Ner (Not So) Rich Millionaire Playboy: A Vintage Romance

by Amberlee Day

  “I do have a favorite,” he said. “But there’s actually a story that goes along with that, so I’ll have to tell you later.”

  “You can’t tell me now?” she asked. “Just the title.”

  “Sorry. It really is a long story, and as it is, I need to get going. Ah, here’s breakfast.” He’d ordered something he could pick up and take with him, so he stood to leave. “You ladies have a wonderful morning, and I’ll catch up with you later.” He smiled at Aunt Affie and winked at Beverly, making her insides all wobbly.

  “Just the title!” she called after him, but he only waved and hurried out the door. She sighed. He really was good-looking. He even looked good walking away.

  Aunt Affie cleared her throat, and Beverly found she was being scrutinized. “What?”

  “What?” her aunt repeated. “I’ll tell you what. I want to know where you saw Ned so early this morning. And don’t try telling me it’s a long story. I want to hear it all.”

  Chapter 14

  During Beverly’s walk down to Grantsport’s Main Street, she came across three interesting sights: dueling fiddlers on a street corner, a man with a cat on a leash, and an offer to rid Beverly of her ghost.

  “A spirit’s attached itself to you, dear,” a middle-aged woman told her. She’d run out of her house still wearing a kitchen apron and stopped Beverly on the sidewalk.

  “What’s that?” Beverly asked, smiling down at the plump woman. She’d been thinking of Ned and what a beautiful day it was, and wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

  “A spirit.” The woman looked sweet enough to be a preschool teacher. “I can see them, and one’s attached itself to you. Are you staying in one of the old buildings? A bed-and-breakfast, maybe? Some of those places are full of them.”

  Beverly looked back at the woman’s house, a small and tidy newer home with flower boxes at the windows. Beverly shook her head. “I think I’m alright. Thank you, though.”

  The woman’s hands were in her apron pockets, but she took them out and grasped Beverly’s hand.

  “Wha—” Beverly exclaimed, but the woman only smiled benignly back at her.

  “It’s a friendly spirit, dear, but still you don’t need it hanging on. Bit of a drag. Put this in your pocket, and it will go away soon enough.” The woman turned right back around and waddled up to the house, shutting the door behind her without another look back.

  Beverly looked in her hand, where the stranger had left a smooth black rock. She didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings, so she slipped it in her pocket and continued on her walk.

  Interesting people in Grantsport, that was for sure.

  Many storefronts in town interested Beverly the first time she came for a visit, but with the sudden rainstorm she hadn’t had a chance to explore many. Today she had hours to herself, and stopped in every colorful, enticing doorway that caught her eye.

  By the time she reached the store called Louis’s Used Books, she’d already purchased a maxi skirt worthy of a gypsy (smiling to think that Ned would roll his eyes) and some specialty chocolates to share with Aunt Affie. Walking into a store full of books, however, made her nostalgic for her own store back home, even though this one was set up completely differently. While her shop was a bit of a lovable mess, this one had neat rows of uniform, homemade shelves, and not one of them was overcrowded. She went straight to the sign marked Mysteries and began reading the shelves for something new.

  “Can I help you?” A man with frizzy hair and round tinted glasses looked up from the book he was reading by the register. It made Beverly smile.

  “A truth universally acknowledged,” she said. “Bookstore owners love to read.”

  He blinked at her, probably still trying to adjust his brain from his book world to real life. She understood; she’d been there. “Sorry?” he said.

  “Nothing. I own a bookstore in New Mexico, and I do the same thing … read as much of the day as I can manage. Don’t let me bother you.”

  He nodded, and went right back to reading. She didn’t mind. She’d rather discover the store’s little treasures on her own.

  Half an hour later, she headed back to the desk with three novels in her hands.

  “Ready?” The man turned away from his book plenty fast when there was a sale to make. She knew what that was like, too.

