A Summer Romance

by Tracey Smith

  A Summer Romance

  Book One of the Devereaux Manor Mystery Series

  Tracey Smith

  copyright 2014 by Tracey Smith

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is available in print at most online retailers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons is coincidental.

  Dedicated to Braley’s Beauties

  “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” - Joseph Campbell

  ~1~

  Maggie could feel her anxiety building as she turned onto Devereaux Lane. Why did she ever think this was a good idea? What had she gotten herself into?

  It had felt liberating to drive out of Boston. Her spirits had been high as she sped down the highway leaving her shattered life behind. She’d sung along with the radio, tapping her hands on the wheel in rhythm to the music. It had seemed like such a good idea then. But as she left the familiar urban landscape and drove deeper into the unknown, her fears began to overwhelm her.

  What kind of person advertises the need for a summer caretaker for a home that is over 1,000 miles away? What kind of person answers that ad? Had Maggie been the only one?

  At first she had been very confident that this summer trip was exactly what she needed to regroup and figure out her life. She had seen the flyer tacked to the corkboard in her dorm hall as a life raft in the sea of confusion that she was slowly and steadily drowning in. It had been a beacon of hope in her darkest hour. In a moment of desperation she’d torn the paper from the bulletin board, hugging it to her chest as she raced to her room to answer the ad.

  She’d typed the email with trembling fingers, hoping beyond hope that this would give her the reprieve she needed, the answer to her prayers. Then she waited anxiously as the hours ticked by, obsessively checking her email while trying to figure out a plan-B. Going back home wasn’t an option, it couldn’t be. When the response came it was almost surreal. They had chosen her! She’d been offered the job. She had an “out.” At the time that was all that mattered.

  It was somewhere around the Virginia mountains that her enthusiasm had started to dwindle and she began to consider the possible ramifications of her actions. She was following directions given to her by a stranger, driving to an unknown location, deep in the South, alone. This was the stuff horror movies were made of.

  Reality really began to sink in when she decided to find a place to sleep for the night. She didn’t feel like making the full seventeen hour drive in one stint. She figured it would be best to have daylight on her side when she arrived at her mysterious destination. Plus she worried that her old Toyota Corolla might need a break. As she’d crossed into Maryland her odometer had rolled over to 200,000 miles. It was quite the accomplishment for Old Betty, and Maggie figured it was time to start treating her more delicately. She’d recently begun making some unsettling noises.

  Deciding to find a place to sleep and actually doing it however, were two entirely different things. She hadn’t really thought this through, which was so unlike her. Maggie had always been a planner. She’d had her entire life planned out since the age of twelve, but it looked like the joke was on her.

  This trip had not been planned, not at all. It had been spontaneous and impetuous, and as Maggie drove through the small Virginia mining town she began to realize it might have also been one of the stupidest things she’d ever done. Most of the buildings she passed were boarded up. The entire town looked abandoned. She considered driving through and searching for a more promising pit stop but just at that moment her gas light came on, reminding her of one more detail she hadn’t planned out for this road trip. She held her breath and gripped the wheel tighter, willing the gas in her tank to last until she found signs of civilization.

  To her utter relief, as she crested the top of a hill she saw lights in the distance. The older part of town slowly gave way to a slightly updated version. The buildings were still several decades out of date, but at least they were lit. Maggie pulled into a small gas station and breathed a sigh of relief that she’d made it.

  She stepped out of Old Betty and stretched her sore muscles. The night air was cool but thick with the heavy scent of earth and trees. Moths and beetles buzzed around the flickering overhead lights. Maggie glanced through the large window of the gas station and saw the attendant eyeing her warily. She nodded nervously then turned to the old pump. Of course there was no credit card service at the pump, so after filling her tank she was required to enter the small, dingy gas station.

  Once inside she scanned the store for some supplies. The options were limited. She bought a bottled water and a candy bar. It would have to do for dinner since she didn’t imagine she would find much else. She really needed to use the restroom but saw no obvious signs inside the store and there was no way she’d be walking around back. She could hold it.

  “Are there any hotels nearby?” Maggie asked hopefully as she paid for her gas and snacks.

  “There’s a Motel 6 about a mile that’a way.” The attendant gestured with a nod over his shoulder.

  Maggie smiled half-heartedly, gathered her small rations, and hurried back to her car. Once inside she looked over at the small potted fern that sat buckled on the passenger seat.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into, Fred?” she asked the plant.

  She had rescued the fern from a dumpster outside her dorm hall about six months earlier. It was nearly dead and had been left to be taken out with the trash. Something about the sad-looking, spindly brown fern had tugged at her heart strings and she’d scooped it up and carried it back to her room. She researched how to care for ferns, since she’d never had a plant before. Several websites she’d read had mentioned that plants grew better if you talked to them. None had suggested naming the plant per se, but Fred didn’t seem to mind.

