits of the women he called his lovelies.

  “I don’t like it at all,” I said angrily.

  He blew another puff of smoke at me. “But it’s my garden. And now you’ve tended it so well. There’s room for more.” He flashed another charismatic smile, but it was empty, as empty as a dark, dry well. I felt the air swell around me and a brush against my cheek. I swatted it away.

  “You know you don’t belong here anymore. You’re dead. You burned up in the fire on the Ramparts. Don’t you know that? Why don’t you leave now and stop tormenting the Dufresne family?”

  He flicked his cigarette away and stalked toward me, his horrible dark eyes fixed on mine, but I didn’t back down. Suddenly he charged at me, and his beautiful face morphed into a disturbing picture of decaying flesh. It was as if I could see him for what he truly was, a grasping corpse who had no right to walk in this realm. As I screamed and collapsed on Susanna’s grave, he vanished. I lay on the musty ground with my hands over my head, my whole body shaking with fear. But I kept shouting, “You know you don’t belong here! You have to leave! And you can’t have Avery!”

  There was no reply. Ambrose did not appear again, but his spicy scent—like an assortment of exotic spices and a trace of smoke—lingered, evidence that he had indeed been here. Still shaking, I got up and began walking and then running back to Thorn Hill.

  Until I came upon a cigarette tossed on the ground.

  It was still burning on the pathway, and not where he originally flicked it. I don’t know why, but I squatted down and picked it up. The tip was lit, and I could feel the dampness where Ambrose’s lips had touched the cigarette. This was so bizarre! How to explain it? I felt the sudden urge to talk to Mike or Becker or even Megan. Maybe I would.

  But I wasn’t bringing this evil thing back with me. I threw the cigarette back down and crushed it under the heel of my tennis shoe before I ran all the way back to Thorn Hill.

  Chapter Thirteen – Avery

  “Please stay with me. I need you, Reed.”

  “When have you ever needed anyone, Avery Dufresne? I’m sure you’ll be okay.” He was trying to lighten the mood, shake off my request, but I wouldn’t relent.

  “I am asking, and you’re right. I don’t need you, but I want you.”

  That got his attention. Reed put his keys down on the table and half laughed. “Are you serious? Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I mean, are you really ready to take this relationship beyond where we are now? Don’t you think I should be spending my time working on finding a solution to the issue with Bray?”

  “Oh, I see. Now that there’s a question about my matroneship, you don’t have time for me. I see which way the wind is blowing here. That’s fine. Go, Reed.” My criticism felt insincere, and it was. I didn’t want him to leave me. Clearly, independent Avery (yeah, she was still in there somewhere) didn’t know how to tell him that she didn’t have the strength to fight off Ambrose any longer. That she was ready to surrender to him in ways she didn’t even understand.

  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  I did know it, but I was feeling desperate. How could I explain my inner turmoil to Reed? How could he understand how I wanted to succumb to Ambrose’s sensual scent, his soft caresses in my dreams, his seductive whispers in the night? Even though I knew he promised me nothing but death, he stirred in me a desire like I’d never known. How? Was it some sort of magic?

  I didn’t want to think about how dangerous this was for Reed, what Ambrose might do to him if given the chance. I knew I was being selfish, but I was desperate. I never identified with the gals in movies who needed rescuing, but here I was in the same position. Being too close to me would be precarious for Reed, but I didn’t much care at the moment.

  Let him go, Avery, I imagined Vertie warning me. Yes, I had to be imagining that, right?

  And I needed him. I needed to be with him so badly. I could barely admit this to myself, but Ambrose had awoken a desire so fiery within me that I had to have the touch of a human man to remember what it felt like to be loved by one. Yes, I felt desperate, but I also wanted to keep my secret. I had a decision to make.

  My soulmate.

  If Reed knew how tempted I was by Ambrose, he’d turn away disgusted. And I knew the facts. I’d been trained to study them. I knew who the villain was here. Ambrose had been Susanna’s undoing and the downfall of other Dufresne women, I gathered, although the details of their situations still eluded me. Why wouldn’t the family talk about him? It’s like they all wished they were me. They wanted to have him for themselves.

  Except for Summer. She had renounced him. Rejected him. And now he wanted me. That thought warmed me when it should have frightened me. But right now, in this moment, I chose Reed. Maybe it would work. We could make it work!

  I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, the white paint cool against my skin. I stared into Reed’s handsome face. From day one I always considered him the handsomest man I knew, better looking than even Jonah or any of the celebrities I’d ever interviewed.

  “I can’t explain, Reed. It’s been so long since I’ve, well, you know. And I…”

  I didn’t need to say another word because Reed was there. He kissed me, fevered and hungry. Yes, this was what I wanted. I wanted to feel his hot breath on my skin. His breath, not Ambrose’s. His warm tongue in my mouth. His hands on me. I fought with the zipper of my jeans, trying to step out of them.

  “Reed,” I breathed in his ear as I stood shivering and naked. Where did that chill come from? “I need you. I need to feel alive. Make me feel alive.”

  “Oh, Avery.”

  We lost ourselves in one another, and after our frenzy peaked, we somehow managed to collapse on the bed. We lay there, holding each other, still kissing, still touching. I wanted to sob with relief. Reed’s touch had burned away Ambrose’s, but for how long? I kept those strange emotions quiet, refusing to let them overtake me.

  I felt no shame; I felt no fear. I felt comforted. I was not in the least bit regretful. But I wondered about Reed. What could he be thinking? Could he know about my secret? He was quiet, running his hand up and down my arm.

  After a few minutes when he still didn’t speak, I felt like I needed to apologize or something. Maybe I had pushed him into something too fast. But before I could say a word, Reed said, “Don’t. Don’t say you regret it. Don’t say it should never have happened.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that.” I pushed my hair out of my eyes and propped myself up o
n my elbows, kissing his chest.

  “Really?”

  I smiled at him and shook my head. “I have nothing to add to what I’ve already said, counselor.” I pulled back the sheets and crawled into them completely nude, uncaring that Reed could see all parts of me. There was no sense in playing prim and proper now, was there? I leaned back on the pillow and smiled at him. “No regrets, Reed. No regrets.”

  With a sigh of relief, he slipped in beside me and put his arms around me. He kissed me, and together we lay quietly until we both fell asleep.

  I dozed off for a little while but then awoke feeling sweaty and hot. Had the air conditioning gone out in here? Beside me, Reed slept soundly even though his dark hair stuck to his forehead. I was half tempted to wake him up and cover him with kisses, but I decided to give him a break. I hopped into the shower to cool down, put on a loose nightgown and slipped out of the room to check the thermostat. Hmm…everything looked like it was working. I put my hand under a nearby vent and felt the cold air blowing. So why wasn’t it cool in my room?

  Shaking my head, I pledged to call the AC guy in the morning anyway. It was too late now, nearly eleven. Maybe it was a blockage of some kind. The least he could do was come and make sure everything was working okay. I was sure I had enough authority to at least make that phone call. Maybe. I padded downstairs and filled a pitcher of iced water. I loved this old pitcher. This old house, for that matter. It wasn’t nearly as scary as I remembered it. Nope. Not scary at all. I put the pitcher and two glasses on a tray and headed back upstairs with it. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. As I passed by Jessica’s room, I heard her talking to someone; she must have been on the phone. She spoke in low tones, and I heard concern in her voice. I paused but reminded myself not to be nosy. I had invited her here, kind of. It wouldn’t do to be a nosy Parker, as Vertie used to call the neighbors.

  “No, you don’t understand. He knows I’m here.”