by Corwin, Amy
She wished her cell phone hadn’t drowned. The loss made her feel cut off and alone.
As her concern morphed into fear, she took a step back and slammed the door shut. There was no point in worrying about him—been there, done that. With a sinking feeling she realized that once more, she’d trusted someone she knew she shouldn’t trust.
He’d taken one look at the situation, eaten one lousy lunch, and hightailed it out of there.
But he had asked her if she wanted to go with him.
Which he knew she’d refuse to do, because she needed to stay at Autumn Hill fifteen hours out of every twenty-four in order to earn her share of the inheritance. Unfortunately, thanks to him, she’d arrived later than she intended today and had to stay until midnight.
Then again, maybe he’d just been delayed. Or had another flat tire.
Despite her efforts to guard her heart from more disappointment, a small voice protested her cynical assertions. She barely knew him. He deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe. She still felt like a fool to trust him, but darn it—she’d liked him. He’d seemed so nice and honest. Dependable.
He’d had competent hands and could obviously use them. He’d built his own vehicle. And a man who owned dogs couldn’t be all bad. Maybe he’d gone to visit them. Maybe one of them was sick. That might explain everything, except it still left her feeling vulnerable, disappointed, and foolish, a sensation with which she was all too familiar.
Well, she couldn’t stand here in the hall waiting for him. If they wanted something other than fish for supper, she had to talk to Sarah. She could then use one of the computers to order pizza, assuming they could get someone to deliver it. If not, she’d volunteer to cook.
Loathe to confront Sarah, Nora wandered around the house for several minutes, opening doors and growing more and more depressed at all the ornate, dark furniture and a general lack of anything she considered cheerful or normal. There wasn’t a single photo of a smiling family member. In fact, other than mirrors in elaborately carved and gilded frames, there wasn’t any art, either.
Uncle Archie did show an interest in time, however. An obsessive interest. There were clocks everywhere. Grandfather or longcase clocks, carriage clocks, china clocks, ship’s clocks, gothic clocks, cuckoo clocks, and schoolhouse clocks. Every kind of clock she could imagine clicked softly and incessantly from walls, fireplace mantles, tables, and shelves.
How on earth did Sarah find time to keep them all wound? Why did she even bother, now that Uncle Archie was dead?
It was creepy.
Nora pushed through the door Sarah had used when entering the dining room and discovered the kitchen. Or a time warp. Her hands smoothed over the hips of her sweatpants, instinctively feeling for the full skirt and frilly apron that belonged in the 1950’s room. Chunky, smooth-curved white enamel appliances lined one wall, opposite an expanse of baby-blue cabinets, white Formica countertops, and a stainless steel triple sink. A Kit-Cat clock swished its tail and ticked softly on the wall next to a second door. Black and white floor tiles and a rectangular chrome and white laminate table with four red vinyl and chrome chairs completed the retro décor.
“Sarah?” Nora stepped hesitantly into the kitchen and glanced around.
The place was spotless, and there was no evidence that the housekeeper had begun dinner preparation. After calling Sarah’s name several times, Nora walked across to one of the other doors, centered in the middle of the left-hand wall. Maybe Sarah was taking a nap or working on menus or something. Nora rapped gently and waited.
Nothing.
She knocked harder and was surprised when the door swung open. Her hands turned to ice as drops of cold sweat slid down her sides. She didn’t want to trespass on Sarah’s domain, but the open door seemed ominous, given the empty kitchen. What if something had happened to Sarah?
Nora imagined her lying on the floor, her skin growing colder and colder as her murderer hid silently in the kitchen, gleefully watching Nora’s reaction to the crime.
A quick glance over her shoulder suggested she was alone. There simply weren’t that many places to hide. Straightening, she entered the room, surprised to step onto the first wall-to-wall carpeting she’d encountered in the house. Soft, pink, deep-pile carpeting covered the floor and matched the pink roses climbing up the wallpaper and trailing over the curtains. A single bed took up the center of the room, and a white chenille bedspread trimmed with dark pink roses covered it. A white dresser stood against one wall, next to another doorway through which she could see the corner of a pink bathtub. A white highboy stood against the wall opposite from the bathroom.
