by Freya Darcy
BANG! CRACK.
BANG! BANG! CRACK.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I groan.
My head is pounding and my whole body aches as though I’ve been drinking and dancing non-stop all night.
I try to remember the events of the last night, but my pounding head combined with whatever the hell that is outside is too distracting.
BANG. CRACK.
BANG. BANG. CRACK.
It’s official. I hate everybody and everything in the world. Rolling out of bed, I crawl to the window, and after a moment of repeating an, I will not vomit, mantra, I drag myself up to glare out at — Oh.
There’s a guy out there. No that’s not quite right. Barry was a guy, Craig was a guy. The figure currently placing another thick log on the stump and swinging a massive axe down on it, looks like a Viking.
Black jeans, a dirty white shirt thrown carelessly on the grass nearby, shaggy blond hair hanging almost to his shoulders and braided at the sides. It’s like he washed up on the cliffs after his ship wrecked and now he’s chopping wood at this god-awful hour in the morning.
I blink a couple of times and squint out at him. What the actual hell?
I shove open the window to yell at him but get distracted when he lifts the axe over his head and a trickle of sweat runs down the centre of his glistening muscular back.
What was I doing, again?
BANG. BANG. CRACK.
Oh yeah. The sound splinters into my brain as though my head were the stump.
“Yo!” I yell down. “Do you know what bloody time it is?”
The man stops but doesn’t drop the axe. Instead he changes his hold on it so now it’s more like a weapon in his massive hands. He tips his head to the side as though listening, or maybe sniffing?
Then he turns, frowns, and looks up at where I’m still glaring at him from my window.
“Do you know what time it is?” I shout again, only to groan and press a hand to my temples.
He has a big face, square jaw, and his mouth is sitting in the kind of lopsided grin that makes me want to throw stuff at it.
After a moment he squints up at the sun. “I’d say it’s about midday, maybe a little after. Why, did I wake you up?”
I don’t dignify that with an answer, instead demanding. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing on my property?”
“Who the hell am I? Who the hell are you?” He calls up, then grins again. “Nah, I’m just kidding. I know who you are. Kismet Silverstone, the prodigal niece who inherited the castle.”
“Yay,” I give him a golfer’s clap. “You know something that everyone in town also knows.”
He points the axe at me. “You’re sarcastic. I like that.” Spreading his arms, he bows low and when he stands straight again, he’s still smiling like an idiot. “I’m Jack.” He says it like the name alone should answer any and all questions.
“Look, Jack,” I say. “I’ve been here less than a week and it feels like I’m coming out of a blackout drunk so, you’re going to have to give me a little more than that unless you want me to just call the cops.”
“Well, if you do call the cops, remind Malcom that he owes me twenty bucks.”
I’m not sure what it is he sees in my expression but it’s enough to make him raise his hands in surrender.
“I’m just messing around. Although Detective Jameson does owe me twenty bucks. Your aunt left me the cottage beside the house in exchange for my continued handyman services.”
“Oh.” Actually, now that I think about it there was a bit in the will about an on-sight handyman. “You didn’t think to come introduce yourself before you started banging away at the crack of dawn?”
He looks up at the midday sun again then back at me. “I tried that. Nobody answered the door and I don’t have your number. I was sorta expecting you to drop in on me, you know, to say hi, be polite, all that.”
I raise my hand to flip him off, but at the last second remember my manners. I know I’m being unreasonable and do I really need to make things more awkward with the only neighbour I have?
“You okay?” He calls up. “You’ve gone a shade of green that’s making me want to back up a couple of paces.”
“I’m — um — I’m good. I just need coffee and Ibuprofen.”
“You’re gonna need more than coffee to come off that hangover. Let me in and I’ll make you my special.” He grins again. “About time for me to break for lunch anyway.”
IT’S PROBABLY THE WORST idea in the history of bad ideas but I let the stranger into my house.
He’s still grinning like a smug jerk when he finds his own way to the kitchen and drops his two parcels on the counter.
He points at me and says, “You sit.”
I sit— my head hurts too much for me to let myself get murdered while standing —and watch as he moves about my kitchen with way too much ease.
Jack sings softly under his breath as he cuts up bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and mushrooms, and throws them in a hot pan with a satisfying sizzle sound. Then he starts juicing oranges, adds cold water from the fridge, and presents it to me along with a small box of pills.
“Fine,” I say swallowing three pills. “I won’t call the cops.”
He slides me a coffee that I now see had been percolating since he arrived.
“And you’re forgiven,” I say after taking a sip and sighing.
When he serves two plates loaded with bacon, I’m ready to propose marriage, it smells so damn good.
We eat in silence and by the time I’m done, my headache is all but gone and some of my memories start filtering back in.
Jaz and I finally found Aunt Judith’s secret room only it was more of a secret garden. I lit candles and summoned sea water... And a thunderstorm! Wow, did that really all happen?
“Blackout fading?” Jack asks.
“I think so, yeah.” I manage a smile in his direction. “I was pretty damn rude earlier. I’m sorry.”
He waves me off. “Come out of a few hangovers myself. Anyway, I needed some bacon in me. So, thank you.”
