by Wendy Webb
I disengaged myself from my sheets and sat up to pour myself a glass of water with shaking hands. It was just a bad dream.
FIFTEEN
But why should I dream such a thing? Perhaps the jarring news of the fire, combined with finding the painting of the woman who resembled me, combined with my strange experiences and the sheer volume of alcohol I had drunk the night before… surely it all worked together to create this oddly detailed dream. A product of my overactive imagination.
But as I stood in the shower, I couldn’t wash away the feeling that it was something else. A myriad of questions with no answers swirled through my mind. The dream felt so familiar, so true to life. Was it truly a warning? I shuddered to think of it.
Was I in danger here? I thought of the footprints in the snow outside the kitchen door the night before, and felt a tendril of dread slither around my insides. Maybe that was what the dream was warning me about.
I intended to ask Mrs. Sinclair about all of it at breakfast, but I didn’t get a chance to do so, not that morning. As I was about to enter the breakfast room, Marion let me know that Mrs. Sinclair was up in bed with a migraine. I didn’t doubt it, considering the amount of alcohol she had consumed the day before. My own head felt more than a little fuzzy and I was looking quite forward to my first cup of coffee. And maybe I could get a peek at the morning paper as well for an update about my house fire.
I pushed open the door to the breakfast room and was surprised to find Adrian at the table drinking a cup of coffee of his own. I wouldn’t need the newspaper to give me an update after all.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said, smiling. “You must tell me everything about your first days here at Havenwood. I want to hear it all. How did it go with my mother?”
“I saw the newspaper report about the fire.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, as Marion came into the room carrying a tray. We were both quiet as she served us each an omelet—spinach, goat cheese, and onion, along with broiled tomatoes and a basketful of warm croissants, just out of the oven. If I am in danger here at Havenwood, at least they are feeding me well, I thought.
“Well?” I pressed, my voice still low. “I saw your picture, Adrian. You were there when my house burned down.”
He shook his head. “A fortuitous development, to be sure,” he said, taking a bite of his omelet and chewing thoughtfully.
“What does that mean? Fortuitous development. I hate to ask you this but I have to ask it. Did you set that fire?”
“What if I had?”
I nearly choked on my croissant. “Well—” I coughed, not knowing quite how to respond to that. What if he had? I had no desire to return to the place, and as he had said to me the day we met, this was my opportunity to drop out of sight. My house burning down was the perfect escape.
I just looked at him.
“The answer is no, I didn’t set the fire,” he said, taking another bite of his omelet. “But as I said, it is fortuitous for you.”
Adrian reached across the table and took my hand in his. “You look terrified, Julia. No, I didn’t burn down your house. But yes, I do have some… pull, shall we say, with the media and certain factions in Chicago. That’s why I went to the scene when I heard about the fire. I recognized it as an opportunity. The press will report, and the world will believe, you died in that fire. It’s best not to ask how.”
A pang of sadness coursed through me as I thought of all of my friends who would now be grieving for me. But then I realized I had been dead to them for months. They might feel a little bad for how they had treated me, but would anybody really grieve my passing? Maybe they’d believe both Jeremy and I got what we deserved. It made my stomach seize up.
Adrian took a sip of his coffee. “Isn’t this omelet delicious? I’ve eaten in the finest restaurants all over the world and nothing compares to Marion’s cooking here at Havenwood.”
I knew he was trying to change the subject, but I just couldn’t let it go. “But if someone deliberately set it—”
“Julia, it’s best not to get too worked up about this. Please, just let me handle it.”
I sat back in my chair and realized I was shaking on the inside. I took a sip of coffee and buttered my croissant with trembling hands, trying to breathe deeply. “Okay. I’m not worked up.”
But I was. It seemed like my sight was closing in on me, that the edges of the world were turning black. I shook my head, wondering what kind of strange world I had gotten myself into by coming to Havenwood. I thought of Jeremy’s warning.
Adrian went on. “Before you paint me the villain, Julia, you need to realize something.”
“What’s that?”
Now it was his turn to lower his voice. He leaned in toward me before he spoke. “Someone deliberately set that fire. I don’t want to alarm you, but I think that means only one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Vengeance. Somebody was trying to kill you.”
My mind was swimming. If what he was saying was true, and if Adrian hadn’t appeared on my doorstep that day—just days ago!—I might very well have died in that fire.
Last night’s footprints in the snow flashed in front of my eyes and I began to get a very sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Adrian,” I began, “do you believe it’s possible that the person who set the fire in my house could have tracked me here to Havenwood?”
“Certainly not,” he said. “I’m not in the habit of leaving a trail of bread crumbs for someone to follow. I have a man on it, in Chicago, looking for the arsonist. He’ll get to the bottom of it. But you must believe, Julia, you’re perfectly safe here.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I told him. “There’s something you need to know. Last night after dinner, Marion was in the kitchen and saw someone standing outside the window, looking in.”
At this, Adrian put down his fork. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We heard screaming and ran into the kitchen just in time to see Marion brandishing a rolling pin and yelling at whoever it was out the kitchen door.”
