Shadows from the Past

by Rebecca Grace

  That was their final afternoon together after Helen had gotten her job on Evergreen Island. It was a bittersweet day, because while Stacey was pleased at her friend’s good fortune, she was losing her roommate and her freedom. Having just lost her job, Stacey was moving back in with her mother. They stored their belongings in her mother’s garage until three weeks ago when they moved them into a storage locker at her mother’s demand. That weekend was the last time Stacey saw Helen. A week later, Helen made the frantic call that set the foundation for this journey.

  “Stacey, I’m in trouble…” Static interrupted her shrill voice before it faded.

  “Helen?” Concern filled Stacey at her friend’s hint of panic. Helen didn’t get scared.

  “It’s falling apart…”

  “Hon, I can barely hear you. Can you call from a regular phone?” Stacey squirmed in her mother’s uncomfortable chair, but Helen’s tone was more disconcerting.

  “…he figured it out… Please… I need help.”

  “Help?” Stacey choked back a laugh. From her? Unlike Helen who escaped scrapes through wit and charm, Stacey stumbled from disaster to disaster. She got fired from jobs and dumped by her boyfriend. Helen lived. Stacey survived through books, movies and Kendra cartoons.

  “I…my backpack. Did you see it?…purple?”

  “I thought you wanted it to go with your stuff. It went to the storage locker.”

  “I need it…”

  “Shall I mail it? Or are you coming home again?”

  “You must bring…need help…”

  Stacey to the rescue? “Helen, I can’t.”

  Helen didn’t seem to hear. “Tomorrow, okay?”

  “I can’t get it by then.”

  “…afternoon ferry. I’ll meet…”

  “I’ll have to find it and I can’t go until tonight, but I’ll mail it tomorrow.”

  “No…bring…”

  Helen’s words were cut off and Stacey saw the line was disconnected. She’d tried to call back but got no answer. When she went to get the backpack, she couldn’t find it in the disorganized locker. She left a message and was continuing her search when Helen’s dad called to say his daughter was dead.

  Stacey still felt horrible about letting her friend down. So she was here now—for all the good it did. With a sigh, she turned the page and began a charcoal sketch of Redfern Manor. She drew the tilting lines of the roof and dark windows on the third floor. With a smile, she even outlined a couple of gargoyles. They belonged there. Satisfied with the gothic look, she turned the page.

  Now what should she draw? Or who? The answer was simple—Mack Warren. As master, he fit the house perfectly—big and brooding. The gothic lord of old would have worn all black, and Mack had worn a thick black cable turtleneck sweater and dark brown corduroy jeans. Instead of dark hair and coloring, though, his light hair and tall stature gave him the appearance of a Nordic god. His face was chiseled and sharply lined, handsome in the traditional sense, except for those scars on the right side. But those scars added character—a Norse warrior perhaps instead of a god.

  Stacey nodded and drew the angle of his strong jaw and the patrician lines of his nose and deep set eyes. Then she recalled the fire in his blue-eyed gaze. Even now it seemed to burn through the paper. If she could get her mother to send her painting supplies, she might try to match the color. She finished with the full lines of his lips, pursed in disapproval. Would he fire her for being an idiot?

  With an impish smile she lengthened his hair and added a set of armor to her drawing. Yep, Norse warrior, just the sort Kendra might fight beside. Or take to bed? Her cheeks grew warm at the thought, recalling again those fiery blue eyes.

  Thump!

  The sound on the floor above her startled her. What was that? She waited to hear footsteps in the hall, but the floorboard creaked again and then there was silence.

  She flipped back to her sketch of Redfern Manor. Was the damn place haunted? Should be if it wasn’t. Pursing her lips, she drew the shadows of a couple of dark figures into the windows. She’d come looking to resolve the mystery of Helen’s death and all the components of a good mystery were here—frightening house, sexy lord of the manor, peculiar housekeeper. And to solve the riddle?

  Stacey? Oh, brother! She could almost hear Helen laughing.