  While he entered the prices into the till, Beverly picked up a brand new book from a pile on the countertop. It was a cookbook: Cooking for Two with Reva and Loren.

  The store owner tapped the cover. “My brother and his wife. I don’t usually sell new books, but for them I make an exception. Amazing cooks. It’s even signed.”

  Beverly grinned, and on a whim added it to her pile. At her little apartment in New Mexico she typically cooked for one, but she’d already let herself daydream about Ned all day. Adding cooking for him to the fantasy might be jumping the gun, but nobody had to know.

  Her gaze wandered to the front window. What store should she try next? Maybe the beads shop for a gift to take home to Julie. But something in the bookstore window caught her eye, and she went to see what it was.

  It was a display of secondhand books, all the same novel but different editions: Death at Radcliffe Castle. She picked up the one with the cover she knew best. “I love this book!” she exclaimed. “I have a few copies in my shop, but not this many or in such good condition.”

  “Local author,” the man said, walking over to pick up a larger copy in hardback. “I buy them online from different places so I have plenty on hand.”

  “Local author? Really?” Beverly had started skimming through the pages, remembering favorite things about the book, but she turned it over to remind herself of the author’s name. “S.D. Sterling. Hm. I can’t remember if I’ve read anything else by …” Suddenly the last name seemed to grow larger on the cover. “Sterling.” She blinked. “The author’s name is Sterling.”

  The shop owner nodded. “Yeah, lived up at the castle. That’s where it’s set, too. Have you seen it? Hard to miss.”

  Beverly’s heart quickened. “So the initials stand for …?”

  “Susanna Demander Sterling.”

  Ned’s mother! A sudden chill made Beverly shiver. She looked down at the book in her hand again, a story she’d read many times, a modern-day classic gothic romance. How could she have lived at the castle for nearly a week and not made the connection before now? “I’m actually staying there,” she told the shop owner.

  “You may have seen her family, then. They still own it.” He leaned a little closer, making Beverly draw back. “And some say Susanna’s still there, too.”

  “What, like locked up in a tower?” Images of Jane Eyre came to mind, but that couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t put something awful past Philip Sterling, but not with Ned around.

  “More like haunting the place. Apparently something odd about her death, see?”

  A shiver ran up Beverly’s back, as real as if someone had touched her. She remembered the rock in her pocket, and her hand automatically moved to touch the flat, smooth stone. “Why was it odd?” she asked.

  “One day she was fine, the next on her deathbed. Then, she was just gone.”

  Sinister images of Philip Sterling flashed through her mind: Philip lurking behind his wife at an old-fashioned typewriter, Philip dropping poison in her drink, Philip coming at his sleeping wife with a pillow in his hands. Beverly shivered again. “Do you mean someone was suspected of doing something to her?” she asked.

  The man shrugged. “Nothing was ever proven, but there were rumors. If you’ve seen her husband, you know why. Scary guy, that one.”

  Beverly nodded. She had no trouble picturing Ned’s father as dangerous. But wouldn’t Ned suspect if he was? Probably not. Even with a father like Philip, it would still be hard to imagine such a thing about your own father.

  “So, do you want that book, too?” the man asked, done with his storytelling and ready to complete the sale.

  Beverly look
ed down at the familiar cover again. “Yes. I definitely do.”

  Maybe if she read the book again she’d find some clue that Susanna Demander Sterling left, something to indicate that she was frightened of her husband. But not a word to Ned, Beverly determined. What would he think if he knew she imagined his father capable of murder?

  When she left the shop a few minutes later, her purchases in hand and her head full of frightening thoughts, the bookstore owner returned to reading his book. Beverly had forgotten something there, though. Lying on top of his novel was a smooth, dark stone. He turned it over in his hand before dropping it into the spare-change jar. It was a nice rock; maybe the pretty lady with the braid would be back for it later.

  Beverly spent the afternoon with Aunt Affie in the library. Adam the handyman had finished putting the curtain back up, so there was no sign of her cozy nest with Ned, but Beverly grew warm every time she looked at the love seat.

