Shadows from the Past

by Rebecca Grace

  She pulled her robe tighter around her and decided this wasn’t the time to argue with him. “I heard this noise above me. It woke me…”

  He shook his head and she wasn’t going to argue. She stepped back inside her door and closed it quickly. How stupid of her!

  A floorboard creaked above her, but she wouldn’t open the door again. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was dreaming. Certainly she had gone to sleep with thoughts of his sudden kiss. And she was still infected with whatever passionate fever grabbed her the previous evening.

  “Stupid,” she whispered as she headed for the bathroom to take a shower, pulling off the flimsy gown. Sleeping in it wouldn’t make him come to her or even want her. He’d seemed totally uninterested a minute ago, uncomfortable even. She’d better get over these fervent feelings. Helen had never told her he was particularly sexy, but after those moments the previous night, she certainly felt that way. Would her blood temperature ever grow cool being around him? It had to, and it better happen soon! She turned the water to cold as she stepped under the spray.

  ****

  True to his word, Mack sent Kenny to look at her Kendra drawings that morning as she took her mid-morning break. She retrieved them from her room and took them down to the parlor to let him go through the latest batch.

  “Cool,” the chubby, towheaded boy said, flipping pages in her sketchbook. “Hey, this looks like Helen.”

  Why hadn’t she remembered that was there? “Helen?”

  “Yeah, the girl who died.”

  She attempted to laugh, though it sounded false. “That’s created from my imagination.”

  He turned to another page and she relaxed. It was a recent picture she’d drawn of Kendra and her new warrior in battle.

  “I like this,” Ken said with an approving grin. “But you need to make that guy more fierce.”

  Hoping to distract him from his discovery of Helen, she picked up the tablet. He was right. And she needed to make him look less like Mack. Sooner or later with his quick eye that had picked out Helen he would see the resemblance to her boss.

  “Let’s work on the villain,” she said. “What shall we name him?”

  “How about Lord Verdone?” Kenny offered.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “My imagination.”

  She laughed at his intensity. “Sounds good. Want to help with the princess who needs to be saved?” She began sketching in new figures, staying away from any resemblance to Helen or Mack. By the time they shared their project with Mack later that afternoon, she and Kenny had composed a battle that was unlike anything she had ever drawn. When Mack smiled in approval, Stacey felt like the sun had burst through a fogbank.

  ****

  For the next few days Stacey spent more time with the little boy than with Mack. He spent most of the days and even his nights locked in his room, having Mrs. D take up his dinner. He told her over the intercom he was on a writing roll and didn’t want to stop, but she feared it was more that he wanted to put distance between them.

  The absence only fueled Stacey’s thoughts about him, but she forced herself to focus on doing a good job on her filing, working harder with Joe in the gym and more with Kenny on her drawings.

  Even though her senses all seemed to come alive whenever she was around Mack, he had returned to being cool and impersonal, as though reminding her they were together only for their work. None of his comments were personal or even teasing and she forced herself to act as business-like as possible. The only time she saw him even crack a smile was when she and Kenny shared their work with him.

  But her growing success with Kenny was more than offset by sudden problems with Peg. Suddenly she found fault with everything Stacey did. She complained that Stacey tracked in mud, even though Joe was the culprit. Stacey kept his secret and she also didn’t tell Peg he was the one who devoured the strawberries Peg cleaned to make strawberry shortcake.

  But it was the pot roast that made Peg most angry.

  Stacey had carried her cup of coffee to the table and slipped into a chair in the breakfast nook as she did most mornings. Of all rooms in the old house, except for the turret which she couldn’t visit, she liked the kitchen best. Maybe it was because of the tall French windows that let in the morning sun when it was visible or the nook in front of the windows with its white wooden table and chairs with comfortable, green cushions. The kitchen walls were exposed brick and tall white cabinets lined two of the walls. A center island provided cooking and preparation space. A set of stairs occupied one corner, but no one used them. Joe informed her they led directly to another locked door on the third floor.

