Who skipped Christmas and why? Kimberly nodded, held the banister, and followed Meg. Even if Raphael was Ebenezer come to life, she still owed him her thanks.
Meg then led her down another hall toward double doors. She pointed and said, "Master Raphael is inside the library."
Kimberly nodded as Meg walked away, the draft in the hall causing the lights to flicker. Kimberly's hand trembled and her heart skipped.
Kimberly reached for the handle and crossed her fingers behind her back. She hoped she was safe and that she could call home. Mom might make her feel better, because the murders of her friends in that plane kept flashing in her mind.
CHAPTER 2
Kimberly peered into the darkness of the library and gave her eyes time to adjust. A dim lamp shone from around the corner of the L-shaped room. If Raphael was waiting for her, he could have turned on the lights. She coughed and held that thought. Raphael had saved her life, and if he was cheap on his electric bill, she wouldn't comment. She inhaled and walked toward the light.
She paused as she made out the crackle of a fire and then relaxed. The old man must appreciate a fireplace in this dark and gloomy place. Kimberly smelled the old wood but couldn't see it.
At the edge of the light, she noticed a second door. She reached behind her neck and rubbed a chill away. Then she held the doorknob to open, but the portrait next to her caught her attention. Kimberly blinked at a thin, blonde woman in a green dress that matched her piercing eyes. Meg was much older, but she had the same eye color. The cobwebs near the portrait meant it should be old, and the dress meant Regency period. Meg seemed to keep everything spotless, so why was this spot dirtier? Kimberly stared into the green eyes of the portrait. Was this the old man's daughter? Perhaps Meg was a cousin or something like that.
Other portraits hung on the walls. Elegant people with green eyes and black hair. She turned away from the pictures and toward the books. Goose bumps rose on her arm, and she wondered if the pictures stared at her back. She sucked in her lips and refused to ponder that. Leather-bound books and paperbacks were all organized on the shelves. Mr. Raphael had a section for every reading style, from what she could see. No one person could read this many books.
Kimberly rubbed her arms and shook her head. Raphael's life was not her business. She needed to thank him and be on her way. Maine would have an airport or a car rental place. She needed to get home to Miami. Her sister's wedding wasn't that long ago, and she had missed too much of her mom and sister's lives already.
A gargoyle glared down at her from the corner of a shelf. She straightened her shoulders, reached out, and then turned the corner. Then, without hearing an answer, she walked in.
"Hello, Mr. Raphael?" She saw a man with broad shoulders and muscular frame near the fireplace, and her gaze traveled up his black pants leg to his solid frame, up to his black t-shirt that accentuated his muscles, then she froze.
He was about thirty, with black hair, green eyes, and muscles that were appropriate for a man in the military. The man’s lips curled, and she could see that he wasn't happy to see her.
Her throat grew tight and she licked her lips. Was he another servant of the old man? He had the eyes. Was this the man who'd saved her from the pilot? She reached behind her head and rubbed the bump. She wanted to thank him, but his expression read annoyed.
The pilot and the crash seemed like a nightmare that was best forgotten, but the bump meant it was real. She needed to just go home. She owed her mom. She took a deep breath and held her hands together. Maybe this was the wrong man? "Sorry for intruding, but I’m looking for Mr. Raphael?”
He stared at her. "I'm Raphael Murphy. You're Miss Mira?"
Meg called this man master? She nodded in surprise. "I thought you'd be as old as Meg."
"Sorry to disappoint." He stroked a match and lit a candle on the table with two chairs. "But how would an old man have rescued you last night?"
"With a gun." Again an image of the pilot inches from her face raced through her mind. She let it go, and the spots in her vision dissipated. Her gaze shot straight into his, but then she stepped back. "Is the pilot dead?"
"The pilot? I interrupted a man trying to shoot you." Raphael lifted his shirt a bit and showed her his ripped abdomen with a nasty bruise on it. "He intended to kill you, Miss Mira. You didn’t know him?"