We sip the last of the coffee in comfortable silence before I ask, “How long have you been working for my aunt?”
“Not quite sure. Probably plus five years I guess.” He rocks back on his chair, his eyes appraising me as he speaks. “I was kind of just drifting when she picked me up. Offered me the cottage and a bit of pay for a few weeks in exchange for help around the house. I’m kind of a jack-of-all-trades and a house this size always needs something fixed or replaced. A few weeks turned into a few months, months into a year. Before I knew it I was settled and I think she liked having someone around if she felt like talking, which wasn’t much to be honest.”
His expression grows serious and he looks down at his hands. “She was a nice lady. I was real sorry when she died. But surprised as hell when her solicitor knocked on my door and told me I was in the Will.”
He’d needed somewhere to be and something to do and she’d given him that. Still, I suspect a man doesn’t become a drifter because his origin story is super happy.
He cuts a large piece of bacon and dips it in the egg before stuffing it in his mouth.
“I heard you’re the one who found Meghan the other day.”
“Yup,” I say dryly. “I certainly know how to make an entrance. Managed to meet everyone in town that day.” Something twinges in my chest and I turn to peek at him. “Did you know her?”
He holds out a hand and tips it side to side. “A little. We went on a couple of dates. I think she was just curious to get to know the drifter, if you know what I mean.”
I don’t but feel a little better knowing I haven’t put my foot in it again.
“I suppose you don’t know if she was seeing anyone recently?” At his frown, I add quickly. “I feel kind of responsible. I thought there might be someone I could pay my respects to?” It comes out a question.
“Those sounds like amateur sleuth words.”
“N
ope, not me. Just a normal lady with empathy and a conscience.” My smile is too wide, and his responding sigh tells me that he’s not even slightly fooled.
“I think I heard she was engaged up until about a week or so ago. Some guy from the city. But he left and she stayed and she’s not engaged anymore.”
“That’s it?”
“Well if I’d known she was going to die and my new boss would be investigating, I would have kept more tabs.” He crosses his arms and looks me in the eyes. “Would you like to know where I was the night she died?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I wave him off. “It was pouring rain that night. I assume you were either in your cabin or—” I was about to say with a friend, but I don’t want him to think I’m fishing for his relationship status. “Anyway, I’m ninety percent sure she was alone.”
“Really.” His expression has gone from stony to curiously amused. “And you’d know that how? Maybe I should be asking where you were.”
“Thank you for breakfast.” I say, and he grins wider.
“Yeah, I can see why she left this place to you,” he says. “You’re going to fit in just fine around here.”
Jack claps those large hands and starts scooping up the plates.
“No!” I jump up and snatch them back. “You cooked and were very nice even though I was cranky. Let me clean up.”
“You’ve discovered my secret,” he replies with a grin, handing over his cup. “I hate washing up with a vengeance. I will cook forever if it means I never have to wash up.”
“Well, I hate cooking, so I guess that makes us a good match.”
He raises his brows at me and I feel my face flush. Did that come out flirty?
“I— um — need to go through my aunt’s paperwork. But am I supposed to be paying you?”
He perches on the edge of the table. “Nah, it’s all taken care of. There’s a trust fund that pays me every week. I’m not much on business so the solicitor would probably explain it better. I think, if you decide you don’t want me around, the estate will just pay me out and I’ll go.”
He places a hand on the table and leans closer. “I hope you don’t do that though. I mean, if you don’t want me hanging around, I’m happy to just keep to myself in the cottage.” He leans a little closer and whispers. “You won’t hear a peep out of me, I swear.”
“I — yeah — I mean no — I mean, if Aunt Judith hired you then you’re good with me. I don’t think I’m going to be much good at keeping this place up myself, so it just makes sense.” I clear my throat. “Besides, she wanted you to have a home. I’d be a monster to come in and throw you out.”
He stares at me for a moment then smiles again. “I appreciate that.”
“Yeah well don’t,” I say. “I’m a klutz so I’ll be working you hard.”
And there’s the grin again. “I do not doubt that.”
Chapter Eight
FOR ALL MY BRAVADO, I don’t know where to start so I busy myself getting to know my new house.
There are five rooms on the second floor, each with their own ensuite bathrooms, and at the end of the hall is a cosy sitting room complete with sofa, two arm chairs and an ornate bookshelf stuffed with paperbacks.
The third floor has two other much larger rooms, as well as my master bedroom. Also, I note another private sitting room next to a small kitchenette. But the ground floor is the most fascinating. The kitchen is more fit for a restaurant than a family, and though Jack and I sat at the small table, there are two dining rooms. One is large with a long table that must seat more than twenty people. The other is smaller and more intimate.
I remember the sitting room I found when Payton and Derick came bearing coffee and carbs, but there are three others as well as my aunt’s office, her private library, and a massive ballroom that makes me shut the door with a slam and lean against it.
Overwhelmed is too small a word.
“I’ve inherited Downton.”
