Randall was livid. “Are you serious?” he choked out, pointing a shrivelled finger at his cousin. “Blair barely knew Aunt Eugenia! She’s nobody!” Randall’s beady eyes roamed over Blair’s borrowed suit in disdain. “She’s a short-order cook for God’s sake! No offence,” he blustered.
“None taken,” Blair drawled, wanting to slink away to the nearest pub and get wasted. “Are we through, Mr. Haines?”
“We are not finished here!” Heather sniffed. “There is still Eugenia’s insurance policy. If anyone should get Pennhalow, it is I! We deserve the money that comes with taking care of that harridan for five years!” She glowered at Mr. Haines. “We changed her bedpans and cleaned up her vomit.” Heather turned on Blair, sneering coldly, “And where were you? Flipping burgers at some roadside hovel that no one ever heard of!” She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue, wiping at the pitiful dots of moisture rimming her eyes “Now, I ask you, who is entitled to Pennhalow?”
Blair peeled off her gloves. “Look, I only came here to pay my respects to a lonely old woman who showed me more kindness than you two miserable pieces of shit ever did.” Mr. Haines snickered. “If you want Pennhalow, lady. Knock yourself out!” Blair rose from her seat, shook Mr. Haines’ hand, turned on her heel and left.
Heather turned to her husband. “Well!” she snorted in outrage. “Have you ever?”
“Shut up, Heather,” Randall sighed miserably. “Just shut the hell up!”
****
“Well…?” Josie asked over the phone. “What did they say?”
Blair kicked off her heels and slumped on the sofa. “I own a rotting mansion in the wilds of Cornwall,” she groaned. “Randy and Heather were none too happy about that.”
“Greedy bastards,” Josie swore. “What else?”
“There’s nothing else. Dear old Randy and Heather ran through the money faster than they could print it. Poor Eugenia left them ten pounds apiece. Good for her, I say.”
“What about life insurance? Surely, she had something tucked away?”
“Nope.” Blair reached for the remote and turned on the TV. “All the while they were supposed to be taking care of her, they decided to help themselves to her bank account. There’s nothing left.”
“How do you know?”
“Mr. Haines was good enough to visit me at the pub before the reading and give me a heads-up.” Blair rubbed her eyes. “The house isn’t worth crap. I told Heather she could choke on it. Though you’ll probably have to wire me the money to fly back. I don’t even have that.”
“That’s a real shame.”
“I know. I was hoping to get something for school. Now I’ll have to cancel everything.”
“That’s the whole semester!”
Blair turned the volume up and watched abjectly as zombies eviscerated a hapless mailman. “I’d cry, but I’m too drunk.”
“I’m sorry,” Josie apologized. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“It’s okay. I might head on up to the house before I leave. Mr. Haines offered to pay for a train ticket. Said if the house proved salvageable, we could host an auction. He wasn’t optimistic though.”
“How long is that going to take?”’
“Well, I said I’d have to think about it. Maybe a day or two at the most.” Blair glanced out the window. “How’re things on your end?”
“Same old place. Al had to hire a substitute while you’re gone. He nearly burned the diner down.”
“How?”
“Grease fire,” Josie explained. “He didn’t change the oil in the fryers from the last shift. Al nearly strangled him on the spot.”
Blair laughed a little. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I just want to take a peek at the house. Maybe do a little sightseeing.”
“Well I wouldn’t be gone too long,” Josie advised. “Al is threatening to replace you if you don’t get back by Friday.” “Friday!” Blair cried. “He gave me the week off to fix this mess! I have it in writing.”
“I’d let him fire you,” Josie chuckled. “You’re the best cook he’s got and he knows it. You can do far better.”
“Sure,” Blair groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I should demand a raise.”
“You should,” her friend agreed. “So, how’s London?”
“Expensive!”
Josie chortled at this. “I’d better go. The baby just got up.”
