Harlequin E Shivers Box Set Volume 4: The HeadmasterDarkness UnchainedForget Me NotQueen of Stone

by Tiffany Reisz

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  Maddy looked down at the brush in her fingers. She’d been lost in thought smoothing the red waves of her hair at the vanity for a long time. The “stray” cat who had begun to make himself at home with her each night rubbed against her legs. His tickling fur must have been what had woken her from her preoccupied thoughts.

  “Gibbons,” Maddy said. She couldn’t help the urge to name the cat after his likely progenitor at the Historical Society. Really. They did look exactly alike.

  She reached to pick up the large cat and cuddled him close. In the mirror, she saw he didn’t seem to mind, but the wavy glass might have been misleading. There were shadows there that didn’t actually exist in the room behind her when she turned to see. They were distortions in the mirror itself, no doubt caused by age.

  Maddy’s blood suddenly went several degrees cooler as adrenaline rushed through her veins. A dried posy of forget-me-nots was once again wedged in the mirror’s frame. She reached for it with fingers that trembled. It came away easily.

  She turned again to look at the room. Night had fallen while she brushed her hair. But the lamp’s glow lit the room well. Looking back at the mirror the reflected room was much darker with indistinct corners. The shadows behind her seemed to thicken.

  Maddy leaned to open the drawer where she’d dropped the first posy before her imagination could take off with visions of a murderer stalking her with unwanted gifts of dried flowers. But when she opened the drawer and allowed the posy to fall from her fingers, the drawer was empty.

  The first crushed posy of forget-me-nots was gone.

  She hadn’t cleaned the drawer.

  Someone had been in her house, but she couldn’t imagine what kind of subtle game the prowler had decided to play.

  Maddy closed the drawer harder than necessary.

  Suddenly, the cat squirmed. In its bid to be free, it claws scratched her arm. Maddy shivered because the blood on her arm seemed to well up much brighter in the mirror and the darkness in the glass seemed to spread toward it, drawn by the scarlet drops. She must have moved. The distortions in the antique mirror certainly couldn’t have shifted.

  She dropped Gibbons and stood to follow his tail as it disappeared out of the room, but she glanced back at the wavy glass and an unexplained feeling of unease skittered down her spine.

  Chapter Five

  She’d seen but hardly noticed the Carriage House every time she’d passed it. The long rectangular garage hid beneath a leafy camouflage on the same property that included the large old Victorian Sheriff Constantine called home. Ivy covered its brick walls and crept with clinging tendrils over its high peaked roof, cloaking gables and shingles with whispers of rustling greenery. The shroud of leaves had caused her eyes to barely register the historic building’s existence.

  Constantine’s house had been her focus whenever she drove down this street slower than necessary, looking hard at the back stoop where her stepsister had photographed the man with shadows in his eyes.

  Today she parked around the corner of the rambling lot where one street curved into another. A crooked, ancient-looking maple grew in the middle of the pavement creating a turn-a-bout littered by fallen scarlet leaves. She parked her van beyond the curve away from the house so that she could approach the Carriage House the way guests would likely approach for the Historical Society’s Harvest Gala.

  She’d dressed for a meeting, not for gardening. She wore polished black riding boots and rust-colored tights. Her crinkled velveteen skirt mimicked the autumn color of the leaves she’d been battling all fall in a soft swirl that fell just above her knees. She’d topped the thick textural quality of the skirt with a light silk tank in a rusty hue that matched her tights. Over that she’d pulled a deep purple suede jacket with jaunty zippered pockets. It was an outfit. She couldn’t lie. The fact that her meeting took place on property that also held Sheriff Constantine’s home might have influenced her choices.

  But Maddy tried to focus on work. With a sketchpad under her arm, she was skeptical of the venue at first as she walked the overgrown path up to the arched doors that had once allowed exit and entrance to six carriages, judging by the number of them. She could imagine the gleaming black buggies and the sound of hooves later replaced by sleek town cars and sedans.