Adrian tried to suppress a chuckle. “A rolling pin?”
“She was fierce enough with that thing to scare whoever it was away.” I smiled. “Drew followed his footprints into the forest.”
At the mention of Drew’s name, my stomach began to churn, thinking of my dream, or vision, or whatever it was on the stairs, the night before. I tried to shake the thought of it from my mind. And then it hit me. That was why I dreamed of Jeremy. Guilt. I had felt a strange attraction to a man I barely knew within months of my husband’s death, and I manifested said husband in my dreams to let me know how wrong that was. I made a silent pledge to keep my distance from Drew.
“He didn’t find anyone?” Adrian asked, pulling me back into the room from where my thoughts were taking me.
“No one,” I said.
Adrian considered this as he finished his omelet. “It might be wise for him to take the dogs and track those footprints in the light of day.” He took a sip of coffee. “I’ll wager that’s what he’s planning to do. Sometimes we get curious onlookers here at Havenwood. People from the village, tourists, anyone who has heard about this house and wants to see it for themselves.”
“We were in the village yesterday,” I told him. “Your mother, too.”
“Mother?” His eyes grew wide. “She went into town?”
“She did,” I admitted, careful not to let on the manner in which she got there. “She needed to see her rental manager. Tom, I believe, is his name? Drew and I went along and met her at the Laughing Otter afterward for a drink.”
Adrian smiled broadly and shook his head. “I can’t believe it. You’re here just a few days and you’re already coaxing Mother out of her shell. I knew you were right for this job, Julia. You belong here at Havenwood.”
“We had a wonderful day,” I said. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.
“Well, that’s it,
then. Mother went into town, someone thought they recognized her and was curious enough to follow you all here.”
“That could be what was,” I said, but I wasn’t so sure.
“I can see exactly what you’re thinking,” Adrian said, rubbing his chin and holding my gaze. “I’m thinking the same thing.”
“Trip to town or not, you’re thinking the timing is pretty suspicious—my house burning down and now this.”
“Indeed,” he said, resting his napkin on his plate and pushing his chair away from the table. “I have several calls to make. I want an update on this situation from my people in Chicago. Would you be so kind as to seek out Drew and ask him to take the dogs and track those footprints in the meantime? He’s likely in the stables.”
So much for keeping my distance. “Won’t your mother need me this morning?”
He shook his head. “I’m going up to check on her now. She’s got a ‘migraine,’ which means she’s tired out and wants some solitude. And no wonder, you had quite the day yesterday. A trip to town, an unannounced visitor.”
“And a bit of alcohol last night, I’m afraid,” I confessed.
He laughed. “That’s the way of formal dinners at Havenwood. Did she have her Dubonnet cocktail?”
“Several.”
“Right, then. You go find Drew, I’ll bring a bottle of aspirin to Mother and give her a lecture about the evils of alcohol, and then I’ll be busy in my office the rest of the day. Consider yourself off the clock, so to speak, until dinner. I’m sure the old gal will have perked up by then.”
“The drawing room at six thirty?”
“You already know the drill. Excellent, Julia, excellent!” He extended his arm to me and we left the breakfast room together. We parted ways at the grand staircase.
“Please don’t let this worry you,” he said to me. “No harm will come to you at Havenwood, of that you have my promise.”
I shook my head. “I’m more worried I’m bringing harm to all of you,” I said. “If it really is the arsonist…”
“Nonsense. We will catch whoever it was at the window last night. And he will tell us what we need to know. It’s as simple as that.”
“You sound very sure.”
He grinned. “The dogs will track whoever it was. And when they find him, well, there’s just something about being surrounded by three growling giant malamutes that makes a man feel like talking.”
I got the distinct feeling he’d had experience with that before.
He started making his way up the stairs when I remembered something.
“Oh!” I said. “I nearly forgot. Do you have a doctor on staff?”
He turned and trotted down the few steps he had ascended. “Are you not feeling well?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Not really. It’s just—” I didn’t quite know how to say what I had to say. “It’s just that I’m out of the medication that I’ve been taking for some time now, and it occurs to me that I can’t just ring up the pharmacy for a refill.”
“Of course,” he said, drawing out his words. “I can ask my personal physician about it, but I’m not sure he’ll be willing to write a prescription for someone who isn’t his patient. He could come here to Havenwood to see you, of course, but I happen to know he’s in the Caribbean now. Minnesota winters don’t agree with him. Is it crucial to your health? Blood pressure pills, for instance?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s…” My words trailed off as I tried to remember exactly what the pills were for. I had been taking them for so long, it was just a habit. “They stabilize my mood. Antidepression pills, I guess you’d call them.”
He frowned at me. “Is it something you truly need? Doctors tend to overprescribe, in my experience.”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’ve been off them for a couple of days now.”
“Any ill effects?”
I wasn’t about to tell him about the strange experiences I’d been having. The last thing he’d want was a companion for his mother who was seeing things. “Not anything too bad so far,” I said weakly. “Headaches, mostly.”
