by Debra Webb
At the edge of “downtown” was a small general store, its dusty parking area empty. The building wasn’t large, but it was well-maintained, clean even. As they drove by, an elderly man stepped onto the stoop, broom in hand, and vigorously swept off the steps.
“That’s where most folks get the little things they run out of now and again.” Chester nodded toward Weber’s Grocery. “Gotta go to the mainland to get your staples though. O’Mally, the fella who hauled you over, makes two runs a day from the mainland, once in the morning, once in the evening. Otherwise you gotta hire some local to run you back and forth.”
Blue had lived in one major city or the other her whole life. This was definitely a big change. No carry-out pizza, no taco stands, no Chinese takeout, no nothing.
She shook her head and amended her thinking. No, this wasn’t a big change. This was a whole different planet. Lucas had failed to mention that little detail.
The woods bordered the narrow island road for as far as Blue could see in the enveloping gloom. And, as far as she could tell, there really was only the one road, which was as bumpy as all get out. Alongside the cramped road, undergrowth was thick, the massive canopy of the trees stretching over it blocking the sun’s waning light.
She didn’t like the dark. She stiffened her spine and tamped down the budding fear. It wasn’t completely dark, she reminded herself, just gloomy. She’d be at her destination before darkness completely descended.
But one thing was a given, she wouldn’t want to be out in these woods at night. No way. She couldn’t shake the sensation of recognition, though she knew it was not feasible.
Occasionally she noticed what looked like a side road, but the foliage worked as such good camouflage that she couldn’t be sure if she’d seen anything at all. She hadn’t noticed a single house or person except for the handful of patrons at the bar and general store, and, of course, Chester.
“Here we go.”
Chester turned right, bouncing down a lane that was one pothole after the other. The woods closed in on Blue now, dark, silent and subliminally threatening. Her uneasiness escalated in spite of her conscious efforts to keep it in check.
Get a grip, she chastised herself. She might be a fish out of water in these surroundings, but she could adapt. Give her a flashlight and a nine-millimeter and she could kick anybody’s butt, even in the dark.
Finally the near-nonexistent road widened slightly. A tall wrought-iron gate crossed their path. Hinged on brick pillars that stood on either side of the lane, one side of the ornate gate was open, allowing their passage. Beyond the apparently decorative feature the compact undergrowth and the dense forest opened up into a clearing. A lush green lawn stretched for half an acre and stopped abruptly at the foundation of a towering three-story house. Blue wasn’t that up to speed on this particular architecture, but it looked old, as in antique-old—mid-1800s, if she had to guess. And a little like something from an Emily Brontë novel with its perception of beauty marred by a distinct air of evil, especially in the fading light.
Ivy carpeted a great deal of the brick exterior. Here and there resurrection fern sprouted from a crack in the centuries-old mortar. Window after window—long, wide windows—were shut tight with hurricane shutters. A crenelated tower and a parapet along the tin-shingled roofline lent a castle-like feel to the place. Wooden icicles of fretwork and other intricately carved ornamentation softened the hard exterior.
A wide verandah sprawled across the front of the house, twilight casting it in long shadows. A smaller balcony centered on the second floor. The third floor of the structure, the tower, could have been a fairy-tale turret had it been round instead of square. A tower room, she decided, feeling suddenly better. Okay, she could live with that. When she’d been a little girl she’d dreamed of being a princess and living in a castle. Her fantasy chamber had been at the very top of the spiral stairs. The tower room. She smiled faintly at the memory. She wasn’t a little girl anymore and she darned sure wasn’t a princess. Far from it. But this was nice. A little too far away from civilization, but doable on a temporary basis.
The house looked in fairly good condition, maintenancewise. But there was something unsettling about it, she decided the moment Chester turned off the truck’s engine. It was so quiet. The shutters were closed tight over the numerous windows. Another shameful waste of architectural beauty. She supposed it was Drake’s condition that necessitated the closed shutters. She swiped at her damp brow with the back of her hand and hoped there was air-conditioning. It was still hot and sticky and the sun was all but gone from sight.
As she emerged from the truck, bottles hanging from a nearby tree captured her attention. “What’re those?” she asked, closing the door behind her and pointing to the bottles in question.
Chester flicked a glance toward the tree. “Spirit bottles,” he said. “They keep the evil spirits away.”
The breeze shifted the bottles, stirring to life a clanging noise that made her shiver all over again.
“Way I hear it, they don’t do much good around here.” Chester reached for her bags and led the way up the eight steps that divided the house from the lawn.
She opted not to pursue the subject of the spirit bottles. Blue had never been superstitious, nor did she believe in any of the related mumbo-jumbo. She wasn’t about to start now.
Before they’d crossed the verandah, the intricately carved mahogany door opened wide.
“Thank you, Chester,” the man standing in the doorway, Mr. Kline, she presumed, said as he stepped back for Chester to place her bags just inside the house.
Chester touched the tip of his hat. “See you on Friday.” As he turned to leave, his gaze caught Blue’s and held for just one second. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes, sympathy maybe, before he walked away.
