Moriah's Landing Bundle

by Amanda Stevens

  They had to save Becca before it was too late.

  BECCA WOULD HAVE LOVED to have clean clothes to step into after her shower, but she had no choice. Tossing her wet towel over the rack, she slipped back into the same things she’d had on yesterday—all except for the blood-stained pullover. The colored shirt she’d worn under the sweater was faded and worn, but it would have to do. The jeans were fine, though still smeared with her blood. And the toothbrush Richard had provided was a godsend.

  There was no hairbrush, but she made good use of the comb she’d had in her purse, working to untangle the mass of hair until it fell in smooth waves over her shoulders. That and a touch of the lip gloss that she always carried and she felt presentable enough for the detective.

  Once she was dressed she went back to the guest room, stared out the window until she was thoroughly bored—about five minutes—then decided to stroll through the house. She’d pretty much seen this part of the house on her walk through with David the other day, but there were countless other areas that she hadn’t explored.

  Pans banged and clattered in the kitchen, and the steady whir of a vacuum cleaner drifted from somewhere down the hall. The noise and activity level made the place seem much less intimidating than it had on her first visit, and Becca hesitated only a minute before heading down the carpeted hall.

  The moldings were painted a dusty cream, or else they’d yellowed to that color over the years, and the wallpaper was a muted flower pattern. Antique brass sconces, probably original to the house, had been converted to electricity, each with a tiny bulb that gave off a shimmery glow that made lacy patterns of light and shadow to illuminate the long hallway. She stopped at the first closed door and hesitated only a minute before easing it open. After all, Richard had said to make herself at home.

  Another guest room, she guessed, judging from the lack of any personal touches. The headboard of the bed was elaborately carved with angels cavorting among rolling clouds and the mattress was covered with a flowered quilt, the stitching meticulous. An antique secretary stood against one wall, and a china pitcher and bowl sat on a mahogany stand near the heavily draped window.

  She could easily imagine the room having looked the same way for the last hundred or so years. It still boggled her mind that the house had been built stone by stone in the 1600s, and for most of that time, the house had stayed in the Pierce family. David had been the first man to break the continuity of ownership. For the first time, she began to understand why the Pierces were so bitter about his living in the house.

  First the house, then Tasha. He had claimed two of their most precious possessions, and at least some of them had never forgiven him.

  She closed the door behind her, walked past a few more doors and then opened another. Apparently this room had been used as a child’s playroom at some point in time. An antique doll cradle sat in the center of the room, and resting inside was a delicate porcelain doll dressed in a white christening gown. An army of carved wooden soldiers marched across a brass-hinged chest and a stack of leather-covered classics lined a mahogany bookcase, with all the books at a child’s eye level. Shaggy teddy bears sat in miniature chairs at a table graced with a child’s china tea set, and a metal tricycle stood as if ready for a tyke to crawl aboard and take off.

  Her favorite room, hands down, Becca decided as she closed the door and stepped away and continued down the carpeted path, her mind playing with the idea of raising children in house so large and rambling, you’d have a difficult time finding them if they ever decided they didn’t want to be found. In fact, if she wasn’t careful she could get lost herself, especially here where the hallway intersected with another, offering three options.

  If she continued straight, the surroundings looked the same as the way she’d come, the same lighting, the same carpeting, a similar series of closed doors on either side of the hall. To the right, the hall was unlit, and worn carpet the color of old blood trailed off toward what appeared to be a dead end.

  To the left was a staircase that led to the second floor. She hesitated and then started climbing the steps, slowly, serenaded by the creaking of old boards. With each step, she seemed to be leaving behind what little life and activity the Bluffs provided. Fear chased along her nerve endings, quick, frigid, a reminder that she was entering a vast area of isolation where she’d never been before.

  All but one of the doors along the hallway were closed. She moved toward it, then stopped instantly. A draft rolled across her, and she turned slowly, looking for the source of the cold air. There didn’t seem to be one.

  Richard’s words flashed through her mind. Unexplained cool spots. It was downright creepy, and if there hadn’t been the one open door up ahead, she’d have rushed back to the main part of the house.

  And that would be stupid, she told herself. The house was centuries old. There could be any number of logical reasons for the draft she felt. She just couldn’t think of them right now, but she might, if she knew what was inside the room that she was standing near.

  Fitting her hand around the polished brass doorknob, she twisted, expecting the door to open as it had with the other rooms she’d peeked inside. This time, the circle of brass didn’t move. Neither did the door. A locked room. Not so unusual in a house this size, but she did wonder why this one was locked and all the others hadn’t been. Who was David keeping out?

  She glanced at her watch. Eleven-thirty. Detective Megham was running late or else he was already here and no one knew where to find her. Well, it wouldn’t hurt him to wait a few minutes, and she did want to at least glance inside the room with the open door, though it meant walking almost the length of the hallway. She all but ran the last few yards.