  Now all was quiet, and her skepticism faded when she noted the shine of fresh crimson paint and polished hardware on the massive doors and the sturdy wrought-iron lanterns on either side of each, obviously new, obviously just installed.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Mr. Creed wants to do the same for the main house as soon as the tenant is willing to let the workmen invade his domain,” a woman came around the corner of the Carriage House and Maddy started. She knew she was supposed to meet the event coordinator, but she’d been staring at the reflective panes of glass in the windows imagining what waited in the dark interior beyond.

  She turned to face Amelia Glass and forced a smile. With tablet computer in hand and a stylus poised above it, at first glance Ms. Glass looked like an unlikely Historical Society volunteer, but apparently the woman had come all the way from Boston to donate her time. Upon closer observation Maddy noted Glass’s chestnut hair was coiled in an elaborate old-fashioned chignon. She also noted the obviously vintage oxford boots on her feet with their pointed toes and eyelet laces. The tortoise shell glasses perched on the tip of her nose and the argyle leggings were pure hipster chic and much more in keeping with what she imagined the other woman’s age to be, but all in all she did look like someone who would support the preservation of history, after all.

  In seconds, Maddy’s smile grew natural and she felt more at ease with the friendly, efficient woman.

  “I like it,” Maddy said and it was true. The Carriage House was a lovely building in spite of its haunted air or maybe because of it.

  “Of course, this time of year probably isn’t the best for plantings. Mr. Creed might want to meet with you later on that. For the Gala, we were thinking of freshening the walkways and…”

  “Topiaries,” Maddy said, raising the sketchpad she’d brought and penciling in the rough shape of the building and surrounding grounds. She used broad strokes to give Ms. Glass the idea of how she’d like to proceed.

  “Yes. That’s perfect. And perhaps you could coordinate with the florist to continue the theme inside,” the other woman said. She brought out a key that looked like iron filigree—both utilitarian and artistic, much like the building itself. She slipped the key into a lock fixed into the nearest set of double doors. “These will be the entrance doors. The others will remain closed.”

  Maddy stifled a gasp when they stepped inside, startled by the heart pine floors and high beamed ceiling from which more wrought iron hung in the shape of two elaborately curved chandeliers.

  “Mr. Creed spared no expense as you can see. He did it all with the Gala in mind. The event used to be held at a country club in a neighboring county, but Mr. Creed thought it was important to bring it home to Scarlet Falls.” Ms. Glass was obviously impressed with the philanthropic author and his love of history. “It is beautiful, but very dark. Very, very dark. Even for an afternoon event we’re going to need to address the lighting.”

  On another sheet, Maddy sketched the lay of the room and more topiaries with the suggestion of fairy lights in their branches.

  Even renovated, the expanse of the Carriage House was shadowed. The ivy-covered windows allowed very little natural light, which didn’t penetrate the nooks and knaves at all.

  “I’m…sorry about your sister, Ms. Clark.” Maddy’s pencil faltered along with Amelia Glass’s voice. Before her eyes, her trusty pad threatened to shimmer out of focus.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Work helps. Staying busy.” Maddy looked over at the woman beside her and Amelia Glass nodded. “It certainly does.” For a moment, Maddy thought the crisp, efficient event planner would crumble before her eyes. Amelia’s lower lip trembled and her eyes went wide behi
nd the thick lenses of her glasses, but then she bit her lip, blinked and the tremor was gone.

  “I’m going to leave this key with you and let you finish your sketches. I’ve had a number of meetings this morning and I have several elsewhere this afternoon. We’ll talk more soon.” Maddy took the key, noting its warmth from Ms. Glass’s tight grip.

  The other woman hurried away with only a single backward glance.

  Maddy was alone with memories of Gracie in the shadowy interior of the Carriage House. Dust motes older than she was floated in the chandelier light above her head. The floor creaked beneath her boots as she began to walk around. She breathed fresh sawdust and antique dreams. The renovated venue was lovely but it was also tainted with bygone sadness—though she was sure her feelings for her lost stepsister were influencing her melancholy.