“Miss Callahan, I’m glad you’re here.”
Blue turned her attention back to the older, white-haired man waiting at the door. He had the same drawl as Chester, only a bit more distinguished. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a crisp white shirt and reminded her of a professor she’d once had. “Mr. Kline?”
He thrust out his hand. “Call me Lowell, please.” He gave her hand a quick, polite shake, then gestured inside. “Won’t you come in?”
To her immense relief, climate-controlled air greeted her as Blue crossed the threshold. Lowell closed the door behind her and—
It was dark.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart jolted into a faster rhythm.
“Why are the lights so low?” There was no way to miss the edge of panic in her voice. She swallowed at the rising sensation, and blinked rapidly to force her eyes to adjust.
“I’m afraid it’s something you’ll need to get used to, Miss Callahan. With Mr. Drake’s condition, the wattage allowed in any room is minimal.”
She peered at Kline in the dim light and hoped he couldn’t see the level of her disbelief as she pointed to the fixture. “This is hardly more than a beefed-up night-light.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid so. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Sure.” She plastered a smile into place. All she needed was for this guy to report back that she was uncomfortable with the conditions. “I guess it’s just a little…” She shrugged. “A little darker than I expected.” A lot darker than she’d expected.
“Your vision will adjust.” He picked up her bags before she could protest and moved toward the graceful stairs that ascended from the middle of the center hall to the second-story landing. “We’ll take your things up to your room so you can get settled.”
Forcing herself to relax, Blue’s gaze moved appreciatively over the elegant staircase. The details were obscured but looked impressive by any standards. A red or burgundy carpet runner on the wooden treads kept their footfalls silent as she followed Lowell up the stairs. He led her to the first room on the right. There were three other doors that she could see. She peered toward the far end of the hall where a second smaller sta
ircase led to the third floor. A dozen questions about the house as well as its owner sprang to mind, but they could wait.
After depositing her bags onto the bed, Lowell indicated a door across the room. A bathroom probably. “When you’ve settled in and freshened up, come downstairs and I’ll serve your dinner.”
“That would be nice.” She hadn’t bothered with lunch at the crowded airport. She’d been too psyched and ready to begin her assignment.
“Before I forget.” Lowell reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a key. He looked at it for a long moment, as if hesitant, then offered it to Blue. “This is the key to the house.”
She took it, glanced at it briefly, then lifted her gaze back to his as he added, “The exterior doors and windows are locked at all times. Never,” he pressed her with a gaze at once intense and beseeching, “ever leave one open or unlocked.” He cleared his throat. “The drapes and shutters are to remain closed at all times and no other light, not even a flashlight, is allowed. The third floor is off limits.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
His gaze was relentless now. He reminded Blue of a bear guarding her only surviving cub. He apparently needed to be absolutely certain she understood. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told about Mr. Drake’s condition, but mere minutes in bright light would kill him. For that reason, no one is allowed in the house other than myself and now you.”
“There’s no need for concern, Mr. Kli—Lowell,” she amended. “Though I don’t know all the specifics, I can assure you that I won’t do anything that will jeopardize Mr. Drake in any way.” This was her first big assignment, she had every intention of impressing the brass. But it would certainly help if she knew more particulars about Drake. She’d have to bide her time it seemed.
Lowell nodded, looking contrite. “Of course. If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to ask.” He paused at the door. “I almost forgot. There’s a case for you on the bureau.” He gestured to a massive piece of furniture near the heavily draped windows. “It was delivered yesterday.” He said it as if knowing what the case contained and finding it more than a little distasteful.
“One question.” Blue stopped him before he could get out the door. “When can I meet Mr. Drake?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Callahan.” His posture grew more rigid.
“Call me Blue,” she echoed his earlier words, hoping to penetrate the wall he’d suddenly thrown up.
“Blue,” he acquiesced, “I’m afraid Mr. Drake usually doesn’t leave his room until well after sunset. Even then he prefers his solitude. But I’m sure he’ll want to meet with you in time. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
In time? Blue pushed the disappointment away. She liked to get the feel of her assignment as quickly as possible, but pushing the subject wouldn’t help. She had to gain trust here. She needed to know Drake’s routine, his likes and dislikes. What he expected of her.
“No.” She shrugged as if considering her other options. “I can’t think of anything else I need at the moment. I’ll get settled and maybe do a little exploring before it gets too dark.”
“Very good.” He hesitated once more before leaving. “There is one other thing.”
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for yet another revelation that would hinder her ability to do her job.
“Mr. Drake isn’t pleased about this. He didn’t want protection. The fact of the matter is I’ve gone directly against his wishes allowing you here. I’m not sure your first meeting with him will be pleasant.”
Perfect. Blue smiled in hopes of relieving his evident anxiety and not giving away her own. “Not to worry. I have five ornery older brothers at home. I’m pretty good at handling that kind of macho male mentality.”
Lowell’s uncertain expression remained in place, but, to his credit, he attempted a smile. “Well, I’ll see you in a bit then.”