  She’d finished going through Tess Demander’s journal, leaving a detailed list of which pages told of which events. Aunt Affie had suggested she try reading the remaining journals in chronological order, but Beverly had a different idea. She searched through them all—there were eighteen volumes total, sometimes multiple diaries for an individual—but nothing for Susanna Sterling, and that seemed odd. Why would a writer with a strong family history of journal writing not keep one herself? Unless she had, and someone had taken it to keep something hidden. Beverly spent an hour scouring the library shelves in case it sat in some obscure place, but her only result was chastisement from Aunt Affie to get a move on with the next journal.

  Between Aunt Affie’s meeting with the historical society president and a busy afternoon going through castle research, Aunt Affie was pooped and ready for bed. While she went up for a bath, Beverly went down to the dungeon. Floyd provided her with a bowl of soup so Aunt Affie wouldn’t have to make an appearance in the dining room. That left Beverly an hour to change and read as much of Death at Radcliffe Castle as she could before dinner with Ned.

  Because dinner would be the first time they were sort of alone together since waking up that morning, Beverly chose her favorite skirt—the black chiffon maxi—and a short-sleeved white blouse. They had agreed on dinner at seven, and she didn’t want to be late, so she took her book downstairs with her and read in an alcove down the hall from the dining room until it was time.

  Rereading Radcliffe Castle was a completely different experience from any other time she’d read it. When the main characters walked the castle halls, she knew now exactly how narrow and long they were. She heard the creaking noises, and even knew the fear of a door opening on its own, which Beverly put down to the oddities of an old structure but Susanna wrote as dark and mysterious. The story’s dungeon was shaped exactly like Demander’s dungeon kitchen, but with chains and dank cells instead of bright lighting and the smell of bread baking. It occurred to Beverly that her dream about the dungeon may have been inspired by memories of this book.

  She was just reading about the villain intruder discovering the heroine’s hiding place when a deep voice in suspiciously friendly tones interrupted her. “There you are, Ms. Tune!”

  Beverly nearly jumped out of her skin, especially when Philip Sterling put a hand on her shoulder. “Goodness! You scared me.” She tried a smile, hoping he wouldn’t see just how much.

  “Scared you? What a strange thing to say. I just wondered how your adventure to town went today.”

  Beverly’s senses were still half in the story and half looking at Philip, whose features struck her as menacing despite his smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, tucking the book into her bag, “how did you know I went to town today?”

  He appeared pleased with himself. “A little bird told me. Quite a nice little town we have, don’t you think?”

  “It is,” she said, though she seriously doubted whether the older Mr. Sterling spent much time browsing the little shops himself.

  “If you get a chance, I hope you talk with the group here from Tacoma,” he said. “They went golfing this morning. There’s a free shuttle service that comes right to the hotel. It’s a very popular excursion, and I can provide you with specific information.”

  Beverly blinked several times. Golfing? She couldn’t think why he’d assume she wanted to golf, but was sure that was what he’d said. What she really wanted was for him to go away, so she only replied, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. We also have shuttles to the lavender farms east of here, the decommissioned military base park just to the north, and service to Main Street shops for people who might have trouble with the hill.”

  “Very … nice.”

  Philip nodded like he was making a business deal. “Do you have any questions? Perhaps details about the castle that Ned hasn’t provided you with, or seasonal events?”

  Beverly shook her head slowly. “No, not that I can think of. But if I do, I know where to find you.”

  “Excellent,” he said, staring at her with almost bulging eyes. “Excellent. Now, Ms. Tune, would you and your aunt be interested in joining me for dinner?”

  Eerie to feel her skin begin to crawl, but Beverly had to rub her arms to stop the sensation. “Actually, my aunt retired early tonight. And as for my plans …”

  Thankfully, she was saved from having to accept or reject him. “Our plan is a quiet dinner for two,” Ned said, stepping around the corner to join them. A burst of gratitude and pleasure spread over her, and when he looked her way, her heart raced in an entirely different way than it had a moment before.