She stepped closer to the highboy. A large framed picture of a marmalade domestic shorthair cat stood on a doily with white candles on either side and a small, crystal vase of flowers. The arrangement screamed shrine. On the small nightstand next to the bed was another, smaller picture of the same cat, stretched out on the bed—on top of the same chenille bedspread. Next to the picture was a plastic bottle of pills, labeled ranitidine, a generic drug used to control acid indigestion.
“What are you doing in here?” Sarah stepped into the room behind Nora.
Nora jumped and spun around to face her, hand pressed against her pounding heart. Sarah’s frowning gaze flashed around suspiciously, as if searching for signs that Nora had been snooping.
“I’m sorry—I was looking for you,” Nora stammered, feeling a hot flush rise to her cheeks. She stared at her feet before forcing her gaze up to meet Sarah’s hard eyes.
“And you just felt free to come on into my bedroom?”
“No—no, I knocked and the door swung open.” Nora cringed at the lame excuse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Sarah studied her with hard eyes before she sighed and pushed past her. When she reached the center of the room, she spun around to face her. “Well, you did intrude. And I’d appreciate it if you’d just get on out of here.”
“Sure.” Nora moved back into the kitchen.
Sarah followed her and shut her bedroom door behind them with a snap.
“I respect your privacy—really,” Nora said, feeling smaller and smaller in the face of Sarah’s sullen anger. “I didn’t realize your bedroom was right off the kitchen.”
“Where else would it be?” She eyed Nora. “Why were you here, looking for me?”
Nora smiled. “We wanted to give you a break—it’s a lot of work cooking for so many people all the time.”
“I can cook for six, same as for one,” Sarah interrupted stiffly.
“Of course.” Nora rested her fingers briefly on Sarah’s bony wrist. “But we’ve given you a lot of extra work, so we’re going to have pizza for dinner.”
“Pizza?” She made the word sound like a curse. “I don’t eat pizza.”
The image of the ranitidine on the nightstand made Nora touch her temple in reaction to the lightbulb moment. She should have realized that if Sarah took the drug, she would most likely not be able to eat pizza for dinner without suffering from acid reflux.
It might also explain the plain food she cooked.
“Is there something else you’d prefer? I can order anything you’d like.”
“I don’t know.” Uncertainty wrinkled Sarah’s forehead. “The fish is done thawing. It’s in the refrigerator. And I don’t know no one who’ll deliver way out here, ‘specially at night.”
“Well, Gabe—” Nora broke off with a frown. She’d almost given up on him. He might be on his way back. If he was, he might have a stack of pizzas on the seat next to him. She glanced around, but there didn’t seem to be a phone in the kitchen. No way to tell him not to bring the pizzas or to order something else.
Assuming he was going to return.
Maybe they could eat the pizzas tomorrow for lunch. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d eaten cold pizza.
When she looked up, Sarah was staring at her.
“I’ve got an even better idea,” Nora said
. “Why don’t you let me cook dinner? I’m in the mood for fish tacos, or something like that. We can make them to order.”
“To order?”
“We’ll just grill a few pieces of fish plain and a few pieces with spices. Then we can put an array of salsa, lettuce, and whatever else we can find on the table.”
“We don’t have no tortillas or salsa,” Sarah said grudgingly, although there was a flash of gratitude in her gaze.
“If you have baking supplies like flour, I can make little flatbreads.” She touched the woman’s wrist again. “And I can make the salsa if you have fresh tomatoes and onions. Come on. It’ll be fun and a lot less work for you. I’ll even wash the dishes.”
A faint smile curved Sarah’s lips as she agreed, and Nora almost hugged her in relief. Cooking relaxed her, and the activity was a way to keep her mind off of Gabe. She remembered the warmth of his cheek and his startled expression when she’d impulsively kissed him.