He patted my arm. “Good. You monitor the situation and I’ll make an inquiry about getting you a refill. But maybe you don’t need them at all.”
Adrian jogged back up the stairs while I went in search of the parka and boots I had worn the day before. I’d need them if I was going to follow those tracks into the woods.
SIXTEEN
I crunched my way through the snow toward the stable, my breath hanging in the air like mist. It was colder than it had been the day before, and I could feel the icy tingle of chill on my cheeks.
My stomach did a quick flip when I saw Drew in the field with a horse. He saw me, waved, and began walking toward me.
“And how are we this fine morning?” he said, grinning.
“We are a touch the worse for wear,” I conceded. “No cognac after dinner tonight, definitely.”
“Tonight again, we’re to have a formal dinner? That’s unusual, two nights in a row. You’ve brought change with you, Julia, so you have.”
“Adrian’s back,” I told him.
He nodded. “Ah, that’s the reason for it, then.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us saying anything. Finally, he broke away and glanced back toward the stable. “I’ve got spiced tea brewing. May I offer you some?”
I thought of my dream about Jeremy the night before, and I knew I shouldn’t go into that stable with him. Everything in me was telling me to turn and go back to the house. But instead I heard myself saying: “That would be lovely.”
We walked together toward the stable and Drew pulled open the wooden door, revealing a structure that was not so much a horse barn as it was an annex of the house itself, just as opulent, in its own rustic way. Six empty stalls lined one side of the stable; each, I noticed, was paneled with dark, gleaming wood and lined with sweet-smelling hay. The stalls had running water, shutters that could be opened to the outdoors, and large troughs. Bridles, saddles, and other horse accoutrements adorned the walls and sat on shelves.
“May I take your jacket?” Drew asked as he peeled off his hat, gloves, and parka, revealing a cream-colored fisherman’s knit sweater and the broadest shoulders I had seen in a long time. Didn’t I notice them the night before? I unzipped my parka and handed it to him, and he hung both jackets on wrought-iron hooks.
On the other wall, I noticed two bigger stalls. One contained an ornate black carriage that might have been transported there from the 1800s—it was like something I imagined Sherlock Holmes’s wealthiest clients traveling in, an enclosed vehicle with windows and a door, and a spot for the driver to sit up on the top. In the other stall sat a magnificent sleigh, also black, also ornately carved with red accents. I imagined myself sitting on its red leather seat, covered by a thick blanket, dashing through the snow.
“Where are the rest of horses?” I asked Drew as we walked down the length of the stable. “I only saw Sebastian out there with you.”
“In the fields. They love it outside, even in this chilly weather. True northern horses, they are.”
At the opposite end of the building, I saw a stone fireplace, where a small fire crackled. A leather sofa strewn with woolen pillows woven in reds, oranges, and blacks stood in front of the fireplace. Armchairs and ottomans flanked the sofa, with crocheted afghans lying here and there. I noticed a teakettle hanging on a steel rod over the fire. I could have curled up in one of those armchairs and never left.
But, as wonderful as it was, it felt wrong, somehow. This was a stable, and it should be run-down… shouldn’t it? Somewhere deep in my mind, I saw fading wood and dilapidated stalls, dust covering hanging farm implements. I could even smell the decay. And then the image dissipated, as quickly as it had come.
Drew smiled, pouring tea into two mugs and offering one to me. “It’s humble, but it’s home.”
I took a sip of the cinnamony tea and it warmed me, through and through.
“You live out here? I thought you were in the main house.”
“I am. But sometimes I prefer staying out here. There’s just something about it that appeals to me.”
“Just you and the horses?” I smiled at him.
“And the dogs,” he said, his eyes traveling to the far side of the room, where I saw three massive dog beds and blankets, various toys and bones, and three sets of ceramic dishes. One of the dogs, the red one, curled up on her bed, wrapping her tail around her nose and settling in. But she was not at rest. Her brown eyes were trained on me.
“Would you like a tour?” he offered. “I’ve newly renovated it, and I’m quite proud of the way it turned out.”
I followed him through the door, completely unprepared for the sight that awaited me there. I can only describe it as Northwoods chic. We entered into a living room that shared a wall with the main stable, and I saw the fireplace served both rooms. A mirror image of sofas and armchairs surrounded this side of the fireplace, along with a flat-screen television hanging on one wall. Photos and brightly colored, whimsical paintings of animals that inhabited this part of the country—bears, moose, loons, otters, and others—were hung here and there.
Drew led me down a short hallway. “Kitchen,” he said, and I poked my head in to see an Aga stove humming along, stainless steel pots and pans hanging above it, and an old, scrubbed table, which I could immediately tell was worn by years of meals with family and friends.
“Den,” said Drew, pointing to an archway, through which I spied bookshelves, a ceiling lined with heavy wooden beams, and more leather furniture accented with thick woolen pillows in those same reds, oranges, and blacks.
“Guest room,” he chirped, opening a door and revealing a heavy, dark bedroom set, obviously antique, the dresser lined with a pinkish marble top. A red-and-white floral bedspread lay over the bed, along with several pillows in various hues.