  “I see. Then I will wish you both a good evening,” his father said. He didn’t look like he minded, and was maybe even pleased. He took the hint, thankfully, and made a hasty exit.

  Beverly exhaled. “Was I polite? I was trying to be polite.”

  Ned chuckled, though he did glance over his shoulder the direction his father had left. “I’m sorry he keeps putting you in these situations.”

  “That’s alright.”

  “He has business out of town tomorrow and should be gone for a couple of days. I wish it wasn’t true, but it’s always a relief when he has something else to occupy him.”

  “I bet.” Beverly smiled at him, probably a little too long, but then he smiled back at her. She looked down at her shoe while she tried to control the excitement she felt.

  “Are you ready for dinner?” he asked, extending an arm to her. She nodded, slipping her hand in that heavenly spot along his biceps. He stopped her, though, before they left the alcove. “I’m glad it’s just us tonight. I’d really … really enjoy getting to know each other better.”

  “Me, too,” she said, hoping that her anticipation shone through her eyes. She’d been so at odds with Ned since they met, she wanted him to know that she was open to starting afresh.

  After they’d seated and ordered—Ned wanted crab cakes and Beverly chicken salad—Ned asked, “Did you really make it into town, then? I heard my father ask about it.”

  Beverly gave him a sly smile. “I did, and I discovered something you’ve been hiding.”

  Ned smirked. “Hiding? Are you questioning my motives again, Miss Tune?”

  “I’m questioning something,” she said, reaching into her bag. “I can’t understand why it is that while you’re aware of my strong interest in books, you have neglected to tell me about this one.”

  She placed the copy of Death at Radcliffe Castle on the white tablecloth. Ned rested his hand on his chin, his eyes remaining on the book.

  “Ah,” he said, his tone devoid of teasing. “The book.”

  “Yes, the book! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your mother wrote the best American gothic romance written in the last twenty years.”

  He picked up the book and turned it over, as if he hadn’t seen a copy in a long time. “Does it still hold that distinction?”

  “I’d say it does, yes. Perfect combination of romance, mystery, horror. Stands right up there with Daphne du Maurier,
and frankly almost anything the Brontës wrote.”

  There, that twinkle popped back in his eyes. “Almost anything?”

  She shrugged. “Well, nothing tops Jane Eyre, right?”

  He exhaled a laugh and put the book back on the table. “I should have told you about the book already, and my mother.”

  Beverly took a sip of water. “To be fair, we haven’t known each other very long. I’m sure you would have gotten around to it.”

  “Maybe. The truth is—boy, I hate to say it. But the truth is, maybe I’m more like my father than I think I am.”

  Beverly didn’t like that idea at all. “What makes you say that?”

  “When my mother was alive, we didn’t talk a lot about the book a lot. Don’t get me wrong; when I told you I had a favorite novel, this is it, by far. But it was like Mom did this thing, and it was a huge success and she had a lot of accolades for it. Made a lot of money, too, I believe. My father’s inherited the rights to all that. But Mom played it down a lot.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  Ned looked her in the eye. “It probably had something to do with my father’s ego.”

  “Ouch,” she said, sympathizing. “That must have been a hard thing to work around.”

  “I think it was.”

  “But I don’t understand how any of that would make you more like your father?” she asked.

  Ned startled her by reaching out and taking her hand, but it was a pleasant kind of startled that made her catch her breath. “Because I went along with it. I didn’t talk about it either.”

  “I see,” she said, wondering what it would have been like in the Sterling household for Ned growing up. As he released her hand, another thought struck her. “What about your mother’s books?”

  “She just wrote the one, as far as I know,” Ned said. “Certainly she only published the one.”

  “Intriguing thought,” Beverly murmured, but more loudly said, “What I meant was her personal collection. The books she enjoyed reading.”