“Okay,” Blair said reluctantly. “If I get fired, let me know. I don’t want to go back and have my ass handed to me on a greasy platter of Al’s fries.”
“There are worse things.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Greedy relatives!”
Blair giggled and hung up. She spent the rest of the night watching reruns of Monty Python’s Flying Circus and conked out on the sofa.
She awoke the next morning to Mr. Haines pounding on the door and barging his way into her room. “Why aren’t you ready?” he demanded. “We have a train to catch!”
“We do?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, we do!” he said, giving her a gentle nudge towards the bathroom. “Hurry up and get dressed. The train leaves at eight sharp!”
“Okay,” Blair said slowly. “Maybe you’ll explain on the way?”
“Time is money, Miss Evans!” Mr. Haines rifled through her suitcase on the bed and tossed a pair of jeans and sweatshirt at her. “Come on, make haste while the sun still shines!”
“Mr. Haines,” Blair grumbled. “There is no sun.”
“There will be!” he insisted. “Hurry up or I’ll leave without you.”
“Fine.”
Five minutes later, Blair and Mr. Haines were shivering in a cab on their way to Paddington train station. He was kind enough to buy her a scone and a cup of tea before hopping aboard for the six-hour journey to St. Just. Afterwards, Blair leaned her head back and took a nap. She awoke three hours later and spent the rest of the journey chatting with Mr. Haines.
“So what is the house like?” she asked, stretching her legs. “And why were Randy and Heather so keen to get their mitts on it?”
“Your Grandmother was a very smart woman, Ms. Evans.” Mr. Haines took off his glasses and wiped them off with a handkerchief. “She loved that house. It was the only thing in her possession she deemed worthy of leaving to you.” He let out a derisive snort. “She knew they’d start picking at the bones as soon as she popped off.”
“Mr. Haines!” Blair gasped. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Not my words, Ms. Evans. They were your grandmother’s.”
“She didn’t like them very much, did she?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Haines sniffed. “I’m afraid the feelings were mutual. Especially after they tried to have her committed.”
“Committed!”
“Yes,” Mr. Haines said ruefully. “It was after your grandmother contacted me about the new will. They must have found out and tried to have her declared non compos mentis.”
“But where was everybody?” Blair demanded. “Where were Uncle Chester and Aunt Violet?”
“They didn’t want to have anything to do with her.” He shrugged. “It happens in families when there is a considerable amount of money involved.”
“Considerable amount?”
“Well, before the doctors, lawyers, and nursing homes.” Mr. Haines took out his briefcase and opened it. He handed her a thick sheaf of papers. “Randall and his dear wife held multiple insurance policies on your grandmother as well. A concerned party informed your Eugenia and she cut them out of the will. They had her placed in that hellhole.” He sounded angry. “It was quite a mess.”
Blair thumbed through the documents feeling guilty. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?”
She glanced out the window hardly noticing the lovely dashes of countryside flying by. “But why would she leave me the house? I hardly knew her.”
Mr. Haines smiled faintly. “That’s because your mother
wouldn’t allow it.”
“I didn’t know her either.” “I know. Your father raised you. And after his untimely death, you passed from one foster home to another, running away from several until you dropped out of high school. You then received a GED and took a couple of classes at your local community college.”
Blair glared at him. “You sure know a lot about me, Mr. Haines.”
He nodded stiffly. “I make it my business to know everything about my clients. Your grandmother was most insistent I find you and bring you to London.”
“I don’t suppose they told you the reason I ran away from those foster homes?”
Mr. Haines paled. “They mentioned…an incident.”
“Incident, my ass!” Blair swore. “Did she know?”
He squirmed in his seat before nodding. “She did. It broke her heart to know what that monster did to you.”
“So why didn’t she try to find me then?”
“You were long gone by the time I hired the private detective.” Mr. Haines shook his head. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”
“Me?” Blair crossed her arms over her chest. “I hitched my way out of hell, Mr. Haines. Judge me if you think you have the right.”