Adjoining the kitchen, is Judith’s pokey office and I smile seeing the stack of papers, scribbled notes, and cards. It’s silly but I feel my eyes sting when I spy her familiar handwriting and the slight chaos in this otherwise immaculate house.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I put it to my ear as I inspect the pin board on the wall holding various numbers and cards including Jack’s, Dingo Boys Mechanics, and some called Lily Cleans. Maybe that’s the business name?
“Hello?” Payton’s voice says over the phone.
“Crap,” I say immediately followed by, “Not crap, you called, crap I forgot I’d answered the phone before getting distracted.”
“Well good,” she says, sounding a little uncertain. “I was just calling to see if you still wanted to join us for the Bigfoot hunt.”
What? Oh yeah. “Um yeah, I’ve been super excited.”
“Great! Derick was sure you would have forgotten. Not that we’d blame you, with the finding Meghan and all. We’re all meeting up at four. I’ll text you the directions.”
“Sounds good. Do I need to bring anything? Other than my clothes and sleeping bag. Oh, and I don’t have a tent—”
“Don’t worry about it. We supply the tents, food, and protection from any beasties. Plus, we’ve just met up with another couple of guys and a family who’re joining us. This is going to be the best Bigfoot hunt ever.”
“I feel bad that I’m getting in free but not helping. What about marshmallows?”
“That’s a great idea!” Payton replies. “Bigfoot loves marshmallows.”
She calls off and I’m left staring at the phone. She was joking right? Right?
Jaz swings into the office just as I’m deciding that: yes, of course Payton had been joking. It was all part of the Bigfoot tour. Fun and fantasy.
“Oh my Goddess!” Jaz gushes. “Are you aware that Thor is chopping wood out there?”
I hear the feint BANG CRACK outside and smile. “That’s not Thor. Thor had red hair and a mighty beard. Outside, chopping wood, is Jack. I guess he’s sort of a live-in handyman. Judith left him the cottage just down the path in exchange for his continued services.”
“Really?” Jaz narrows her eyes. “In the movies he’s played by Chris— so dreamy —Hemsworth and he’s most definitely blond.”
“Well, Chris Hemsworth isn’t Thor either.”
The spider gasps, swings back on her web, and clings to the far corner. “There is no need for language like that!”
I’m still chuckling as I take a seat and start leafing through Aunt Judith’s papers. There are quotes from remodelling companies and a couple of plumbers too.
“It looks like Aunt Judith was planning to do some serious work on this place,” I say mainly to myself. “The house has been in the Silverstone family going all the way back to the settlers. I don’t think she was planning to sell.”
I look up at the ceiling and hold my hands to the side, palms up. “Any help would be welcome,” I say to the house. “Come on, you were with her at the end, you must know something.”
Jaz climbs tentatively over the desk. “You do know that you’re talking to the house, right?”
“Says the taking spider.”
Jaz looks like she has a rebuttal but the wall behind the desk creaks slightly and the draw just below my right hand shifts slightly.
With a smug smile at my familiar, I open the drawer and find a folder labelled: Silverstone Guesthouse.
In growing excitement, I turn page after page of plans and sketches. From what I’m seeing, it wouldn’t take much work to get the place up to code and ready to receive guests.
“Can I assume that you approve of the Silverstone Guesthouse idea?” I ask.
The walls groan, and something creaks in in the next room.
“But how would I know if you didn’t approve?” I ask.
The door to the office, the kitchen, a bunch of others slam shut so loudly it’s almost deafening. When I open my eyes, I’m under the desk and so is Jaz.
“I don’
t want to alarm you,” Jaz whispers. “But I think this house might be haunted.”
“Might?” I look at her incredulously. “You’re an ancient magical familiar. Didn’t you already know about this stuff?”
“Ghosts haunt people and sometimes get attached to objects, not usually houses.”
“So what does that mean? That the house is alive?”
The house groans and the door to the study opens slowly, all the way, then closes with a quiet click. Weirdly the movement reminds me of someone stretching.
“Okay,” I say climbing out from under the desk. “Clearly we need to be able to communicate in a way that doesn’t include door slamming. Can you make a knocking sound? One knock for yes, two for no?”
A moment passes and finally something rattles in one of the lower desk draws. I open them one by one till I find a shining, gold-plated desk bell. I pull it out and place it on the desk.
“You want to use this?” I ask.
The bell pings once and I let out a dizzy, breathless laugh.
“Are you a ghost?”
PING PING
No.
“So you’re a living house?”
PING
“How long have you been here?”
Nothing. It takes me a second to realize that my question didn’t allow for a yes or no response.
“Have you always been alive?”
PING ... PING PING ... PING
“I don’t think it knows,” Jaz says.
That makes sense.
“Were you here when I was a child?”
PING
“Were you here when Judith and Harriet were children?”
PING
“Wow.” I feel like I should be more shocked or maybe a little scared, but I’m in awe. “You must have so many stories.”
PING
“Well that’s great,” Jaz deadpans. “Assuming those stories can be told in a yes and no format, I foresee many exciting evenings ahead.”
“You know,” I reply to Jaz with a smile. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were jealous.”
“Well you’d be wrong,” Jaz says, suddenly sounding haughty. “I could never be jealous of a stupid house.”