  Mrs. Delaney stood at the stove, putting eggs into a skillet.

  “Do you ever wonder if the house is haunted?” Stacey asked.

  The woman jerked around and frowned at her. “What?”

  “Do you ever think there might be a ghost…you know, one of the Feeneys?”

  Her cackling laugh was quick, unusual for the older woman. “Dear, you’ve been reading the pamphlets. They hinted at ghosts to make visitors feel like there was something special about this old house. In all the years I’ve worked here and my family was here, no one ever saw ghosts. Course that other crazy girl said she heard footsteps up on the third floor.”

  “Really?” Helen had heard things too?

  The older woman put bread into the toaster. “No one believed her. She just wanted Mr. Mack to let her live in the garage. That girl was always saying silly things. She thought someone was readin’ her email or goin’ through her stuff. I mean, who would do that? Why?”

  She thought about Helen’s letters. Why had her friend been frightened? Ghosts didn’t read email.

  Peg stepped through the door from the dining room and nodded at Stacey. She poured a cup of coffee and turned to Mrs. D. “No need to cook dinner, Mary. I’m going to make stew tonight from the leftover pot roast.”

  “I didn’t see any meat in the refrigerator,” Mrs. Delaney said, dishing up Stacey’s eggs.

  “I put it in there myself.” Peg gave her a hard look and walked to the refrigerator. Mrs. D buttered the toast and brought the plate to Stacey.

  She scooped eggs onto her toast and took a big bite, savoring the hint of herbs Mrs. D used. Thanks to Del’s work in the garden the herbs were always fresh. She jumped, nearly dropping her toast as the refrigerator door slammed.

  “I can’t find the pot roast,” Peg said in a high angry voice, turning to Mrs. D. “Did you make sandwiches for Mack last night?”

  The older woman shook her head. “I never saw it, and Joe wouldn’t touch anything in there without permission. Neither would Del.”

  Peg whirled to Stacey. “I don’t mind if you eat anything out of the refrigerator. Certainly you might ask, but…”

  Stacey licked her lips as two pairs of hard eyes zeroed in on her. “I didn’t do it!”

  “I won’t fire you,” Peg said. “All I ask is honesty.”

  “I didn’t eat it.”

  “Aren’t you the one who hears things in the night?”

  Had she heard anything the night before? Only the normal creaks above her, but she shook her head.

  “Maybe it was ghosts,” Mrs. Delaney said with a harsh laugh.

  Peg sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “I don’t mind sharing things. But there’s one thing I hate and that’s a liar.” She marched out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

  Stacey could only stare after her. “I didn’t lie,” she said in soft protest.

  Mrs. D. shrugged. “Don’t worry. She blows hot and cold. She won’t remember the fight by lunch time.”

  Stacey pushed away her tasty eggs. Suddenly they weren’t appetizing.

  ****

  With the tension between her and Peg and her growing infatuation with Mack, Stacey didn’t even mind when Carlos stopped in for another visit. At least he added humor to the house.

  Thinking the two men were tied up in Mack’s study, Stacey relaxe
d in the afternoon sun on the patio. She wanted to tackle another drawing of the house from a different angle.

  She had just started when Carlos dropped onto the lounger beside her. “Mack says you’re quite an artist. Is that why Peg is jealous of you?”

  She continued working, though she wanted to ignore his sarcastic comment. She had a feeling he had made it to see her reaction. “Who says she’s jealous?”

  “One hears things. Or maybe Mack’s taken a shine to you and Peg senses her days as his caretaker are numbered?”

  “That’s not funny,” she protested, but it might explain why Peg had grown so cold. Stacey didn’t believe it, though. She might be smitten, but in front of Peg, Mack had never indicated he saw her as anything other than his assistant. “I have a boyfriend, remember? I’m not a better artist either.”

  “Kenny says you are. He told me you’re writing a cartoon together. When are you going to draw me? You can even make me the villain.”

  She glanced at him. Actually his lean, lined face presented an interesting challenge. She flipped over a page and began outlining him.