  Nursing the poor little fern back to health had given Maggie something to focus on other than her intensive studying. It became therapeutic for her to talk with Fred at the end of her day, to vent her frustrations as she watered him and dusted his leaves. When she’d packed up for this trip, Fred had been the only necessity that absolutely couldn’t be left behind.

  The Motel 6 finally appeared a few blocks later. It was dimly lit and just about as inviting as the gas station had been, but Maggie was exhausted and it was apparently her only option.

  The room smelled of stale cigarettes and the walls were stained yellow. But the water in the shower was hot and soothed her aching muscles. She sat at the small table by the window and ate her candy bar dinner, pouring the remainder of her bottled water into Fred’s pot before climbing onto the bed. She slept on top of the covers.

  The next morning Maggie tried to regain the excitement she’d begun this journey with, but it had escaped her. She was relieved to pull away from the small dilapidated town but the implications of what might lay ahead of her were heavy on her mind.

  All of those implications swirled in her mind as her impulsive road trip came to its end. Savannah, Georgia had been beautiful and promising, but it was several hours behind her now. She was surrounded by nothing but dense forest and dirt roads. Somehow she’d managed to come upon Devereaux Lane without crossing through any sort of town. Surely this house didn’t exist entirely in the middle of nowhere, did it?

  Maggie’s breathing became shallow and her heart began to race. She eased her foot off the gas and Old Betty slowed to a crawl. She was suddenly, absolutely, and undeniably terrified about what she would find at the end of this dirt road. She b
roke into a cold sweat and her hands trembled on the wheel. She couldn’t breathe. It felt as if a vice was squeezing down on her chest. There was no air in the car. A sharp pain shot through her chest and she hit the brakes, coming to a stop in the middle of the road as she doubled over hugging her ribs. No one else was on the road to be disturbed.

  She closed her eyes tight and tried to regulate her breathing. Please not again! she thought. Images from the last time flitted through her mind; a broken pencil in her clenched hand, a sea of faces swimming around her. She tried to push the awful memories from her mind. She concentrated on each breath. In. Out. She imagined Fred sitting next to her pumping good clean oxygen into the car. You. Are. Breathing. she reminded herself.

  Gradually the pain eased and she was able to open her eyes again. Seeing nothing but open forest was somehow a relief, nothing like the oppressive lecture halls that she’d left behind. She was free. That single thought was enough to pull her out of her downward spiral and gave her the strength she needed to ease her foot back on the gas and finally discover what waited for her at the end of Devereaux Lane.

  ~2~

  Maggie couldn’t believe her eyes as she turned into the driveway. It felt as if she was driving through a time warp as she crossed through the wrought iron gate. Hundred-year-old oak trees loomed overhead creating a canopy that shaded the drive. Wisteria vines hung from the trees dripping their long, purple flowers down through the dappled sunlight. The light filtering down through the trees was tinted green and gold. The colors were so vibrant they didn’t seem real. Maggie could see a bright glow up ahead and knew she was reaching the end of the tree tunnel.

  As she emerged from the shaded arch she was momentarily blinded by the bright summer day. As her eyes adjusted she could see the expanse of a large manicured lawn spread out in front of her. The pebbled driveway split in two, creating a round circle drive with a bubbling fountain as its centerpiece. Just beyond that was the grandest Southern plantation home she’d ever seen, complete with soaring columned porches, tall French windows stacked in even rows along both floors, and a broad hipped roof boasting three tall chimney stacks. An elegant rounded portico was flanked on either side by long galleries that ran the length of the first floor.

  The sun gleamed off the white house so brightly it almost appeared to be glowing. The dark green wooden shutters framing the windows stood out in stark contrast against the white. The lawn was a vibrant green and the azaleas that framed the broad porch portrayed every color of the rainbow. Maggie’s senses were overwhelmed by the brightness of everything; the scene before her just didn’t seem real. She felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole and somehow landing right in the middle of Gone with the Wind. She imagined this is how Dorothy felt arriving in Oz.

  She pulled Old Betty around to park just at the base of the wide stairs leading up to the grand entrance. She sat a moment in her car staring at this magnificent house and trying to wrap her head around the fact that for the next three months she’d be calling this place home.

  Finally she opened the door and stepped out of her car. A wave of heat slammed into her so hard it nearly knocked her back. It felt as if she’d opened an oven door and jumped inside. The hot air was so thick with humidity she wondered if it was possible to drown from simply breathing. Seriously, how did people breathe in the South? A sheen of sweat had already broken out across her forehead and she hadn’t even taken a step. She briefly contemplated climbing back into the comforting air conditioning of her car.

  Shaking off the absurdity of that idea she fumbled through her purse for the key as she climbed the front steps. Her t-shirt was already clinging to her by the time she’d reached the front door. She located the key that had been mailed to her and tentatively inserted it into the lock. A part of her nearly expected that the key wouldn’t fit, that she’d made some sort of mistake and this wasn’t the right house.

