Table of Contents
Shadows from the Past
Copyright
Praise for Rebecca Grace
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing
Shadows
from the Past
by
Rebecca Grace
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Shadows from the Past
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Rebecca Grace
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2012
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Rebecca Grace
and
DEADLY MESSAGES
Finalist, Aspen Gold
Heart of Denver Romance Writers
~*~
“The action and suspense in this book will truly keep you on your toes. A roller coaster ride sets the stage as Connie and Mitch come together to find out whether they are hunting one killer or two… A very balanced narrative combined with a solid mystery make this a must-read.”
~Romantic Times Book Reviews (4 Stars)
~*~
“Suspense, betrayal and murder are all in this thrilling book along with a very sexy Inspector. Rebecca Grace did a great job in bringing all these elements together to make a highly recommended suspense. This is definitely one of those books that will grip your attention…”
~Night Owl Reviews (Top Pick, 4.5 Stars)
~*~
“I thoroughly enjoyed all the scenes in this book between Connie and Mitch as well as the level of casual detail describing the area around Vancouver and Seattle… I feel like if I were to travel there, I would be able to find the Romero family home and all of their favorite spots… Another strong point in Ms. Grace's favor is the slow burn between Connie and Mitch. It was refreshing to not have an instant dazzling explosion of fireworks and instead witness a genuine likeness and respect blossom into love.”
~The Romance Studio (3 Hearts)
Dedication
To my sister, Lillie, and brother, John,
who are always there when it counts.
Chapter One
“I need your help. You’re the only one I can trust.”
Helen’s frightened voice haunted Stacey Moreno as she steered her car along a narrow road through a misty world of towering pines. The words appeared as a title tattooed over the mist that hung light as a shroud in front of her. It beckoned like a sign pulling her forward.
“Come… Please.”
“I’m here, Helen,” Stacey whispered as rain pelted her Honda. Big droplets splashed like tears on the windshield. She shivered despite the heat that poured from the car’s vents. Yes, she was here—but it was too late, and she had only guilt to drive her forward.
Helen’s phone plea for help two weeks ago was the last time she talked to her best friend. Two days later Helen was dead—suicide, according to police reports. Stacey didn’t believe it for a minute. Helen Stanton embraced life. She wouldn’t kill herself.
The rain shot down harder, becoming bullets on the roof, bursting against the windshield until she couldn’t see. Stacey jerked her foot from the gas pedal and tapped the brakes, sending her car into a spin. She fought for control and regained it after a heart stopping swerve.
“This is crazy. I should go home,” she muttered.
No!
She’d let Helen down once. She couldn’t do it again. Her thoughts drifted to Kendra, the cartoon character she created for sketching. What would Kendra do? Since Kendra was based on Helen, the bottom line was what would Helen do? Press forward, that’s what.
Stacey had come to Washington’s San Juan Islands wanting to find out more about where and how Helen died. Her first stop on Evergreen Island was the general store Helen once described to her. The last thing she expected to find as she wandered the store looking for snacks was a notice on the community bulletin board that was identical to the one Helen answered six months ago.
Wanted: Researcher and typist. Must be well organized and prepared to work long hours. Job is on an isolated island so room and board may be arranged.
Helen had loved her work at first, texting and emailing Stacey with glowing reports. She even admitted a growing crush on her handsome boss, Mack Warren. Then things changed… Why?
Stacey wanted answers and the ad promised the possibility of getting them. She knew what Kendra/Helen would do to uncover the truth. She’d go after the job and meet the mysterious Mr. Warren. She could envision the cartoon panels in her head as she punched in the phone number listed on the ad.
His sister, Peg, sounded pleasant enough when she agreed to have Stacey drive out for an interview. “You live on Evergreen Island?”
“I just came in on the ferry. I’m from Oregon.”
“And you want to stay?” There was a half laugh on the other end of the line.
“The ad said something about room and board?”
“That can be arranged. We’re about 20 minutes from town.”
What had she been thinking? She’d left her mother’s townhouse in Portland for this?
No! For Helen. But her imaginary cartoon panel didn’t include a rain soaked trip along a forest road so narrow it resembled a wet, green cave. Stacey glanced at the hastily scrawled instructions on how to get to Redfern Manor. She should almost be there.
She rounded a corner and the trees fell away to an open area. On the right side of the road sat a sprawling gray stone structure with an octagonal turret perched atop like a predator. Stacey skidded to a stop beside a stone sign that identified it as her destination. Redfern Manor resembled a gargoyle ready to pounce on cars coming around the corner. Two dark upper windows gave the top floors the ghastly appearance of a face with small black eyes. A tiled roof that sloped over a long veranda formed a red slash of a frowning mouth. Slanting eaves and a steeply pitched roof promised hiding places for vampires, werewolves and unknown creatures of the night.