“I don’t.”
“No, you don’t.”
“But living in Arizona couldn’t have been enjoyable. Doesn’t it get hot in summer?”
Blair smirked. “You could say that.”
“My apologies.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small guidebook. “You might want to read up on the area.”
“What’s it like?” Blair skimmed the pages and found an interesting note about Cornish pasties. “I’m afraid I don’t have much money, Mr. Haines. I mean if I wanted to stay for the night and inspect the property.”
“You needn’t worry about funds, Ms. Evans. Your grandmother left a small inheritance at your disposal. I can lend you a few pounds until the proper paperwork is filed with the bank.”
“Thank you.” Blair leaned back, trying to absorb the face that she had money. “Is there enough for school, Mr. Haines?”
“I think so. Why?”
“I wanted to enroll in culinary school. I had to cancel the whole semester because I didn’t have the money.” “Well,” he said kindly. “There is always spring and summer.”
“That’s right,” she laughed.
Blair spent the rest of the afternoon pouring over the guidebook while Mr. Haines napped and drooled on his lapel. She reached for a tissue and wiped it off.
The train pulled up at Penwith shortly after three and a cab dropped them off at a hotel where Mr. Haines checked them into two suites, each with its own private bath. He left her to make arrangements for a car to drive them up to Pennhalow in the morning.
Blair was exhausted. She kicked off her shoes and jumped into bed, revelling in the luxurious comforter and scent of lavender. She fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of a man.
He was tall and dark, his face obscured in shadow. Blair backed away, feeling both frightened and intrigued. He reached out and caught her hand pulling her towards him.
Blair opened her eyes as his lips touched hers…
Two
Blair shook off the strange dream and took a long, hot shower. It was a relief not having to worry about the water bill. She laughed and lathered up with the samples of scented bath gels and shampoo. After towelling herself off she ordered room service and indulged in Scottish smoked salmon and poached eggs.
She pulled on a pair of camouflage army pants, T-shirt, and hoodie for the ride up to Pennhalow. Mr. Haines thought it might rain so she tugged on a pair of hiking boots as well. Blair brushed her hair and glanced outside. It did look like rain with an ominous gathering of black clouds over the village.
At nine o’clock, Mr. Haines came to fetch her and they huddled inside the taxicab trying to get warm. “It’s freezing!” Mr. Haines admonished. “Please turn on the heater.”
“Can’t,” the driver grunted. “Heat’s broken.”
“This is unacceptable!” Mr. Haines sputtered in outrage. “I will file a formal complaint!”
“It’s okay,” Blair said, trying to calm him down. “Let’s just go and hurry back.” Mr. Haines turned away in a huff and glowered at the driver during the hour and half journey to her grandmother’s house.
Blair was so miserable she couldn’t enjoy the scenery as they drove along the coast and pulled her jacket closer about her. Mr. Haines scowled and brooded the whole way to Cape Cornwall and made no apologies for the lack of a proper tip after the driver sped off.
“Wretched man,” he swore. “Did you see the way he looked at me? I’d swear he was Jack the Ripper in a former life.”
Blair laughed. “Nonsense,” she scoffed. “He hasn’t had his pint yet.”
Mr. Haines pulled out his umbrella and shielded them from a light drizzle and damp gusts of wind pouring in from the cove. “Well,” he said, teeth chattering. “What do you think of the property?”
She nodded in approval. “It’s huge.” Blair wanted to inspect the garden but the wind was kicking up something fierce and threatened to send them pitching over the cliff. “Can we go inside?” she yelled over the din.
“This way,” he shouted back, taking her hand and escorting her up the stone path to a wrought-iron door. He handed her the umbrella and fumbled in his pockets for the key. His hands shook as he inserted it into the keyhole and turned the knob. They stumbled forth and the door slammed shut behind them.