  Her breath caught, then released in a slow, steady sigh as she stepped inside the door and got her first glimpse of one of the most remarkable views she’d ever seen. The haze had been burned away by the sun, and the water in Raven’s Cove was a dazzling shade of turquoise, the surface studded with glittering diamonds.

  Best of all, the view wasn’t sabotaged by trees or scrubby brush. She could see the rocks that jutted below the cliff, the water dancing along the rims of the hard, jagged edges before splashing back to the sea. There were a couple of sailboats out today, taking advantage of the calm and the Indian summer weather.

  The view had her so spellbound that it was several minutes before she turned to scan the rest of the room. Obviously, she was in a library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined every wall and two large desks flanked the center of the room. Stepping over to the bookshelves, she scanned the titles. Book after book about serial killers and crime-scene investigations and murders.

  Walking to the desk, she let her gaze drop to an open file. The name Joyce Telatia was printed in black ink along the tab. Joyce Telatia. The name was familiar, but it took her a minute to remember where she’d heard it before. When she did, a sinking sensation settled in her stomach.

  Joyce had been the fourth young woman murdered twenty years ago, the third of the three whose killer had never been caught. Becca flipped open the file and picked up the first sheet of paper and read the scribbled notations under Joyce’s name. Blond hair. Five feet six inches tall. Blue eyes. Small boned. A hundred and twenty pounds.

  It had to be Joyce’s description, but it could have been Becca’s. Twenty years ago Joyce had been the victim, and just yesterday Becca had barely missed being run from the road and killed in a deliberate car crash. The night before that, she’d narrowly missed being attacked less than a block from her home.

  “Are you looking for something?”

  She jumped at the sound of David’s voice, then let her gaze circle the room. Finally she located him, in the back corner of the room, away from the light, standing so that his whole right side was hidden from view by a huge brass statue.

  “I didn’t know you were in here. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You’re a long way from the guest room, Becca. Are you lost?”

>   “No.” She wouldn’t be intimidated or frightened by him. “Richard said I should make myself at home. I was doing that.”

  “So I noticed. Do you know who Joyce Telatia is?”

  “The fourth murder victim from twenty years ago. But why are you so interested in her, David?”

  “Everyone in Moriah’s Landing is interested in the murders. Reliving the horror is our community pastime.” He buried his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. “I don’t want to seem inhospitable, Becca, but this part of the Bluffs is off-limits. Not only this room, but this whole section of the house.”

  “Will it still be off-limits if I accept your invitation to live here?”

  “It will always be off-limits. I’d like for you to forget the things you saw in here today, and I’ll have to ask you not to come back into this room—ever.”

  Some people even believe David was the one who committed the murders twenty years ago.

  Larry’s words crept through her mind, and she had to hold on to the edge of the desk for support as a wave of nausea overtook her. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to concentrate on the facts. David had lived in Moriah’s Landing at the time of the murders, had first-hand access to everything that was going on. He’d even been questioned in the deaths, adequate reason for him to be interested enough in this murder to have collected the information surrounding it.

  “I don’t think I’d like to live in a house with so many secrets,” she said, backing toward the door.

  “All of us have secrets, even you.”

  “Hidden away in the dark corners of my mind, perhaps, but not locked inside rooms. And I’m not intentionally hiding my past. I just can’t find it to claim it.” Still, she backed toward the door. “It wouldn’t help your case any if Detective Megham was to see the files or the books in this room.”

  “I wasn’t planning on inviting him in. But I do want you to stay, Becca. I want you here, living at the Bluffs so that I can watch over you and keep you safe. I know that you asked Richard to take you home, but I’m asking you to reconsider. Please. Stay here with me.”

  A minute ago, fear had coursed through her veins and apprehension had strangled her. But now his voice reached out to her, his piercing eyes held her captive.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.”

  She turned and all but ran down the hall, taking the steps two at a time. Bewitch-ed.

  The word became three syllables and pounded in her head like a rampant mantra as she rounded the turn in the hallway and headed back for the main section of the house. That’s how Claire would describe Becca’s bizarre attraction to David. As for Becca, she couldn’t explain it at all.

  Richard was waiting for her at the door to the guest room. “You have visitors.”

  “Detective Megham.”

  “No. He called and said he’s been detained by a new emergency. It’s Claire Cavendish and a young man named Larry Gayle.”

  “Oh, no, not Claire. Not here. Does Claire seem all right?”

  “To the contrary. She seems extremely upset. They declined to come in so I suggested they wait for you under the gazebo in the garden.”

  “Thanks, Richard.”

  She stopped in the kitchen for a glass of ice water before heading out to the gazebo. If it had been later than noon, she’d have opted for a stiff drink. Claire visiting the Bluffs when just a glimpse of the place made her tremble in fear. There was no way in the world this was going to be good.

  Chapter Eleven

  Larry’s muscles flexed and released in rapid succession, making his breathing shallow and his chest ache as if someone had pounded a fist into his rib cage. Claire sat a few feet away, perched on the edge of a circular garden bench that had been built into the gazebo.

