Sinister Secrets

by Colleen Gleason

  “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 Delton.”

  “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 wooded, 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.

  Seven

  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 chamomile 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 Maxine Took 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 Nakano.

  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. Nakano 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—

  Declan surprised himself with a sudden smile.

  Maybe he wouldn’t call.

  Maybe he’d take his chances.

  Well, now—that was an unexpected train of thought. He scratched his newly shaven chin thoughtfully then figured, what the hell? If he got the chance to see the hot celebrity CEO in a towel—or even her nightshirt—it wouldn’t be the worst way to start the day.

  He climbed out of his truck and walked across the parking area, pausing briefly to consider whether he should go to the front door or the kitchen. There was a rustling in the bushes, and he turned to see a huge cat—thirteen, maybe fourteen pounds—prowling out from the tall, brown grass like a miniature lioness.

  The cat paused when he saw Declan, then went about his business—which seemed to be exploring around the trash cans. Looking for food, probably—

  “Oh, no,” Declan said when he got a better look at the creature. There were missing patches of hair, and his tail was bent. The top third dangled like a forlorn flag, and he was limping.

  “You poor thing. What happened to you?” He crouched and called softly, “Here, kitty. Come here, kitty.”

  The cat paused its exploration of the tightly closed trash cans to consider his offer. Declan called a few more times and made crooning noises while the feline’s pair of golden-brown eyes watched him mistrustfully. When he made the mistake of inching toward the cat, however, the tabby had enough and bolted away from the trashcans, darting through a hole under the wraparound porch.

  “Damn,” he muttered, and made his way over to peer through the broken latticework around the base of the porch. He had his head under the edge and was shining his phone flashlight into the darkness when the kitchen door flew open with a sudden and loud swish.

  He jolted upright, banging his head as the cat darted even further into the darkness. Declan eased out from under the porch, the back of his skull throbbing and cobwebs clinging to his hair and shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” Leslie Nakano was dressed in neither a nightshirt nor a towel, and she did not appear pleased to see him.

  In fact, even though she was in a sweatshirt and—were those boxer shorts?—she looked even less composed than she had the first day he met her, when she was decorated with drywall dust and cobwebs.

  “Why are you creeping around my house again?” she demanded before he had a chance to reply. She sounded halfway between suspicious and hysterical.

  Definitely not the Leslie Nakano he’d come to know, however briefly.

  Wary, Declan stood, brushing off his jeans. “There was a cat. I was trying to get it to come to me, but it got spooked and ran under the porch. It looks like it’s pretty hurt.”

  The tight look on her face eased. “Was it taffy-colored? A big one? I saw it last night—it scared the crap out of me when it came dashing out of the woods from nowhere.”

  He was about to open his mouth to say something stupid (“A little high-strung, are we?” or “Maybe you scare more easily than I realized”) and thought better of it, especially when he noticed her bare legs beneath blue and green plaid boxers. They were very nice legs. Petite, but shapely and— “Uh, it’s still under the porch… I don’t suppose you want to try and lure it out? I think it needs a vet.”

  She looked at him appraisingly. “So now you’re a cat rescuer too.” Her expression had softened even more, and Declan almost wanted to squirm under her gaze.

  “Too?” he asked lightly.

  But she didn’t reply; instead, she went back into the house, presumably to get something for which a cat would leave its sanctuary.

  Moments later she returned with an open can of tuna and set it on the ground near the trash cans at his suggestion.

  “Even if it comes out, we might not be able to catch him,” she said. “At least the first time.”

  “Right. Well, it’s up to you if you want to feed a stray. I just wanted him to see a vet. His tail’s half whacked off and he’s got patches missing from his fur…and even though he ran away like a bat outta hell, he seemed to have a limp when he was walking more slowly.”

  Leslie’s expression had returned to normal, and she was watching the hole under the porch with a sad expression. “I don’t mind feeding him. I wouldn’t mind having a cat around,” she said, almost to herself. Then she looked up. “Maybe if we go inside he’ll come out.”

  Declan was very fine with that idea. Moments later, he was sitting at the big, scarred kitchen table while she made him a cup of coffee. “Is everything all right?” he asked carefully. “You seemed a little…tense when you came outside.”

  When she didn’t reply and merely set his coffee down, perhaps with a little louder a thump than necessary, he feared he’d stepped in it. Declan wasn’t certain what was going on with himself, but he knew he didn’t want to piss her off. And not because he was afraid of losing a client…but because he—well, she had great legs and she smelled good…she was smart, and a little funny, and he’d thought about her quite a bit last night after he’d left Shenstone House.

  A lot more than he’d thought about bubbly, blond Emily Delton after she’d sat at his kitchen table and had a beer with him last week, in fact.

  Leslie still hadn’t spoken by the time she sat down across from him, accompanied by a plate of washed grapes and bite-sized quiches that he recognized from Orbra’s Tea House. (Not that he was in the habit of taking high tea or anything. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of being among all the lace and flowers and delicate china for any length of time, pinky extended while lifting a teacup…)

  Declan, for whom the silence was becoming ominous, opened his mouth to speak, but stopped immediately when she looked at him. She had very dark, exotic eyes and they were framed with thick black lashes. Instead of being angry or suspicious or even irritated, the expression therein was one of hesitation. Confusion. Maybe even a hint of worry.

  “Something happened last night,” she said finally. “And after, I—I didn’t get much sleep, so I was a little grumpy when I heard you drive up, and then you didn’t knock, and the next thing I knew,
you were climbing under my porch…” The last bit came out more quickly and smoothly than the beginning, and Declan had the distinct impression she’d changed course from what she’d intended to say.

  “I can see why you might have wondered what was going on. But I assure you, if I’d had the intention of creeping around on your house, I wouldn’t have driven up in broad daylight, parked my car in full view of your kitchen, and then dove under your porch.”

  “Right. I know that.” The tense look was leaching back into her face. “I’m sorry I reacted so strongly.”

  “What happened last night that made you so tense that you reacted so strongly?” Something prickled at the back of his neck. Had someone tried to break in? Attack her? He forced himself to wait for her to speak, but his fingers curled into a fist beneath the table.

  Leslie lifted her mug to drink something that didn’t smell like coffee. It had an unfamiliar cinnamon-y, spicy aroma. She looked away, out the window, into the distance. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  Okay, so not an attack or a break-in… “Going to think?” he teased. “That assumes I don’t already.”

  He was relieved when she gave a short laugh. “Right. I can only imagine what you think of me.”

  “I actually think quite a lot of you,” he said before he realized the words were even forming. Then he froze, his eyes widening as she looked up in surprise. “It’s true,” he added to hide the surprise at his voice’s betrayal. “You’ve accomplished a lot in your life.” Now that just sounded lame. Like he was introducing her at the chamber of commerce or writing her obituary or something. Damn.

  “Thanks.” Her cheeks appeared a little pinker than they had been a moment ago.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s going to make me think you’re crazy?”

  She drew in a deep breath and pulled herself back from where she’d had her arms and elbows on the table as she leaned forward. Settling back in her chair, she looked right at him and said, “I’m pretty sure I saw a ghost last night.”

  “All right,” he said after the briefest of pauses. “Tell me what you saw.”