Blue watched him go, then slowly surveyed the spacious room with its high ceilings and period furnishings. Plain, drab, and what she decided had to be beige walls and beige bed coverings. It was hard to say for certain in the low light. No pictures or other decorating items. Judging by the room’s size, she thought it might be what was considered the master suite. A quick look into the adjoining bathroom and she was sure of it.
She exhaled a weary breath and wondered how the heck she was supposed to do her job if Drake didn’t want her here? She lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest. Easy, she decided. She’d just have to change his mind. She had a lifetime of experience charming the male of the species.
It only took Blue a few minutes to unpack her things and check out the weapons Lucas had arranged for her use. She strapped on the ankle holster, pulled her jeans leg down over it, then shrugged into her shoulder holster before going downstairs. She always felt naked without her gun. Throughout her whole life, the people she loved most had accessorized with weapons. Well, except for her mother, who’d crossed herself every time one of them walked in or out of a room carrying a gun. Though she had little tolerance for violence, Margaret Callahan was as tough as nails. She’d had to be to survive in the same house with that many cop egos.
Blue checked out the other three rooms on the second floor. All were bedrooms, one looked to be Lowell’s. Each room was as large as hers and had its own private bath. And all were dull-as-dirt beige. Lowell had hung a few pictures, of family or friends, she supposed, and on one wall was a large Georgia Bull Dogs banner. A small television set occupied the far corner. She wondered if the island had cable. Probably not.
She resisted the urge to check out the third floor. It was off limits, Lowell had said. Judging by its size, as seen from outside, Mr. Drake’s suite most likely made up the entire floor. He was probably sleeping up there right now. She shook off the vampirish images that formed in her head as she recalled Chester’s remark about the reclusive man. Time to get the lay of the land.
Her hand glided along the curved banister as she slowly descended the staircase. For the first time she noticed the finer details of the huge chandelier that hung above the center hall. It was lovely, dimly lit, but lovely just the same.
She wondered vaguely if the electrical wiring had been modified or if the lights themselves had been changed in some way to ensure that the light wattage remained so low. Though her eyes were already beginning to adjust as Lowell had said they would, it was still too dark for her liking.
But she’d deal with it.
The main parlor was just as plain and beige as the rest of the rooms. Not that she had anything against beige, mind you. But this beige monotony was unbroken by anything other than wood floors and wood trim, all the color of rich, dark coffee, like the mahogany door on the front of the house. She considered that maybe white was too reflective and most other colors too dark, thus the selection of beige. Maybe she’d ask about that. Eventually.
Thankfully the parlor’s furnishings were more contemporary and slightly more colorful. There was another television set and a stereo system. Someone liked classical music, she decided, noting the stack of CDs. A desk and computer along with row after row of book-filled shelves occupied one side of the room. Like the rest of the house, the windows were shrouded in thick draperies—even they were beige. But at least this room looked used. The brown leather sofa looked worn and comfortable and was flanked by two plaid overstuffed side chairs.
As she strayed back into the hall a whiff of something absolutely heavenly enticed her nose and made her stomach rumble. She followed the delicious scent to the kitchen at the rear of the house.
“Whatever that is, it smells great,” she commented aloud.
Lowell glanced up from the oven. “Ten more minutes and you’ll find out.” He closed the door and laid the oven mitt aside. “It’s my own secret recipe.”
Blue smiled at the note of camaraderie in his tone. “Can’t wait.” She took in the kitchen in one sweep. Modern, but not so much that it took away from the house’s overall feel
of a bygone era. “I think I’ll take a walk and get my bearings,” she announced, feeling restless and with a definite need to see the sun one last time before it disappeared for the day, leaving her to this gloom.
He nodded absently. “Don’t be long.”
Blue was careful to lock the front door behind her just as Lowell had instructed. Taking her time, she surveyed the grounds around the front of the house. The spirit bottles jangled as the breeze kicked up, drawing her attention or maybe warning her of some impending doom. She grinned and wondered if Lowell had done that, or maybe Mr. Drake under the cover of darkness just to spook the locals. But surely neither of them would be the superstitious type.
As she strolled around the house she was caught off guard again by the dark, foreboding forest that closed in on the yard from both sides. Trees, centuries old and laden with moss, towered over the thick brambles and undergrowth that cloaked all else. The distant rustle of leaves startled her, sent her backing up several steps. She executed a quick right face and marched to the backyard.
Pete’s sake, she was too old for this kind of childish behavior.
The moment she rounded the corner at the back of the house, her breath caught. The beach flowed right up to the grass, less than twenty yards from the house. The blue surf foamed white, roared and then died on the sand, dragging back only to start the whole process over again. All but a sliver of the sun had melted into the horizon, leaving vivid streaks of gold and orange to color the otherwise royal-blue sky. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air.
She wished she was barefoot as she walked through the sand, but she was on the job. She looked back at the house. God, it was beautiful. A wide screened porch had been added for enjoying the view of the Atlantic. A widow’s walk loomed high overhead. She wondered if anxious wives had used it as a lookout for their husbands returning from the sea. Or maybe the pirates and smugglers had benefited from the perfect vantage.