  “How’s the project going?” he asked, leaning back as though he knew what she was doing.

  “Fine. You were right when you said Mack is in love with Lily. He’s seeing only the good side of her. He doesn’t want to admit there was a dark side that might have thrown her into Greenlee’s path.”

  His laugh was quick. “So you think there are dark secrets to our angel?”

  “Perhaps. But he doesn’t want to dig deeper.”

  “Mack spent years investigating the dark side of humanity. Part of him still wants to do that, but another part wants to find goodness in Lily.”

  “I don’t know why. He’s ignoring the drugs, the wild parties, the hosts of boyfriends. He’s making her sound like a girl who lost her way, but lots of women accused her of trying to steal their boyfriends. I wonder if she didn’t try to steal Ray Gibson from Mrs. D’s sister. The picture of Lily Feeney in Helen Stanton’s interviews is very different from the woman Mack is portraying in his writing.”

  “Very astute, young one. If only I was thirty years younger…” he said with a laugh.

  “I thought you liked them young,” she said with a smile.

  “Only in years.”

  She jerked her head up. “What does that mean?”

  “Lily was young, but not in years. Not like you. You see the world through that cartoon character of yours. Black and white. Right and wrong.”

  His words reminded her of what Helen had once said. She shook that off. “What about Lily? Do you think she saw it in gray?”

  “A very dark gray, maybe all black. That’s what Mack refuses to see.”

  “I understand that. This place is spooky. Some days there’s no color but gray.”

  “And you’re light,” he said with a sly grin. “Peaches and sunshine.”

  Stacey didn’t reply. She finished drawing and handed him the picture. His face held a scowl and he resembled a feral animal, menacing, waiting for victims.

  “Oh, hell. You made me look old.”

  “I made you look your age.”

  Carlos laughed and pulled out his wallet. He dug through it to retrieve a card that he handed to her. “My original press card. I keep it for memories.”

  The picture was slightly cracked with age, but the old Carlos came through clearly. His jaw was pointed, his cheeks thin and angular. Even his nose looked sharper. His hair was jet black and fell in thick curls to his shoulders.

  “Very 70’s,” she said.

  “Very,” he agreed. “I was a hungry kid looking for work and trouble. Now I look like a damned grandfather.”

  She took the card from him and began drawing again. After a few minutes she held up the sketch book. “What do you think?”

  “Much better. Let me see that.”

  She handed him the book and he studied it as she sharpened her pencils.

  “This is very good,” he said and she looked up. He had flipped over a couple of pages. “You’ve got a good eye for detail. The house looks very forbidding, and you’ve really captured Mack. Imperious lord of the manor.”

  She grimaced, studying the drawing of Mack. “I did that the first day I was here. He scared me. Now I might draw him a little softer.” Luckily her most recent pictures of Mack were kept in a small separate sketchbook she kept hidden under her bed.

  He shook his head. “This is the Mack I used to know, the hard, cocky reporter who didn’t care who he hurt to get a story. That’s why this fascination with the good side of Lily is so wrong. You should draw her from one of the tabloids where she was cussing out photographers.” He flipped back another page. “Something you want to tell me?”

  “What?” She started to laugh, but then her skin began to crawl as she saw the sketch of her and Helen. She feigned a smile, though her heart was pounding and she feared it was so loud he could hear it. He was not Kenny; he would not accept an explanation that it was her imagination. “I drew that as a…I don’t know…the two of us doing this job, you know.”

  “Except you said you drew Mack the first day? When did you draw this? Before that?”

  She realized her error, but couldn’t back down. “Right after I got the job. It’s supposed to be symbolic. Old and the new?” At least that sounded good. A half truth concealed in honesty.

  “How did you know what Helen Stanton looked like?”

  “Her picture was in the paper.”

  He gazed at her for a minute, and her heart thudded. Did he guess? He closed the book and handed it back to her as he got to his feet. “You are a good artist. No wonder Peg’s jealous. Let me give you a warning. If I were you, I’d be very careful. No one except Peg knows the truth about what happened to Mack’s first two assistants. And there may be secrets about Helen too.”