"Absolutely not." She straightened her spine and dropped her hands to her sides. "I paid no attention to the pilot until he shot my friends and brought down the plane."
Raphael crossed his arms. "Then why was he about to kill you?"
Nausea almost paralyzed her on the spot. Was he serious? "'Cause I saw him kill Eileen and Ali."
He ran his hand through his hair, like he was annoyed. Then he flicked on the lights. Her eyes burned for a moment, but soon adjusted. His cool aloofness kept her from tears. If the pilot wasn't dead, then she was still in trouble. She should go as fast as she could. “I need to go.”
He sat down in a chair at the small table with the candle, then motioned for to sit opposite him. She glanced up at a huge candelabrum shimmering above her. Candlelight danced on the walls.
"Let's sit, Miss Mira." Raphael spoke formally, as if he was to interrogate her.
"The last person to call me that was my eleventh-grade physics teacher."
He scooted his chair closer to the table without a word. She took a step toward the chair. Kimberly owed him her life. She sat down.
He placed his hands on the table. "I wasn’t planning on visitors this winter in my home, Miss Mira."
"It's more like an ancient castle than a house." The man smelled clean, despite the ardent smell of annoyed and dangerous he gave off. She took a whiff of him and sat straighter. "Call me Kimberly."
His green eyes were all she could see as the rest of the room melted out of her consciousness. "Kimberly."
He studied her, and she averted her gaze to stare at the candle between them. The flame danced in the air and didn’t help her ignore how, near him, all she could smell was a woodsy-scented, testosterone-filled man. Her face heated and she took a deep breath to stop a blush. She ought to get out of here. "Did the police arrest the pilot?"
"No." Raphael tugged his ear. She stared at his white knuckles. The memory of the pilot and last night raced through her. "I had a choice last night to chase him down or save your life. You were suffering hypothermia and your head wouldn’t stop bleeding. I brought you home to keep you safe."
There was something else. She couldn't place her finger on it. She tapped her fingers against the table and stared into his eyes again. "But he could get in here?"
"No. Don't get hysterical." Raphael shook his head and acted like he wanted this conversation over. Then he sighed. "Roger Hellsworth, the pilot, does not have the tools to siege a castle."
"I am not hysterical. He tried to kill me and now I'm in a castle." She swallowed. She shouldn't get him angry. She took a deep breath. This was his castle, his home. "How do you know his name is Roger Hellsworth?"
"When we fought, his wallet came out of his pocket." Raphael reached behind him and her back stiffened. Then she closed her eyes. Like on the plane, she'd be unable to do anything if he decided to hurt her.
Something small hit the table and she jumped in her seat. She opened her eyes and realized she had braced for a gun. He moved slowly then slid the brown leather wallet in front of her.
She lifted her hand to reach for it and realized her fingers were frozen. She clutched her hands in her lap and refused to touch it, glancing up at Raphael. "Can you call the local police? They’ll need to collect it as evidence."
He kept both of his hands on the table and seemed to measure his words. "There are no police. We're the only people on the island."
His first sign of caring one way or another, and ice raced down her body. Her mouth dropped. No. Impossible. "I thought we were in Maine."
"You're in my castle, on my island."
His island?
"You
own a castle off the coast in Maine?" She blinked and focused on the simple question. "Aren't they only in Scotland and Europe? I thought we banned castles in the US?"
He sat back in his chair and made a tsk sound with his voice. "My ancestors went back for the castle and transported it here in the Gilded Age."
"Sounds expensive." She ticked her tongue to the bottom of her mouth to show she was fine, but she was intimidated. Who moved into a castle? She needed to tell her family she was sorry for running away. She’d not be stuck now. She needed to go. "Shouldn't search and rescue from the coast guard show up? I was in a plane crash."
"I'm assuming Roger turned off the black box." Raphael swiveled in his seat like this conversation was almost over and his feet pointed toward the door. "No one will come here."
