“They were playing ‘Waiting for a Girl Like You’—I’ll never forget it: that song was the theme for the prom, and the queen and king had just been crowned. They were supposed to dance together first, then the rest of their court was to join in, couple by couple—and it all went to hell,” Regina said. “No one was dancing, Kristen was screaming awful things at Marcus while he stood there laughing at her, and then she left. Walked out, crying, and left the prom, all by herself.
“The high school isn’t far from our neighborhood—only two miles or so. You can see it from Shenstone House, actually. It’s just beyond the woods that butts up to the bottom of your hill and goes along Faraday Street. Oh, and Kristen’s family never owned Shenstone,” Underwhite added for Leslie’s benefit, “which is another reason people didn’t believe there are jewels belonging to Red Eye Sal hidden there.”
“I tried to go with Kristen, to talk to her,” Regina said quietly. “But she didn’t want anyone around, and my date…well, he encouraged me to let her leave by herself if that was what she wanted. I did make him take me home then, and we looked for her on the way to give her a ride, but we didn’t see her. No one did.” When Leslie glanced at Underwhite, Regina said, “Oh, it wasn’t Aaron who talked me out of going after her. It wasn’t until later that I realized what a great guy he was.”
“A damned sight nicer than Colter Bray,” Underwhite commented, shaking his head. “I would have sent you after Kristen if you’d been my date.” He looked at Leslie, giving a wry smile. “I didn’t have a chance with the likes of Regina van Arndt when we were in school. I was an acne-faced nerd, and that was long before nerds and geeks were made cool by The Big Bang Theory.” He laughed, and Regina laughed with him and patted his hand.
“Anyway, that big fight broke up the dance,” Trib said. “The blowout between the most popular and well-liked girl in the school and her asshole of a boyfriend. No one liked Marcus Levin unless he was on the football field. Or running by in shorts,” he muttered. “And no one really knew what the fight was about.”
“So Kristen left the dance by herself, wearing the topazes, upset and angry and crying…and she was never seen alive again,” Underwhite said, finishing off the story.
Leslie, who’d been expecting an unpleasant end to the story, frowned. “Did they determine what happened?”
After a moment, Regina spoke. “Late the next day, they found her body in the woods not far from the main road between the school and town. The topazes were gone.”
“They think it was a robbery, plain and simple,” said Underwhite. “She was still fully clothed and had died from a broken neck. There was evidence of a blow to the back of the head, too—we all followed the story, of course; I remember it like it was yesterday.” He reached over and covered Regina’s hand with his own. “We all liked Kristen. It was so awful.”
“So they never caught anyone?” Leslie asked.
“No. And the topazes never showed up anywhere either—they must have been removed from their settings and sold separately, or are hidden away in someone’s safe,” said Trib.
After a few moments of everyone quietly eating, Orbra spoke. “So now that you’ve found those paintings, there is evidence that there actually were other jewels in Red Eye Sal’s collection.”
“I wonder if they’re hidden in that secret room,” Iva said just as her husband slid back into his chair next to her. He murmured an apology, and dove into the pizza. “Or if there are other secret rooms in the house! I really do need to come over and look, Leslie. Will you be home tomorrow? Can I come by?”
“I’ll be there all day—except I think I’m being dragged—er, taken to—the football game at the high school tomorrow night.” Leslie grinned at Cherry.
“What’s this about secret rooms?” Hollis asked, then sighed with satisfaction as he enjoyed his pizza. “Hardly ever get to eat like this at home.”
“Only two pieces, darling,” Iva reminded him. “You know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.”
“Right.” Hollis rolled his eyes at her. “Where is this secret room you found, Leslie?”
“It’s under the main stairway in the foyer. Probably the people coming to the speakeasy would walk right in the front door and then head below through the secret doorway. You have to kind of duck your head and climb down—it’s not much more than a hole in the floor that leads to a spiral staircase.”