  Stacey’s hands shook as she watched Carlos lope back toward the house. Suddenly she needed to be away from Redfern Manor, even if she had to walk. She put her sketchbook on the table and walked to the edge of the grass and took the first path she found. What was he saying? That Peg had gotten rid of Mack’s first assistants? How? Had she grown jealous of Helen too? Could she be dangerous if she was threatened?

  Concerns about Peg weren’t all that bothered Stacey though. She had come close to giving her identity away with the Helen picture. He’d studied it as though looking for a way to refute her comments. Would he tell Mack? She stopped as she saw the freshly painted sign, reading “Danger: Quarry.” An arrow pointed to the left.

  With a quick twist, she turned in the other direction. The scent of dampness overwhelmed her as the mossy path muffled the sound of her footsteps. She was about to turn back when she saw a piece of fabric stuck to a tree. The bright yellow was familiar. It came from Helen’s favorite sweater. She reached over and touched it. Her friend had been here! Didn’t Del say she never walked in this direction?

  She peered around the area in case there was other evidence of Helen. Branches from the tree had been broken as though something had pressed against them and the ground appeared trampled with much of the underbrush disturbed. She stepped forward and nearly choked. Like a light flashing on, the sun had poked through the trees, making something on the ground sparkle. She reached for it, knowing what it was even before the silver ID bracelet came loose from the overgrown brush. She turned it over, knowing the name plate would carry an engraving of a tiny Chinese symbol for Joy. She’d been with Helen when she bought it at a Chinese jewelry store in Portland.

  How had Helen lost it? She considered it her good luck charm. Tears clouded Stacey’s eyes. Her friend’s luck had run out after she lost this bracelet.

  As Stacey rose, she heard something. What? A crackling of a twig? Footsteps? She stayed silent, listening. Another crackle. What was that? An animal? Someone watching her? Slowly she rose to her feet, looking down as she concentrated on sounds in the forest.

  As she stared down, she realized she was seeing something
besides twigs and shrubbery. There was something else silvery under the leaves. She reached down and pushed them aside. Her breath caught and she picked up a small bright green and silver flash drive. Could this be Helen’s missing notes?

  She held it up triumphantly. The sound of cracking branches was close by and she began running back along the path. The crackling grew closer and she kept running. From behind something barreled into her like a lineman exploding through a pass rush in football. She crashed into a tree, her head banging against it hard and she literally saw stars as she tumbled to her knees. The flash drive flew out of her hand and something swept by her and then was gone.

  It happened so fast she wasn’t sure what had just happened. Dazed she rose to her feet and stumbled forward. Too late she realized she had run beyond the path that would take her to the house. She had gone too far and found herself teetering on the edge of the quarry again. She lurched back, grabbing at a tree, but its branches were slick and wet.

  A heavy force smacked her from behind again and she toppled toward the edge. This time there was no grasping hand to catch her and she slid over the edge, falling for a few feet before something unknown broke her fall. It yanked her arm and jerked her to a stop, sending her crashing against the earthen wall. She flailed her legs in the air until they touched a narrow shelf. As she steadied herself, she discovered she was on a small ledge, anchored by a tree that was growing out of the side of the quarry. Helen’s bracelet had caught on one of the branches and stopped her fall, jerking her against the side of the quarry. Above her, mud clods and pebbles rained down, pounding her head. Was someone up there? Could the person see her or had the culprit thought she had fallen all the way down. Someone had shoved her. She was sure of that. Who? Why? Her muscles ached but she pressed herself against the stone wall. Below her was a pool of water and mud, broken only by the jagged points of rock. If she fell, she would be hurt, maybe killed. Is that what the person above wanted?

  Why? Del might not like her, but he didn’t seem like the type who would be violent. Joe was strong enough, but she felt like she was making friends with him. Carlos liked to tease her, but hardly hated her.