Her spine tingled and she clutched her hands together. "This is an emergency. I'm sure they'll come if we call."
"I don't have a phone." He moved his chair, and the scrape on the wooden floors rattled her.
Nothing made sense. Her mind couldn’t process anything. “No phone?”
"Kimberly, I don't want these problems."
She hadn't wanted them either. His eyes darkened and his shoulders tensed. She braced herself. "That's okay. We can report it online, I'm sure."
He didn’t move or blink. "We don't have the internet or cell service here. We're far too removed."
"That's impossible." She took a deep breath. "Isn't the whole country wired?"
He shrugged but stayed in his seat for the moment as he stared into the fireplace rather than looking at her. "I chose to get rid of it."
Why? She rubbed her throat and held back her frustration. He could have a life without the internet, but there had to be a way for her to go home. "Do you have a small personal boat to take me to shore? So I can be on my way?"
"No." A piece of wood in the fireplace fell and the fire crackled. "It’s winter. Sailing is far too dangerous."
She gulped, unable to breathe. How the salt water had rushed into her lungs as she plummeted from the sky replayed in her mind. "Why? It’s always cold here.”
"True. It’s from the ice—the cold North Atlantic and the jet stream create storms." He pushed his chair back. "I don’t like it any more than you do, but you're stuck here with me."
Can't or won't? She stared into the abyss of his eyes to find a calm in the storm. "Why are you here if it's that bad?"
His chin lifted. "I wanted to be alone."
He must hiding from someone or something. Her mouth opened and she blinked a few times. "Are you a criminal?"
His face wrinkled to laugh, but he shook his head. "No. You’re safe in the castle with me."
Safe was an operative word. “I need to report my friends' deaths to the authorities, but I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of Roger.”
“You should be.” She kept her mouth shut, but she wasn't safe here at all. Raphael leaned closer. "The man hit you over the head with the back of his gun last night and ran as I approached… When spring arrives, we’ll report your friends' deaths.” He bent his knees to stand.
Coldness crept up her spine. "The plane crashed near here. I'm sure they'll search for the black box. I've watched the news, and they love disaster stories."
"For big planes." He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the chair like he was done with this conversation. The sound echoed in her brain. "Small planes disappear all the time, unless you're traveling with someone famous. Were you?"
"No." Ice raced through her veins. “My friends Ali and Eileen Mazdani’s bodies are probably still in that plane.”
He flinched and didn’t say anything else. She swallowed and then tried to figure out an answer. "People fish in the North Atlantic all the time. I'll take the next fishing boat back to the mainland."
"Won't be here until April, Kimberly. The last shuttle left November first to take the Halloween enthusiasts back to civilization." Raphael relaxed his legs and stayed in his chair. "You can stay here in your own room until then. I'll keep you safe.”
She stilled herself. "Why would people come here for Halloween?"
"They claim the island is haunted." Raphael stood up and walked toward a small window. Thunder echoed through the room.
Unable to move, she asked, "Why do people think it's haunted?"
He spoke casually. "During the Civil War, the Union soldiers used our property as a prisoner of war camp, a place where Southerners couldn't run away from. There’s a story about some woman who snuck into the prison as a man to find her husband, but then she was discovered and hung." A flash of lightning came in the window. "She, along with a merry group of other reported ghosts who supposedly died back in Scotland then followed the rocks to America to join the family, supposedly run around the halls."
Rain beat on the windowpane. She blinked, unable to process. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
He raised his eyebrows and didn’t answer her question. "Look, this castle is the only property on the island. The man who tried to kill you will have to lay siege the old-fashioned way to this castle."
"Do you have turrets, walls, and a moat?"
"Yes. In addition to more modern home security." He crossed his arms and peered out the window. "No one was supposed to find me."
She stood up and spoke to his back. "I wasn't out looking for you."