“Did you have to take the staircase apart to get to it? How did you even know to do that?” Underwhite asked.
“No, Declan just pulled away a section of the wall at about the midsection of the stairs.”
“Oooh…what was Declan doing at your house?” asked Trib with a wicked smile.
“He’s restoring the wrought iron stairway—the one in the front foyer.”
“That’s a big job,” Regina said, looking at Leslie with raised brows. “And an expensive one. I hope you don’t need him to replace the whole thing—surely it would be thousands of dollars. Remember when I was working with Bayley Brothers on the remodel at Kendall Street, darling? We had wrought iron work done there, but that was before Declan Zyler moved back to town. It was very pricey.”
“Yes, but the railing is old, and of course Leslie doesn’t want to take the chance anyone could get injured,” Cherry said.
“And in order to keep my historical home designation, it has to be restored in the original manner. So, yes, it will be expensive. Maybe I’ll find the missing jewels and that will pay for it,” Leslie said with a chuckle.
As the others joined in, John Fischer spoke up: “Well, I for one would like to see this secret room. If you’re giving tours to others”—he nodded toward Iva—“can you count me in? Sounds like a great idea for a book.” He gave Leslie a subtle wink—as if everyone at the table hadn’t figured out he was a writer—and selected another slice of pizza.
“Sure. Why don’t you come over at eleven tomorrow morning? Anyone else?” she asked, half laughing as she looked around the table.
“I’d love to, sweetie, but I’ll be here mixing up my crack pizza sauce. With its five secret ingredients,” said Trib with a wicked smile. “For sure another time.”
The Underwhites demurred, as well as Orbra (“Lunchtime’s busy, you know”), and Cherry groused that she had to teach a Pilates class at noon.
“You can come over tonight and look,” Leslie suggested to her aunt. “It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Not tonight—remember, you said you’d help me move those display cabinets at the studio?” Cherry said. “Or now that you found an exciting secret room, maybe you don’t have time for your auntie anymore.” She pretended to pout.
“Right. Sorry. I forgot you turn into a pumpkin at nine.”
“If you got up at four thirty so you could teach yoga at six, you wouldn’t make fun,” Cherry told her.
“I have no idea why you need an hour and a half to get ready in the morning,” Leslie said. Ever since she’d left the corporate world, she’d happily slept in till at least seven and spent less than a half-hour showering, dressing, and doing her hair—a great improvement over the ninety minutes she used to take to do her hair and makeup, and dress in pressed suits and Italian pumps every morning.
She was never going back to that world.
“We’ll be over tomorrow at eleven,” said Iva, standing as her husband tossed a couple of twenties onto the table. “But speaking of tunring into pumpkins…I’m about there myself. Good night, all.”
The dinner party broke up rapidly after that, and Leslie walked with Cherry out the door of Trib and across the almost deserted main street, down the block, then around the corner to her second-floor yoga studio. It took a little less than an hour to move the display cabinets that held books, tees, yoga pants, and fitness accessories—and for her to fill in a few more details about the speakeasy and Declan Zyler.
“I wouldn’t let what Reggie said about Emily Danube stop you,” Cherry said as she locked up the studio.
> “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Stop playing dumb, sweet pea. I’m your favorite aunt and you’re my favorite niece—”
“I’m your only niece—”
“And that’s beside the point. Only a straight man or a lesbian wouldn’t see the point in getting to know a guy like Dec Zyler a little—well, a lot—better. So unless you find out otherwise, assume there’s absolutely nothing going on with him and Emily Danube.”
“Right, auntie. Whatever you say.” Leslie popped a kiss onto Cherry’s cheek then headed off to her car.
She had to admit, she’d taken her time rearranging the cabinets and chatting with her aunt. She suddenly found she wasn’t all that eager to return to a large, dark, empty house alone.