  Maddy was drawn to a spiral stair crafted of iron so finely and intricately wrought it seemed like black lace. It had been cleaned, scraped and given a fresh coat of paint. As she climbed the risers, she trailed her hand along a curved banister that must have helped many more before her ascend. Her nose crinkled. A faint lingering odor of oil-based paint stung her eyes. But it was soon replaced by lemon wax and herbal tea.

  The loft stretched the length of the building though it was only half as wide. A rail that matched the stairway stood as a hip high divider between the floor and the wide-open ceiling crisscrossed by rough-hewn beams. From the rail, she could see down to the broad expanse of what would be a dance floor below. The loft floor was also heart pine, polished to a high gloss.

  Far to the left was a distant window covered in vine. To her right, closer to the staircase was a group of antique overstuffed chairs. At the center of their grouping was a table where an elaborate tea service had already been used but not yet cleared away. Several cups sat on saucers and the aromatic scent of tea rose from the pot. Maddy touched the side of the pot to find it warm, but then she drew her hand back. The service was decorated with a pattern of tiny blue forget-me-not flowers.

  It was only a tea service.

  Amelia had probably been meeting people here all morning to plan for the Gala.

  The pattern on the China held no significance, but Maddy still backed away. The scent of tea was suddenly cloyingly sweet.

  The ceiling sloped down to meet a paneled wall and that was where she turned her focus. Someone, perhaps Mrs. Jesham, perhaps someone else from the Historical Society, had hung a gallery of framed portraits and photographs to cover almost every inch of the hand-hewn paneling behind.

  People and places and things—from vintage cars to houses to statuary—were depicted in the frames. Scarlet Falls was represented from its earliest days with tiny daguerreotypes all the way up to a large art print of High Lake. The photographer had managed to capture its eerie beauty at sunset without the metallic smell of its waters that would have spoiled the view in real life.

  Maddy stepped closer to the print’s inky waters. Something in its composition made her search to find the small flourish of Gracie’s name in the corner. And there it was. Her stepsister must have taken the photograph before she was killed and gifted it to the town. Had she realized it would outlive her?

  Her stepsister rarely did landscapes. Never since their mother died and Gracie had began her search for evidence of an afterlife.

  Maddy examined the photo more closely, seeing nothing but the violet shades of twilight and the undisturbed surface of the dark waters. But something niggled at the edge of her perceptions. Something… The sky was alive with the colors of sunset shining through mist and fog, but the lake was black.

  The sky wasn’t reflected in its waters.

  Had it been a camera trick, one of angles and lenses she didn’t understand? The water couldn’t have been so still and dark that day. It was flat in shadow, reflecting nothing in its hidden depths.

  As she looked at the water to see some hint of why it had been dead to the glory of the sky, she began to see swirls and eddies of current along High Lake’s edge. There were variations of gray in the black. Movement. A suggestion of movement. In one spot, not far from where Gracie must have stood, there was a glimmer of white. The camera’s focus had been centered on the lake and the sun disappearing on the horizon, but in the soft blur around the edges of her frame it looked…it seemed almost like a hand reaching from the still waters, deathly white as bone.

  Maddy stepped back and closed her eyes. She tried to dispel the slight burn of strain. When she opened her eyes, the white was gone and the gray ripple of what might have been current that evening had settled into still ink once more.

  Suddenly she needed to be outside with her hands in the soil. She longed for her coveralls and work boots and her utility cart.

  Steps sounded on the floor below. Maddy moved to the rail to see William Constantine approach. He looked up at her, but he didn’t speak. He stepped toward the spiral stair. Maddy went to the stair herself and began her way down only to find that the Sheriff still chose to begin his way up.

  When he was only a few risers away from her, Maddy backed up. Shadows hid the expression on his face. He advanced and she retreated, one step after another. He didn’t slow. He climbed faster forward than she did backward until their bodies almost touched and her pulse kicked into rapid beats. Then they reached the top.

  “I saw your van on the street,” Sheriff Constantine finally said. Casual. Very casual. In spite of the tension in his body so near hers.