"No. You were half frozen to death and your head was bleeding." He turned around. "I found you just as a man was about to club you with the back of his gun. I thought he'd shot you. I fought with him, but then you breathed out deeply, and let me know you were alive. As I helped you, he disappeared. I brought you home and barred all the doors."
“Thank you, and I’m grateful that you saved me.” She never spoke to hot and dangerous men that had her pulse racing. She avoided trouble, and Raphael smelled exactly like she should stay far away. Thunder roared behind him.
Raphael’s body went rigid as he asked her, "How did you know Eileen and Ali?"
She took a step backward then stopped. He'd asked about her friends. She should want to bury them for now. A shiver rushed through her, and she sighed. "I met Eileen on a small island in the South Seas a few years back. We studied meditation and soul enlightenment with the monks. Eileen was my roommate. Later on she married this prince and intended to live happily ever after. I wasn’t invited to the wedding because of my blog, but I understood. We kept in touch, and on my journey to come home, I stopped at their country and then hitched a ride."
He nodded, but kept his arms crossed. "What do you remember of the crash?"
"The pilot, Roger, came back and shot them both in the head." Then she clutched her stomach. "I landed in the ocean and swam to shore. On the beach, I ran."
He rubbed his neck.
The storm flashed again, but he stayed near the window. Kimberly shuffled her feet. “I don’t know why Roger wanted to kill them.” Her face heated. She should have tried to answer that on her own. "They were only married recently.”
Raphael stared hard at her, and in his green eyes another storm brewed. She held back, but he stepped forward. "Why didn't you fly commercial?"
She placed her hands in her pockets. "A plane ticket from the South Pacific to Miami is expensive. I hitched to Ashtibia. This was free. Once in America again, I could rent a car and drive in a day and a half. I wanted to see my mom. My sister."
He scratched his head. "You know nothing else about these people and why the pilot might have murdered them?"
Did he think she'd lied? She closed her eyes. Conversations on the plane raced in her mind, but nothing struck her as strange. It was all love between Eileen and Ali, and they held hands half the time. Was there something else? Her eyes watered from a massive headache.
She took a deep breath and stared at a picture on the wall until the pain deadened. What did she know about her former roommate? "Eileen and Ali were recently married. Her parents weren't thrilled with the choice of her groom, but th
ey supported her."
His face was hard to read as he asked, "Their names?"
"Eileen Marsden and Ali Mazdani. He's from Ashtibia, a small country in the Middle East." She stared at Raphael. "We can’t even tell their families because you don't have the internet."
"We don't." For the first time, she had his full attention. "I have old books from Connecticut. You’re welcome to read anything in the library to keep yourself entertained."
Her ears rang. Her hand went to her neckline and patted. "Connecticut? Why Connecticut?"
"I'm from there. They are from my house." Raphael stood up and walked past her into the dark room. "I have to go. I've things to do for winter and to see if I find your pilot. If there is anything else—"
"There is plenty else." She was trapped. Her family thought her dead or that she didn’t care about them. She was stuck in a castle. She dropped her hands to her hip. "I don't know what to do here."
His eyebrows squished together. "Whatever you want."
"I want to be useful."
He nodded, and she swore she glimpsed empathy. "I don't have anyone to cook this winter. My chef left with the last boat."
She winced. Erica was the family chef, but she’d do her best. "So you need me to be your cook?"
"Only if you want the job." He shrugged. "I'll pay you when April comes around so you'll have the money to go wherever it was you were heading."
Money sounded nice. Her mother and her sister's wedding. She hadn't seen her family in years. She had wanted to call them, but she had run away ten years ago. She'd make amends as she intended, but like everything else in her life, she'd wait out the delay.
Raphael nodded at her and left.
She closed her eyes, pressed her hands together, and sat cross-legged onto the wood floor. The plush carpet kept her backside warm. She needed to be in touch with her core and find her strength. She hummed, but nothing cleared her mind.
There had to be a way off this island to get home sooner.
Stormy Peril Page 2