For the first time since moving in, Leslie was fully aware of how isolated Shenstone was, up on its low hill, surrounded by a generous, forested area. Even though the town was less than a mile away, the house felt farther away from everything because it was higher up and shrouded in woodlands.
And now that she’d learned about Kristen van Gerste—hadn’t her body been found in the same wooded area? Farther away, closer to the highway, but still…
“That was thirty years ago,” Leslie told herself out loud as she turned down her street.
And then there was the movement in the brush she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—just before she left tonight, while she was navigating down the S-curved drive.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she lectured herself as she nosed her Mercedes into the driveway. It was probably a deer. Or a dog. Or a figment of her imagination.
Who wouldn’t be on edge after having the bejesus scared out of her by Declan Zyler showing up at her window?
Leslie didn’t see anything out of place as the car crunched up the drive (going to have to get it paved before winter, she thought), and her high-beam headlamps spread a large and comforting semicircle as she turned into the parking area.
The lights were on inside, just as she’d left them, and her house looked as inviting and homey as usual. Feeling relieved, and rather foolish for her apprehension, she climbed out of the car, keys jangling in her hand.
But Leslie had just reached the back door when, from the corner of her eye, she caught a movement at the edge of the woods. She spun around, heart in her throat, just as the bushes shook and trembled.
Something was there.
~ EIGHT ~
* * *
Leslie stifled a shriek just as the largest cat she’d ever seen bolted out of the bushes and tore across the yard. She had only a glimpse of a taffy-colored, bushy-furred feline, and then it was gone. Back into the darkness, leaving the bushes shuddering in its wake and Leslie weak-kneed with her heart thudding.
“Well,” she said when her lungs started working again. “Well, that was fun.”
She stood there for a moment, wondering what had caused the cat to burst from the woods at top speed, then dart back into the night. Had something been chasing it?
The night was still. Not even a breeze to ruffle through the leaves or stir her hair. The warm glow of lamplight spilled from the kitchen window, and Leslie let herself in at last.
She gave one last look out into the night, wondering if the cat had been a stray (she hadn’t seen a collar when it streaked past her), then closed the door.
Inside the kitchen, where the new-grout and -paint smell still lingered and the appliances gleamed, she made a pot of camomile tea (Orbra would approve) and sat down with her laptop to research Red Eye Sal and his lost jewels. Tomorrow she’d take photos of the paintings, and see if she could determine who the artist had been.
By eleven, she had found several interesting sites and articles, and was also yawning. It had been a long day and tomorrow would be just as busy. Leslie already regretted agreeing to break up her morning by giving a tour of the speakeasy room to Iva and John Fischer, but she’d committed, and that was the plan. Hopefully they wouldn’t stay long.
And then tomorrow night was the high school football game. Leslie couldn’t even remember how she’d been wrangled into going—oh, right. It was Homecoming, and Orbra’s Tea House was one of the sponsors. They were going to be giving away samples of hot cinnamon spice tea to the attendees. Leslie hadn’t graduated from the local high school, but she knew it was going to be the event of the week. She wondered if Helen Galliday would go and thwack her way through the rows of bleachers with her cane.
Just as Leslie was climbing into bed, she remembered she hadn’t told Cherry and Orbra about the pink velvet stole and glove she’d found in the stair railing. She’d show Iva in the morning, and maybe one of the ladies would have an idea about the origin of those pieces of clothing, and why they’d been stuffed inside the stairway.
So many things to do…so many things to think about…the least of which was launching her new bed and breakfast business…
She must have slept, for all at once, Leslie was suddenly aware. Her eyes flew open wide and her heart thudded with the shock of an abrupt awakening. There’d been a noise…a loud, tumbling, rolling sound.
Inside the house.
She sat up, listening hard. Silence.
Her hands were clammy. She felt utterly out of sorts, having been snatched from the depths of deep sleep. It was two a.m., according to her clock.
“Maybe something fell over in the front room,” she told herself, happy to break the silence with her own voice—though she didn’t speak very loudly. It was probably something just like the broom that had fallen earlier tonight and caused her to get all wigged out.