Where was he? Despite her cynicism, she was worried. He just didn’t seem like the type to cut and run without saying something.
Then again, her father hadn’t seemed like the type either, and he’d done exactly the same thing.
“Do you have a phone?” Nora asked absently as Sarah opened the refrigerator and started methodically removing the items they would need for dinner and placing them on the table.
“I got me a cell phone. Mr. James wouldn’t pay for no regular phone.” She touched her pocket.
“I’m a little worried about my friend, Gabe. May I borrow your phone?”
“I suppose so.” She didn’t sound happy about it, but she dug her phone out and handed it to Nora.
Nora prepared to dial and stopped.
Idiot. What was she thinking? She’d given him back his business card and had relied upon the number she’d plugged into her phone, which was now dead. And if she remembered correctly, Mr. Leonard had mentioned that Gabe’s number was unlisted. There was no point in searching the Internet.
What if something had happened to him? Her stomach cramped, and she took a deep breath to ease her muscles.
Why should anything have happened? He wasn’t one of the cousins. He wasn’t involved in this mess and had barely done any investigating. So he hadn’t been there long enough for anyone to suspect why he was really there.
Unless he’d already touched a raw nerve.
She refused to panic, and held out the phone to Sarah. “Sorry—I just realized that I don’t have his phone number.”
“Did you expect him to return for supper?” Sarah studied her with an unreadable expression in her gray eyes.
Nora shook her head. Talking about him would only make it worse. She grabbed for the first subject she could think of. “Yes, well, I couldn’t help but notice the pictures in your room. What was the name of your cat?”
“Socrates.” Sarah went back to the refrigerator and pulled out a clump of cilantro, a few tomatoes, and an onion. She placed the items on the table and faced Nora, her eyes blazing and mouth set in a thin line. “Mr. James didn’t like no animals. He threw Socrates…out.” A tear rolled unheeded down her lined cheek.
She didn’t have to explain what “out” meant after Nora’s fall into the moat. Her imagination supplied all the gruesome details.
She’d never met her uncle and was suddenly glad she had not. In fact, she was starting to wonder if she should even accept his money, although the irony of using an animal-hater’s money for a no-kill shelter had a sort of poetic justice that was irresistible.
“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It was ten years ago. The James family always had their own little ways. We should get this supper started.” Sarah shut her out by turning away to open the package of fish.
Although Sarah relaxed as they concentrated on preparing the food, Nora could not stop casting quick glances at the Kit-Cat clock. Her feeling of unease grew as night settled around them and turned the windows a deep black.
Where was he?
She was still distracted when they sat down to eat. Supper was a major hit with the cousins, and even Sarah seemed to enjoy her bland version of the fish taco. As they relaxed and even joked, Nora’s gaze locked on to the Ormolu clock on the sideboard. The minutes clicked by with agonizing slowness.
“Where’s your friend?” Candy pushed her plate away and picked up her cup of coffee. She studied Nora over the lipstick-stained rim as she sipped.
“He had a few errands to run,” Nora said, putting her half-eaten taco down. Her stomach clenched at the thought of eating another bite.
“Maybe he was scared away.” With a half-smile curving her mouth, Candy flicked a scornful glance at Mike. “You know, the thought of real ghosts and all.”
“B-but he’s a p-paranormal investigator,” Mike objected, looking concerned. “He w-wouldn’t be frightened. Maybe something happened to delay him. Car trouble or something.”
Nora’s hands twisted together in her lap, but she managed a calm smile, conscious of Candy’s calculating scrutiny. “I’m sure he’s fine. Just running late.”
Kirsty gave her a worried look and fiddled nervously with her silverware. She pushed her unused knife parallel to the top edge of her plate and then moved it back to the right side with one fingernail before repeating the motions. “Are you sure he left?” She sent one quick glance at Candy. “The moat—well—you know about that. Sarah explained about your accident when we sat down for lunch.”
“Really?” Nora studied Kirsty.