  Chapter Two

  “Did you get settled in?” Mack asked as Stacey sat down at the dining room table. His gaze remained firmly on his lap as he placed a crisp white linen napkin across it, as though he didn’t want to directly look at her. Could she blame him?

  “Yes, Mrs. Warren helped me.” She fought to keep from clearing her throat because her voice sounded high and raspy. Three hours had gone by since he discovered her in his room clad only in a towel. Stacey turned warm at the recollection and knew her face must glow a vivid shade of red.

  Where was Peg? The long maple table in the dimly lit dining room was set for three at one end. Candles in silver candlesticks lit the center of the table and antique sideboards held polished silver pieces and crystal vases with flowers. She felt underdressed in her jeans, denim vest and cotton shirt. Mack had changed into a gray cashmere sweater over a forest green turtleneck and dark wool slacks.

  Stacey turned her attention to the bowl of creamy soup in front of her. She took a small taste and nearly swooned. “Wow, this is great. This sure didn’t come out of a can.” Maybe there was something to be said for Mrs. Danvers-Delaney.

  “I’m glad you like it. Mrs. D. makes everything from scratch.” He lifted a spoonful of the thick soup to his mouth with his left hand.

  Left handed? She started to make a comment about left-handed people and then stopped. Helen had filled her in on Mack Warren’s background. He was writing a book, but in the past he’d worked as a television reporter in Los Angeles. He’d retired after being injured in an airplane crash that killed his wife and son. His wounds had been to his right side and were serious enough that he required an assistant to do much of his typing. Recalling his hesitant movements earlier, she realized he’d moved with a slight limp.

  The door across from Stacey swung open and Peg swept through. Statuesque and elegant in a lime cashmere sweater and beige wool skirt, she sported a more pleasant disposition than her brother. Her blue eyes were soft and the laugh lines around her red lips were pronounced. Her short, ash blond hair curled in wisps around an oval, patrician face. She smiled at Stacey as she settled into her chair. “Well, dear, you’re looking much better. The shower warmed you up?”

  “Oh, yes,” Stacey said and lowered her face, knowing she was probably beet red. She couldn’t look at Mack. It would be great to turn that silly meeting into a joke, but she wasn’t going to lead the discussion. Had he told Peg about their awkward encounter?

  For a few minutes they ate in silence until Mack put down his spoon and turned to Stacey. “I hope you’re ready to get started early tomorrow. I have a deadline next week and I don’t want to miss it.”

  Before she could answer Mrs. Delaney walked through the door, balancing three dishes. She set them on the table and picked up the soup bowls. The scent of salmon and spices rose from the plate.

  Stacey inhaled the fragrant scent. Heavenly. Much better than microwave dinners she got at her mother’s house. She attempted a smile at Mack as she lifted a fork to her mouth. “I’m ready to start whenever you need me.”

  “Good. My last assistant…” He shook his head. “Did Peg tell you about her?”

  “I didn’t feel that was necessary. Stacey had all the necessary credentials you wanted.” Peg leaned forward and fired a fierce look at her brother.

  While Stacey was curious about their thoughts of Helen, she didn’t want to show too much interest the first night.

  Mack ignored his sister, blue eyes zeroing in on Stacey like lasers. “What you need to know is that my last assistant claimed to be great at organization, but she wasn’t. She assured me she was top notch at so many things that didn’t turn out to be t
rue. You didn’t do that too, did you?”

  The question confused her. “Do what?”

  “Embellish your credentials? Everything you told Peg was honest?”

  Stacey almost choked on a piece of salmon. “Of course! I wouldn’t do that sort of thing. I’m not a liar.” She wasn’t, not really. Leaving out facts wasn’t the same as fabricating.

  Peg cleared her throat in a disapproving manner. “Mack, don’t interrogate her. I dictated to her and she was fast and accurate, even though she was cold and wet and probably extremely uncomfortable.”

  “Just so you know what the job is,” he said. “Did she tell you it also includes long hours?”

  “Mack.” His sister’s tone carried another note of warning.

  He twisted toward Peg. “What? There were times we worked 17 hours a day. I just want to make certain she’s aware of that.”