  She was weak and yet determined, whimpering like a sick puppy one minute, insisting they had to save Becca the next. He’d never seen her like this, a cross between the preabduction Claire and the empty husk of humanity she’d sunk into right after the attack.

  He felt like a heel for bringing her up here and putting her through this, even though it was her idea. But Becca was so protective of Claire, she might leave David Bryson just to relieve Claire’s fears.

  Claire turned and looked back toward the Bluffs. “What do you think is taking her so long?”

  “Who knows? I can’t even imagine what she’s doing in there. No woman in their right mind would willingly spend the night with that freaky lunatic.”

  “Becca doesn’t see him that way. He’s bewitched her the same way he did Tasha.”

  “And we know how Tasha ended up.”

  Bitterness rolled and bucked inside him. He’d been crazy about Tasha Pierce and finally gotten her to go out with him a time or two. Then the hotshot doctor had moved back to town and bought the Bluffs. And one look from David was all it had taken. Crook his little finger and Tasha had fallen faster and harder than a sky diver with a ripped parachute. Now Becca was making the same stupid mistake, and just when he was hoping they would become more than friends.

  He looked up at the sound of crunching leaves. Becca was hurrying across the lawn in their direction, her blond hair catching the wind and dancing in the sunlight. She was staring at him as if she wouldn’t mind running an ice pick through his heart. And still she looked beautiful.

  Damn David Bryson. But he wouldn’t win this time. Larry would see to that.

  BECCA WALKED RIGHT PAST Larry and sat down next to Claire. She put an arm around her thin shoulders and hugged her before directing her full attention to Larry. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. You know how this place upsets her.”

  Claire turned to Becca, her eyes glossy, as if someone had sprayed a fine film over them. “He didn’t bring me, Becca. I called him. I couldn’t leave you up here with that monster.”

  “Look at me, sweetie. I’m fine. David’s not a monster. He’s my friend.”

  “No. He’s just pretending to be your friend. Please, Becca, come with us. While you still can.”

  Claire was trembling, and Becca’s heart ached just seeing her in this condition. But Claire was sick. She needed help and understanding, not being dragged around by Larry Gayle on a rescue mission that had no basis. She hugged Claire again and then walked over to Larry, not stopping until they were practically toe-to-toe. “I’m sorry about your car, Larry, but it wasn’t my fault. Someone ran me off the road. Still, I’ll pay whatever the insurance doesn’t cover.”

  “If I’d known you were driving up to the freak’s castle, I would never have let you borrow the damn car.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry about that, too, but I had to see him.”

  “So it seems. A nice little tryst with the devil. You must like it since you’re still here.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yeah. Then why don’t you tell me what it’s like, ’ cause that’s sure how it looks to me and how it’s going to look to everyone else in town.”

  The insinuation twisted inside her, probably because it wasn’t that far from the truth. But whatever she felt for David, it was none of Larry’s business. She struggled to keep her tone calm, for Claire’s sake. “I want you to take Claire home now, and don’t bring her out here again.”

  A high-pitched wail, sounding more like the squawk of a bird than a young woman, pierced the morning air. “No. No. No.”

  They both turned to Claire. She was hugging her arms around her chest and rocking back and forth. She stopped when she saw them looking at her and put a hand out toward Becca.

  “Please come with us. Please. This place is part of the evil. I can feel it right here.” She placed both hands over her chest as if holding her heart in place.

  Becca dropped to her knees at Claire’s feet and took Claire’s trembling hands in hers. “The fear is in your mind. This is just a house, Claire. Nothing more than stones and wood and glass.”

  “No!” She shook her head almost violently.
“It’s more than that. Tasha came here and she died here.”

  “Tasha was killed in an explosion. That had nothing to do with the house or with David.”

  “Please, just come with us, Becca.”

  “I can’t. Not yet. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine and you will, too. You just need to take your medicine and get some rest.” She stood and walked back to Larry, standing close so that she could keep her voice low. “Do you see what you’ve done? How could you bring her here knowing how upset she’s been since the near attack the other night?”

  “She wanted to come.”

  “She’s out of her head. Take her home and be gentle with her. Don’t say anything else to upset her.”

  “I’m not the one who’s upsetting her. You are. You’re upsetting all of us and behaving totally irresponsibly. We’re not leaving here without you.”

  Her anger spun out of control. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions about where I go and whom I go with.”

  He wrapped his hand around the soft muscles of her upper arm. “I’m driving you home. I’m not losing my woman to some freaking madman again.”

  His woman? Emotions knotted inside her, then swelled until she thought she might explode. “I was never your woman, Larry. We were friends, and that’s all.”

  “We would have become more if that hideous beast hadn’t taken over your mind.”

  Becca’s muscles tensed to the point of aching. Claire, Larry, a killer in a McFarland Leary mask—all slipping over the edge of sanity—or else she was. She tried to pull away from Larry, but his fingers dug into her flesh and he twisted her arm until pain shot up the muscles and into her shoulders. She could scream for help, but that would only upset Claire more.

  “Whose car are you in?” she asked, looking around and not seeing a vehicle.