Kirsty’s fingers fluttered over her silverware again, moving the knife around again. “We didn’t hear it, we didn’t know what happened or we would have helped you. Right, Mike?” She cast a quick glance at her cousin.
Mike nodded quickly.
“We were playing a game. On the computer,” Kirsty continued hurriedly. She realigned the knife next to her plate. “We would have helped you if we’d known what was going on, but these walls are super-thick. Half the time, you can’t even hear anyone walking in the hallway right outside.”
Mike cleared his throat and frowned.
Before he could speak, Kirsty rushed on and said, “I mean, down here. Upstairs, you can hear people in the hallway and all. Well, you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” Nora said. Despite her calm voice, she felt annoyed. Her cousins should have been there to greet her, not sitting around a computer, playing games. It felt like a snub, doubly so when both Kirsty and Mike stared at their plates with faint red patches covering their cheeks. They, at least, felt a little ashamed over their lack of interest in her. Candy and Drew just smiled like a pair of cats sunning themselves on the windowsill. Nora cleared her throat. “And Gabe didn’t fall in the moat when he left. I saw him drive away.”
“I don’t think you caught what Kirsty meant. Dear Uncle Archie didn’t build that moat to keep people out,” Drew said, leaning back and watching her with a slight smile and a malicious gleam in his brown eyes. “Although it did delay your arrival, didn’t it?” He paused but continued before Nora could respond. “He built it to keep people in. To control who left and when.”
“And you should know, right, Drew?” Candy asked in an overly sweet voice. “You came here often enough, hoping for a few handouts.”
“No more than you, sweetheart,” Drew said.
“M-maybe Uncle Archie’s g-ghost didn’t want him to leave. Maybe he’s still here somewhere.” Mike glanced around as if Gabe might be hiding in one of the shadowy corners.
Nora stood up. “He’s fine. Honestly. Let me help you with the dishes, Sarah.”
After they’d cleared the table and washed the dishes, Nora went out to the front door again. Mike’s comment about Archie’s ghost haunted her.
The dog ramp was missing. She searched the hallway and returned to open the door and study the black, gaping hole in the bridge.
Nothing. The ramp was simply gone.
Drew said that Archie liked to control his guests, or
anyone arriving or departing. He particularly didn’t like them to leave without his permission.
And he was a cruel, vindictive man. Had his spirit returned and taken the first step to isolate them at Autumn Hill?
No. She couldn’t think like that. She didn’t believe in the paranormal. Maybe she hadn’t seen the ramp because of the darkness outside. She flung open the massive front door again.
Intense cold filled the hallway as blackness rushed inside, seeming to dim all the lights and lengthen the shadows masking the hallway’s corners. An icy breeze rippled over her skin, and the sense of someone watching her grew so strong she almost whimpered.
“Is anyone there?”
Silence. When she looked around, all she saw was the darkness that turned even blacker at the line of trees surrounding the house. She was alone in the hallway, and yet the sensation of being observed intensified, tightening her nerves.
Where was he? At least when Gabe was around, she didn’t feel quite so alone.
Or afraid.
She crossed her arms, gripping her elbows and hugging them as she waited for her eyes to adjust. The moat was a wide, black band at her feet, unbroken by the silver-gray metal of the ramp. It really was gone. A light breeze rustled through the trees outside, making the darkness ripple with movement.
Was someone watching her? Waiting in the blackness?
A blanket of cold fear settled over her shoulders, dripping icy water down her back.
Gabe, where are you? Don’t leave me here alone—please.
Chapter Eight
Gabe woke up wrestling with the crisp sheets that held him down. The light hurt his eyes. He blinked and looked around. A hospital bed. His heart accelerated. What time was it? A sense of urgency roared over him, making his head pound. He shifted in the bed, trying to sit up. His muscles felt like rubber. He groaned.
Where was Nora?
The one window in the small room showed only darkness and a faint reflection of his pale face and the white expanse of his bed. He swung his legs out of bed and pressed his fist against his head. The throbbing centered in his left temple increased until his eyes watered.