  Stacey had never worked at anything for that long—couldn’t even imagine it—but his words carried a challenge. She turned to him and tilted her chin up defiantly. “I can handle it.”

  Oh, rats, was she embellishing?

  Peg rewarded her with a wink from across the table. “I’m sure you can.”

  Stacey smiled in silent thanks and focused on her food as Mack and Peg fell into a discussion about hiring someone to clean up around the fire site. Neither mentioned Helen or the fire’s cause.

  Finally Peg got to her feet and gathered their plates. “I’m going upstairs. Goodnight, Stacey and welcome to Redfern Manor.”

  Seconds later Mrs. Delaney appeared with two pieces of a creamy pie and a teapot. She poured for both before disappearing again.

  Stacey told herself she was being polite as she dug into the pie, but if she stayed long, she was going to gain weight. She tried not to gush over the heavenly taste of bananas and cream.

  Mack took a couple of bites and cleared his throat. “Perhaps Peg told you about the scope of work, but I doubt she filled you in on the subject.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Lily Feeney.” He spoke the words softly, like a prayer.

  “Lily…” Stacey shook her head, not wanting to admit she had no idea who that was.

  He didn’t appear to notice, waving his left hand at the room as his voice grew animated. “She grew up in this house. Her great-grandfather built a railroad and her grandfather ran the business until his death. Or rather, he ran it into the ground. Her father’s brothers and sisters sold off the remaining company assets, except for Redfern Manor. Her father took his considerable proceeds and lived a meaningless life in San Francisco, leaving Lily here with her grandmother. After the old woman died, the house was sold and Lily moved to Hollywood with dreams of becoming an actress. Unfortunately, the place destroyed her.” He drew a deep breath, his gaze becoming remote as though he’d retreated into another world.

  “She was murdered,” Stacey finished. When he mentioned Hollywood, she finally remembered that she had heard the name. “By a serial killer? Is that who you’re writing about?”

  His focus returned and he jerked around toward her. “Kevin Greenlee? Why would I write about him? His story has been told numerous times. He sat on death row for years. I covered his appeals and interviewed him before he was executed five years ago. He was never convicted of killing Lily and in our final interview he claimed she wasn’t one of his victims.”

  Stacey almost choked on her pie. “You think he didn’t do it? Is that what your book is about?”

  The blue eyes suddenly lit up, sparkling like a sunlit ocean. “What do you think, Stacey?”

  The force of his gaze hit her like a wave splashing over her and she almost dropped her fork. “What?”

  His eyes danced, filling with delicious promise, and her stomach tingled inside. She dropped her head, lowering her field of vision to the remnants of her desert, but she couldn’t keep it there for long. His voice was low when he spoke, almost hypnotic, drawing her back to him.

  “Do we leave the ending as a mystery? See, that ugly end isn’t my story. I’m looking for the answers behind Lily Feeney the woman, not the actress. I’m looking at what drove her to seek the golden dream that left her dead at the hands of a monster. That’s what makes her story so tragic. The other victims were runaways and prostitutes. Lily had money and breeding and came from a legendary Northwest family. Was she really one of his victims? Or a casualty of the Hollywood dream machine? Maybe I’ll leave it with that question.”

  He nodded at her as though they shared a big secret. As he turned toward her she noticed another series of scars that ran under his right jaw line. Despite that, with his full lips turned up in a smile and his eyes dancing like brilliant blue sapphires, she’d never seen anyone so handsome. Her breath caught as that crazy tingling in her stomach turned her insides to mush. She jerked her head down again as her heart skipped and began a crazy, erratic beating. What was happening here?

  He didn’t seem to notice her strange reaction. His voice took on an animated timbre as he continued. “When I was reporting on the Greenlee case, her story leaped out at me. What turned Lily into such a little girl lost? Doesn’t that grab your interest?”

  Stacey nodded but her enthusiasm was feigned. Didn’t countless girls go west harboring the dream of Hollywood? Had Helen grown bored with the concept? What had changed her mind about being here? She’d been so enthusiastic when she took the job but sounded spooked at the end. Maybe Redfern Manor frightened her and made her want to live in the carriage house.