“Holy cow!” What a setting for a Kendra adventure! But she wasn’t Kendra. Or Helen. Perhaps meeting the Warrens was enough. She probably wouldn’t get the job anyway. Drawing a deep breath, Stacey stepped on the gas to turn the car into the driveway. To her horror, the Honda sputtered and the engine died.
****
Stacey stepped reluctantly from the deep bathtub with a sigh and gripped a soft towel like a lifeline, pulling it snugly around her. She could have stayed in there for another half hour, wrapped in that wonderful scent of citrus and lime. Despite the hot bath, chills still rippled through her. Would she ever feel warm again? This sense of unwelcome iciness had overwhelmed her spirit when she first heard of Helen’s death and refused to thaw.
Now she was only
a few miles from the beach where Helen died. She’d managed to get Helen’s old job and she was in the house where her friend lived her final days. She might even be in the very room where Helen spent her last night.
Stacey padded into the adjoining bedroom. The bulky walnut furniture was as stolid as the house and the heavy emerald drapes and matching bedspread on the king-sized bed were downright depressing. Lacy drapery blocked out any hint of daylight. She couldn’t imagine her lively friend residing in this funeral parlor atmosphere. Helen loved bright places, not gothic inspired buildings with somber gray walls and Victorian décor. She belonged in a room painted red with black rugs and sleek chrome furnishings, not dark wood paneling and overstuffed furniture. While it suited Stacey better than her mother’s delicate French Provincial, pink-themed townhouse, she still might ask if she could put up some Kendra drawings to liven up the drab environment.
What would Kendra do now?
“Get some clothes on,” she muttered. Stacey glanced toward the bathroom and the clump of damp clothes that littered the marble floor.
When was her bag going to arrive? Stacey had given her car keys to Peg Warren, who in turn handed them to a rough looking, scrawny teen and ordered him to start the car or get it towed into the driveway. She’d also instructed him bring in Stacey’s bag, and as though she suddenly noticed Stacey’s shivering appearance, Peg suggested she come upstairs and take a hot shower. Stacey had opted for the luxurious tub instead.
Stacey paced around the room, stopping by the window to look for her car. Sure enough, the silver clunker was parked outside a long, low structure that must be the garage. At least it had gotten her here—250 miles from Portland to the Anacortes ferry landing north of Seattle. If she’d known it wouldn’t get her home, she might have been more reticent about the trip.
But she had a job! Wait until she told her mother. She’d try calling her again, if she could get her cell phone to function. It worked fine in town when she called Peg, but showed no service now. No wonder Helen had trouble reaching her.
As Stacey turned, she spotted a robe. Forest green and soft to the touch, it rested on the back of a wing chair just outside the bathroom door. Peg must have left it for her. It would be more comfortable than prancing around in the towel until her bag arrived.
At least she could put on her underwear, since it was dry. She went into the bathroom, picked up her bra and panties from the towel rack and returned to the bedroom. As Stacey began to peel off the towel and reach for the robe, she heard a click. She grabbed for the robe, struggling with it while still holding onto the towel as the door opened. Why hadn’t Peg knocked?
But it wasn’t Peg who peered at her, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.
“What…who…are…you?” Stacey gasped, attempting to clutch the robe and towel to her chest. Her shaking fingers slipped and she dropped both.
“A better question is who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?”
“Your…your bedroom?” Her gaze traveled wildly around the room.
The man didn’t answer. He jerked back and slammed the door. “Can you please put your clothes on?”
Her breath exploded in quick pants. What was going on? Peg directed her to go to the top of the stairs, take a left and go to the first bedroom. Stacey held up her hands and studied them like a map. Left formed an L. Oh, damn, she’d done it again!
And she knew who was behind those surprised blue eyes. Her new boss, Mack Warren. Yikes! Giving the room a second glance, Stacey realized how blind she’d been. Various masculine—and personal—objects leaped to her attention, a book on the bedside table beside black horn-rimmed glasses. Pictures on the bureau of a woman and boy. If she hadn’t been so focused on Helen, she would have paid more attention.
Oh, rats!
What would Helen do? Easy answer—she wouldn’t have gone in the wrong direction. Stacey was the dummy who’d never been able to tell her left from her right. She jerked on the robe, but even that reminded her of her mistake. The large garment wrapped around her like a drooping emerald curtain.
Oops.
A quick rap reminded her Mack Warren waited outside.
“I’m dressed,” she called.
He opened the door and glanced in at her. His blue eyes reminded her of a bright June morning warmed by the summer sun. For the first time since she’d boarded the ferry, she felt warm. But heat came only from his gaze. His firm jaw was clamped tight, and his scowl could have frozen her. The jagged scar that slashed across his right eyebrow and upper cheek made him look fierce.
“When I said get dressed, I didn’t mean put on my robe.” He moved forward in a hesitant motion before dropping his head and running a hand through thick sandy hair.