Blair shook out the umbrella and squinted in the semi-darkness. “Is the power on?” she asked, trying a switch. “Don’t tell me she forgot to pay the electric bill!”
“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Haines said with a shudder. “They turned the power off years ago.”
“That’s nice to know.” Blair followed him into the kitchen. “We should have brought flashlights.”
“There are candles somewhere,” he told her, rummaging around in cabinets and yanking out drawers. He found a few tapers and placed it into a lantern he found beside the sink. Blair struck a match and an eerie glow lit up the room.
“It’s so small,” she said, her eyes taking in every detail. There was a small old-fashioned icebox, whitewashed cabinets, stencilled drop-leaf table and matching chairs. The quaint interior was marred by years of neglect. Everything seemed grimy and old with inches of caked on dust and burned grease. “It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years.”
“Sorry about that,” Mr. Haines said, taking off his hat and giving it a shake. “Your grandmother had a maid but had to let her go.”
“Why?” Blair rubbed her finger on the stove and grimaced. “She could have at least scrubbed the place before she left.”
“The woman was very difficult, I’m afraid.”
“No kidding.” Blair opened a few cabinets and shrieked when a mouse jumped out. “She left a few mementos,” she said, gagging at the fetid piles of mouse droppings. “It makes me want to take a bottle of bleach to the place.”
“You’d be wasting your time,” Mr. Haines said dryly. “The house has a tendency to keep its dirt. Don’t ask me why.”
“Is that so?”
“Come,” he said, lighting several more lanterns. “We’ll have a look at the living quarters.”
“Okay.”
Blair held up the lantern and followed obediently as Mr. Haines gave her the grand tour. There was a living room, library, and a reception room on the first floor. They went upstairs and found five bedrooms full of dusty and molding furniture. Drapes covered dirty windows, toilets were either smashed to bits or broken in pieces, and there was a massive hole in the ceiling in the master bedroom.
Blair felt like weeping.
“There’s nothing left,” she croaked. “I have nothing.”
“Don’t take on so,” Mr. Haines soothed. “The property is salvageable.”
“Salvageable?” Blair repeated numbly. “How? I’ve got a house full of junk. I’m leaving.” S
he ran downstairs and flung open the door. A violent gust of wind pushed her back inside and slammed the door shut. Mr. Haines came running after her and saw the frightened look on her face.
“What is it? What’s happened?” he asked in alarm.
Her eyes widened as she glanced wildly about. “Is this place haunted?”
“Haunted?’ he scoffed. “Of course not!”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m perfectly certain the house doesn’t come with spirits,” he chortled. “Why? Have you seen one?”
“Just now,” Blair said shakily. “I opened the door and it was as if something shoved me back inside and shut the door.”
“The wind,” Mr. Haines surmised. “There’s a storm coming. We should leave before it gets worse.”
“And how do we get back?” Blair demanded, feeling something cold and unpleasant crawl up her spine. “You sent the driver away.”
Mr. Haines pulled out his phone. “That is easily remedied.” He punched a few numbers and called for another taxi. “They will be here within the hour.”
“And what do we do until then?”
Mr. Haines shrugged. “We could see the guest house. It has a working fireplace.”
“Show me!”
The guesthouse was a small brick cottage that held a kitchen, three bedrooms, and a fireplace. Mr. Haines found a few scraps of firewood and soon a warm fire blazed forth and guarded against the damp chill seeping in from a broken window. Blair found cups and saucers and teabags. For water, there was a hand-pump in the kitchen and it eked out enough water for two cups of tea.
There was no sugar.
Blair sipped hers and warmed her hands at the same time. “What was she like?”
“Who?”
“Grandmother.”
“She was a kind woman. Had a naughty sense of humor though.” Mr. Haines set his cup down. “Did you know she swore like a sailor?”’
“No.”
“And that she drove an ambulance during the war?”
“No kidding?” Blair was impressed. “I wished I’d been able to say goodbye.”
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