  However, the key turned in the lock effortlessly and the heavy front door swung open. Immediately Maggie felt the cool air beckoning to her from inside and she hurried into the air conditioned foyer, all hesitation forgotten.

  Maggie found herself in a large, round room with a high domed ceiling and gleaming wood floors. To each side were sets of French doors with delicate lace curtains that covered their paneled windows. A curved staircase wrapped around the room spiraling up to the second floor. Several wide hallways extended out from the main room like spokes on a wheel. It was going to take her the full three months just to find her way around this place!

  In the center of the grand room was a beautifully carved wooden table, shined to a high gloss. An elegant glass vase adorned the table overflowing with fragrant lilies. Resting against the vase was an envelope with her name on it.

  Maggie approached the table slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would wake her from this wonderful dream and she would find herself back in that dreadful motel in Virginia. She opened the envelope and found a note inside, along with the $3,000 that was promised to her.

  The note outlined a very specific set of instructions. Harvesting of the peach orchards would begin in July and Maggie’s main purpose was to be present at the home while the workers were on the property, however, the groundskeeper would actually oversee the harvesting crew. It also explained that the groundskeeper would be maintaining the property around the home and that a housekeeping service would arrive weekly. Maggie was required to be at the home when the landscaping and housekeeping personnel were present. Otherwise she was free to come and go as she pleased.

  The letter also explained that the West wing of the second floor contained several guest bedrooms, of which Maggie could have her pick, however, she was expressly forbidden from entering the East wing at any time, for any reason. No explanation was given.

  Finally it gave a brief explanation for the owner’s absence. Apparently the elusive Ms. Devereaux preferred to spend her summers up North. Now that Maggie had experienced a few minutes of the Georgia summer heat she could clearly understand why. The message ended with the instruction that Maggie was expected to remain on the premises until the last day of August when harvesting would be complete.

  Maggie looked around at the magnificent room that she was standing in and then down at the cash that she was holding in her hands. It all seemed too good to be true. For some reason she had been chosen to look over this amazing house, somehow deemed trustworthy by this woman from a thousand miles away. The absurdity of the situation had still not left her. More importantly Maggie couldn’t believe she was being paid so well to live in a mansion rent-free just to oversee a maid service and a gardener. She read the note over carefully, looking for the catch, but she found none.

  In addition to her instructions Maggie found a small hand drawn map giving her directions from the plantation to the nearest town of Sweetwater. To Maggie’s relief it didn’t seem too far and if it wasn’t for the oppressive heat it might even be considered walking distance. However under these conditions even walking to her car seemed a near impossible feat.

  That thought suddenly reminded her of poor Fred still sitting on the passenger seat in Old Betty, probably being baked alive. Maggie hurried back out the front door to rescue her poor little plant from the Georgia heat. Stepping outside felt like stepping into a sauna; however, this time she had been prepared for it so it was slightly more bearable. She scurried down the steps and was relieved to find Fred was still alive and well, if not slightly wilted. She popped the trunk and juggled her few bags with one hand while securely holding Fred with the other. She was grateful that she didn’t have much, because making two trips just really wasn’t worth it.

  Even in her rush to get back inside she was able to once again appreciate the beauty that surrounded her. It really was a shame that this heat would probably keep her indoors most of the summer. At least the view from the windows would be nice.

  Once back inside she set her bags at her feet and placed Fred beside the elegant vase on the centerpiece table. He l
ooked so sad and scraggly next to the extravagant lilies, completely out of place, a perfect metaphor for how Maggie felt at the moment.

  ~3~

  As Maggie woke the next morning she was momentarily disoriented. It took her a few minutes to remember time and place. She was entirely too comfortable and the smell was all wrong. Instead of the dusty smell of old brick which had permeated her living quarters for the last several years she instead smelled… roses?

  All it took was for her to open her eyes to remember that she was not in the small confines of her old dorm room but instead sprawled out in the middle of a four poster feather bed located in one of the most luxurious bedrooms she’d ever stepped foot in.

  It had taken Maggie nearly three hours to explore the house, at least the portions she was allowed, and she still was sure that she hadn’t seen it all. The main highlight of the first floor was the library. She imagined she could spend her entire summer locked in that grand room and not even put a dent in the volumes of books that it housed. The parlor on the opposite side of the circular foyer was also quite inviting with all its southern charm and antique furniture. Being in that room really gave the illusion of having stepped back in time. For Maggie it was the perfect escape from the modern world from which she’d fled.

  The second floor had nine bedrooms in the West wing alone. All of the bedrooms had full bathrooms, walk-in closets, sitting areas, queen size beds and French doors leading to a wrapping balcony that circled the back of the house. Each room was distinguished by a different arrangement of fresh flowers that corresponded with the color palate and décor. Maggie had chosen the rose room.