“My bag hasn’t arrived yet.” As she spoke, Stacey recognized how lame that sounded. It probably was sitting in the right room. She tucked her damp hair behind her ear, though she would have preferred to remain hidden behind the thin curtain of her straight bangs. “I…got lost…see after I talked to Peg…”
He held up a hand, to stop her rambling and jerked his head toward the door. “Your room is down the hall.”
She gestured toward the bathroom. “My clothes…”
“Don’t worry about them.”
Stacey started for the door but stopped. This was off to a bad start, but she needed to explain. “My car died at the gate so I pushed it off the road…and…”
“That’s your car blocking my garage door?”
Double, double rats!
“I’m sorry about this mess. I was all wet and Peg said to go to the first door on the left at the top of the stairs.”
His brow furrowed as he tilted his head to the side. “This is on the right.”
Embarrassment enveloped her and her face burned. “I…sometimes get directions confused.” She held up her hands and attempted to explain her theory. “See, the left hand makes an L. Have you ever noticed that? But sometimes I forget to check…”
Mack Warren glared at her as though she was some sort of deranged nut case. “Will you just…” he gestured at her body.
“Sorry. I’ll bring back your robe after it’s washed…”
He lurched toward her and she jumped back as he leaned over. When he straightened, something pink and lacy dripped from his left hand.
“Oh,” she said, grabbing her underwear, which she’d dropped along with the towel when he entered. Maybe it was time to shut up. Helen accused her of babbling when she got nervous. And she was beyond anxious! Holding her head down, Stacey rushed past him and out the door. What a fiasco! She knew what her mother would say: “Stacey, you will never make it on your own.”
But she had gotten Helen’s job. Or maybe Peg felt sorry for the freezing creature she’d found shivering at the end of the drive pushing her car off the road. Peg had picked her up and they started the interview while driving toward the sprawling gray monstrosity.
A door opened in front of Stacey. A tall, thin woman stood framed in the doorway. “Miss Moreno?”
“Yes.” Stacey waved at the hall. “I’m looking for my room.”
“This is your room,” the woman said, opening the door wider and gesturing for Stacey to enter. “Miz Warren asked me to prepare it. I’m Mrs. Delaney, the housekeeper.”
Yep, she was housekeeper material all right, straight out of central casting. Of medium height, she wore a black cotton dress, as though she performed as Miss Danvers in Rebecca in her spare time. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and pinned on top of her head. Her eyes were small and dark and her pale face was lean, with a narrow nose and thin lips. She wore no makeup. Her sharp features and steady gaze reminded Stacey of a bird—perhaps a gray starling or a black crow. Stacey recalled that Helen once told her she did not trust the housekeeper.
“You’ll be working for Mr. Warren?” Mrs. Delaney asked as Stacey stepped passed her into the room.
“Yes, I’m taking Helen Stanton’s place.”
The w
oman’s thin lips pinched together in a disapproving twitch. “She killed herself, you know.”
Stacey drew a deep breath to keep from an automatic response that Helen would never do such a thing. “Was this her room?”
The woman turned to a window and lifted a lacy curtain to reveal a pile of charred rubble behind the garage. “She didn’t like staying here in the main house so they let her live in the old carriage house. That was a mistake. She burned it down.”
Again, Stacey had to stop from protesting. This was new information. Helen never told her about living in a carriage house or that it burned down.
Mrs. Delaney pulled back from the window and straightened the curtain. “She had an argument with Mr. Warren. They say she set the house on fire just before she killed herself. Maybe she realized she had burned her bridges here.”
A tremor shook Stacey and she licked her lips, trying to think of a response. “You didn’t like her?”
“No one did.” Mrs. Delaney walked to the door and stopped to look at Stacey, small eyes narrowed, prune-shaped face unforgiving. “Mr. Warren shoulda fired her after that first week. I told him so.”
Stacey pressed her lips together and clenched her fingers into fists to keep from blurting an angry response. She couldn’t make people angry on her first day. This woman’s comments cemented her reason for being here. She needed to find out why these people turned against her friend. Helen had always been the friendly sort. What had happened here at Redfern Manor?
****
With nothing to do until dinner, Stacey settled in front of a delicate cherry wood writing desk with her sketch book. She opened it and sighed at the first picture. Done in charcoal it was a drawing of Helen and a self portrait of herself on a bench beside the Columbia River.
They’d sat side by side when she made the drawing, but she sketched it as though someone standing at the edge of the water had snapped their picture. Both were smiling, but the contrast between the two was startling. Helen had thick short onyx hair that feathered around her small oval face, while Stacey’s shoulder length curtain was thin and she’d used light gray lines to portray its mousey brown shade. Helen’s dark eyes and pouty, exotic mouth appeared animated while Stacey’s face showed an average nose, a small bow for a mouth and wide eyes in a delicately boned face. Even in charcoal, Helen looked real and vibrant, while Stacey portrayed a pale comparison as though a copying machine had lost its toner and her half of the sketch was a fading gray.
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