  “Are you doing anything on her life here? Before she went to Hollywood? What about her life in this house? Or this house itself?” Stacey asked.

  He looked puzzled. “What about it?”

  “Well, like if the place is haunted?”

  He laughed sharply and studied her until she felt warmth rise in her cheeks. “If I say yes, will you quit?”

  She met his gaze as Kendra or Helen would. “I stand by my obligations. I’m ready to work.”

  “Good. But no, the house isn’t haunted. Have you seen something?”

  “I heard a noise, up on the third floor.” She felt stupid the instant the words left her lips, as the light disappeared from his eyes.

  “I doubt that. There’s no one up there now. That was Lily’s area. I’ll give you a tour tomorrow so we can look at her room.”

  Stacey attempted a half hearted shrug. “I guess it was just a creaking.”

  “Old houses do that,” he said in a stern voice, carefully folding his napkin and placing it on the table. “Now, perhaps you should start tonight with some homework. I’ll give you publicity pamphlets for Redfern Manor. The previous owners ran this place as a bed and breakfast and gave them to all the guests. They have information about the Feeney family and the house. That way if you run into any ghosts, you’ll know who they are.”

  Her gulp was audible and for the first time since she’d met him, Mack Warren laughed. The husky sound filled the room and stirred that crazy awareness within her again.

  He reached out toward her in a soothing motion and she looked at the large hand with its long fingers…and a wedding band. Hadn’t his wife been killed in the plane crash?

  “Don’t worry, Stacey. No one has seen ghosts, but Lily’s presence is here. I can feel it.” He looked up at the carved wooden ceiling and nodded. “It’s why I bought this place.”

  ****

  Stacey thought about Mack’s comments as she walked downstairs for her first day of work. She’d locked herself in the previous night to read the pamphlets. At least her bathroom was adjoining—one of the upgrades made when Redfern Manor was a bed and breakfast. Too bad they hadn’t updated the green floral wallpaper or faded blue carpets.

  She tugged at her sweater, bringing it down over the top of her jeans, wishing she had packed more clothing. Since she’d intended on being gone for only two days, she’d included only a few casual clothes. Hopefully her mother would send more. Not that her mother was happy with her decision to remain on Ever
green Island. Stacey had reached her after dinner to give her the news about her job.

  “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” her mother scolded. “You better tell them you’ve had second thoughts and come home.”

  “For the past few months, you’ve been saying I needed to find work, Mom.”

  “Here in Portland. What kind of job is it?”

  It was at that minute that Stacey decided it was best not to tell her it was Helen’s old job. “Clerical,” she said instead. “Typing, filing. Like what I was doing for that shipping company.”

  “Where will you live?”

  “I found a place…”

  “Phil called yesterday. You should make up with him. I always thought the two of you belonged together.”

  “He broke up with me,” Stacey reminded her.

  “Hmph, it sounds like he wants you back. Call him, sweetie.”

  She ignored the plea. “Can you please send some of my good clothes? I need to look professional. My black slacks and wool skirts? Some sweaters?”

  Her mother sighed. “I suppose. How can I reach you?”

  “My cell works most of the time, and I’ll get a post office box tomorrow and call back with the number.” Giving her mother the address of Redfern Manor was not a good idea. She was likely to show up to demand Stacey return home. But her mother’s townhouse wasn’t really home! She was twenty-five years old. She needed her own place. Maybe she could save enough from this job to get out on her own again.

  For now, Redfern Manor was a preferable place to live, even if its décor was somewhere between old Victorian aunt and funeral parlor. Reaching the bottom step Stacey slowed as her footsteps clicked on the wooden parquet floor. How long would it take before she could find her way around? Maps in the pamphlets had helped. She knew the center staircase that rose from the entryway split the house into a front and back on the second floor. Mack’s bedroom door was in the front with a door to the third floor stairs across from it. The back portion held Peg’s room, the room Stacey occupied and another bedroom at the end of the hall. The third floor held more bedrooms plus a large area, which was once the playroom for the Feeney children.