But that hadn’t sounded like a broom. It was heavier. And it thudded and clattered and clumped, as if it were rolling across the floor.
Could part of the stair railing have come loose and tumbled to the ground?
Leslie forced herself to climb out of bed, reaching for her cell phone and the pepper spray she kept handy. Just in case. Armed with both, sliding into her clogs (she felt less vulnerable without bare feet), she crept out of her bedroom and through the office attached to the kitchen.
Wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, she walked soundlessly across the kitchen and into the hallway that led to the foyer. It was chilly—really quite cold—out here. Did the furnace need repair now too?
Or maybe it was just fear and nerves that caused goose pimples to erupt everywhere on her, and the tip of her nose and fingers to go icy.
Still gripping her phone in one hand, the pepper spray in the other, she made her way down the hall. She could see a glimpse of the foyer ahead, dark and shadowy without any hint of light other than the faintest glow from a small, low nightlight she’d plugged in at the juncture of hall and foyer.
Just before she reached the front entrance, Leslie paused. Listened, then caught her breath. In the distance, she heard a sound…soft and melodious. Music?
From where? Now her breath was coming in short, quick puffs…and she was so cold it felt as if she were encased in a block of ice.
The music was louder now, more discernible. It seemed to be coming from the foyer. Heart ramming so sharply she felt it jolting her whole ribcage, Leslie swallowed hard. Then she stepped forward and peered around the corner to look into the high-ceilinged entry hall.
Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. But the music was definitely coming from…upstairs? Her breath catching, Leslie looked up at the wide, swooping curve that ended above and across the room in a balcony overlooking the foyer.
There was something there.
Something…light. Glowing. Shimmering.
Her heart was lodged fully in her throat by now; Leslie couldn’t have screamed if she’d wanted to. The music was louder now…it sounded familiar…soft and subtle and haunting.
Leslie fumbled with her phone and turned on the flashlight to beam it up toward the glow at the top of the stairs. Not that the wimpy illumination from her phone projected very far. And whatever it was up there, it wasn’t moving. It was just…
standing there. A shapeless column, shimmering softly in a pale, pearly glow.
Now that she had some light, Leslie could see how cold the room was: her breath was visible. It wasn’t just fear that made her shiver and tremble. The temperature had dropped, suddenly and sharply, and Leslie—confronted by this glowing image—realized she was either looking at a supernatural phenomenon, or someone was playing an elaborate trick on her.
“Who’s there?” she called, still gripping the pepper spray. She couldn’t make herself move any closer to the steps, however. “Show yourself!”
At her words, the column—that glowing image—seemed to shift and move…and then all at once, it was coming toward her, down the stairs, rapidly and loudly.
Leslie couldn’t control herself; she shrieked and stumbled backward, catching herself with her hands on the ground as the sounds of thudding, rolling, tumbling filled her ears, filled the entire foyer. Underscored by the familiar music, the noise echoed in the space until the nebulous entity reached the bottom of the stairs and swooped around the space…then disappeared.
Everything was still.
The music stopped.
The glow was gone.
Even her breath no longer created fog, for the temperature rocketed back to normal.
But lingering in the stillness was the faint scent of a woman’s perfume.
A sweet, floral scent that Leslie didn’t wear.
________
Declan pulled up the driveway of Shenstone House at eight o’clock the morning after he’d scared the crap out of Leslie van Dorn.
He hoped he wasn’t too early, but his day started pretty much with dawn, getting Stephanie out the door for school before seven, then downing his first cup of coffee, reading the news, and doing administrative work online.
He suspected a go-getter like Ms. van Dorn would be up early as well, but still, maybe he should call first. Just in case she was still in bed. Or in the shower. Or better yet, just getting out of the shower—
The Gems of Vice and Greed (Contemporary Gothic Romance Book 3) Page 9