  “I was almost finished,” she said. The desire to hurry away came up against the desire to linger near him given the chance. She would take the escape route if it opened once his broad shoulders didn’t block the stairs. Alone with Sheriff Constantine was beginning to be a habit she needed to break.

  The loft was tucked close against the sloped ceiling. What had seemed expansive below was close and intimate now, crowding them close. Constantine’s hair almost brushed one of the rough-hewn beams. In fact, he reached up and held it, maybe to remind himself it was there, maybe to hold himself in place where he stood for whatever reason, not wanting to advance or retreat.

  Maddy stood trapped—she knew she should escape but wasn’t sure she was in any hurry to.

  “Your stepsister thought I was haunted. That’s why she photographed me so often,” Constantine said. His grip on the beam above his head tightened. Maddy saw his knuckles begin to turn white. “The truth is I took this job in Scarlet Falls to get away from something that was haunting me. Not a ghost. Something raw and real and bloody. I didn’t have time for your sister’s obsession, but I will always wonder if I’d made time, if I had done something besides scoff her away…”

  “Me, too,” Maddy said, eyes burning. She pretended the burn was from the dust and paint fumes and nothing more. “I wonder that every day.” She didn’t add that she also wondered if Constantine’s bloody past was much more recent than he let on.

  Constantine let the beam go. His hands opened up and he advanced as if he really had been holding himself back.

  “I was shot. My partner and I were lured into an ambush by a drug dealer with a score to settle. Vengeance for his lover’s arrest. My partner got a bullet through her brain. The bullet meant for me went wide. Got my arm instead. Because I was spraying the shooter with bullets. I emptied my gun. Then I emptied my partner’s gun. Everyone was dead when back up arrived. Except me. I was still clicking the trigger of an empty gun.” Maddy had backed up as he spoke. Now she found herself with no room left to run. Her back was against the frames on the wall. “Her name was Jackie. My partner. It’s her death that haunts me. And. That’s. All.”

  Maddy wanted him to stop and she wanted him to go on. She could think of only one reason he would share this tragic glimpse into his past with her. And the idea of it—the intimacy his story created between them—made her skin flush and her breath quicken. It wasn’t a good idea. But chemistry didn’t care.

  “All over town, everywhere I go, I see you. Roses, azalea, lilac and pans
y. Stuff I can’t even name. New color everywhere. Weeds banished. Trees trimmed. Rotted leaves hauled away,” Constantine said. He reached for her hand and Maddy drew a sudden breath at the warmth of his touch on her chilled fingers. The move brought him closer and she couldn’t back away. She was held between the wall of the Carriage House and the much warmer wall of his chest. “And then I see your hands up close and I can’t figure out how or why…every time I see your fingernails they’re a different color just like the flowers you’ve planted all over Scarlet Falls.” There was wonder in his voice. It made her feel the magic held in the cabinet full of tiny glass bottles full of nailpolish that shimmered in gem tones on a shelf in her bathroom at home. Because he was talking about light in the darkness. He was intrigued not by the colors themselves but by how she could believe in them and nurture them in a world so cold.

  In that moment, with his hand holding hers and their bodies pressed close, Maddy rejected the idea that he had anything to do with Gracie’s death. She might wonder and worry again tomorrow or the next day, but not here and not now.

  “Scarlet Falls isn’t a refuge. That’s what I’ve learned since I came here. That’s what I think you need to know. If that’s what you’re seeking, you should look elsewhere,” Constantine said. He leaned his face close to say it. His lips almost brushed hers. It eased the warning. He was warning her away and gathering her close at the same time.

  “I don’t need refuge,” Maddy said, her own troubled past stuck tight in her chest. “I need work.”

  She needed dirt on her gloves, work boots on her feet and sore muscles at the end of the day. She’d long since learned the only refuge for her was one found in busy oblivion where loss, violence and rejection never held sway.

  “The world is a dark place, but we don’t have to accept that. There’s color, too. And sunshine,” Maddy said. She didn’t need him to believe it. She believed it enough for the whole damn town. But it would be nice if he would believe…just a little.