An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Jane’s Prize
ISBN 9781419917714
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Jane’s Prize Copyright © 2008 Margrett Dawson.
Edited by Ann Leveille.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication August 2008
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Jane’s Prize
Margrett Dawson
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Blair Witch Project: Artisan Entertainment Inc.
CNN: Cable News Network LP, LLLP
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company,
Donald Duck: Disney Enterprises, Inc.
Frappuccino: Starbucks U.S. Brands, LLC
Honda: Honda Motor Co., Ltd.
Jeopardy: JEOPARDY PRODUCTIONS, INC.
Mustang: Ford Motor Company
Superman: DC COMICS
Thermos: LAB-LINE Instruments, Inc.
Vaseline: Unilever Supply Chain, Inc.
Wizard of Oz: Turner Entertainment Co.
Chapter One
Jane received the letter from a firm of lawyers in Cove Bay a week after she answered the newspaper ad.
“Dear Ms. Chartraine,” it said. “We are pleased to inform you that your application to enter the Newland Challenge has been successful. You should plan to spend your time in the Newland Mansion in Cove Bay, Maine within the next two weeks and before the fifteenth of July. Please find enclosed a check for one thousand dollars in confirmation of our good faith. This is yours to keep no matter the outcome. The remaining four thousand dollars will be issued after you have spent two days in the mansion—a total of forty-eight hours. Should you not spend the required amount of time in the house the remaining money will be forfeit.
Needless to say, your safety is important to us. We will inspect the premises before you arrive and have arranged a patrol during the night. You will be given a speed dial number to call in case of any emergency. Equipment to make the video recording can be picked up at our offices at your convenience together with detailed instructions. We can also supply you with a cot, bedding and portable lights. Please contact us to confirm your acceptance.
The letter finished with the usual salutations.
She showed the letter to her friend Annice over coffee. “The firm’s legit. I checked them out.”
“You’re still crazy. There’s not enough money in the world would make me do it.” Annice sipped her double espresso raspberry Frappuccino.
“That’s because you hate the dark and you’re terrified of spiders. Remember when we went camping in eighth grade?” Jane tried to scoop the last of the foam from the bottom of her cup with her stir stick.
“There was something outside the tent trying to get in.”
“Yeah, your dog. We were only at the bottom of your yard for heaven’s sake.” Jane folded the letter. “I’m going to do it. I need the money. Five thousand dollars. Imagine what I could do with five thousand dollars.”
Annice huffed her scorn. “It’s a scam.”
“It’s not. I can survive for forty-eight hours in an empty house. I don’t think the place is even supposed to be haunted. Have you ever heard any stories?”
“No. I don’t recall any murders or mysterious lights, but then, it’s fifty miles away. It’s pretty creepy though. I drove by there once. All towers and turrets and brooding windows. Supposing there’s someone else there at the same time as you? Like a serial killer lying in wait for the victim trying to win herself a cool five thousand. And getting more than she bargained for?”
“Thanks a lot for that encouraging thought but it’s taken care of.” She tapped the relevant line in the letter. “Security patrol and everything. I’ll take my pepper spray and bear repellent. Plus a personal alarm around my neck. Add a flashlight, batteries and a good book to keep my mind off any bumps and creepy noises and it’s in the bag.”
“Better you than me.” Annice stood. “Got to get back to work.”
“Okay.” Jane dropped her empty cup into the trash bin. “Wish me luck.”
The letter gave no clue about who was issuing the challenge or why. Jane turned the check every way and held it up to the light. It looked genuine. Why would she refuse a gift like this? Forty-eight hours was nothing out of her life. School was out for the summer and her class of fifth graders and the upcoming grade fours were dispersed all over the county and the surrounding states, not to be seen again until after Labor Day. Besides, she loved a challenge and she had the scars from all the dares her brother had set her to prove it.
Five thousand dollars would go a long way toward the deposit on the apartment she wanted to buy. If she ever managed to get enough cash together she could move out of her mother’s house, start to live her own life… At twenty-eight, it was more than time.
After supper Jane loaded the dishwasher while her mother sipped her coffee. “Have you ever heard of the Newland mansion, Mom?” she asked.
“My heavens, why would you ask?”
“I heard the name mentioned the other day. Something in the newspaper.”
Elaine set down her cup. “I didn’t know it was still standing. I thought they would have torn it down long ago.”
“Why? What’s the story?”
Elaine handed over her empty cup. “Don’t overfill the cutlery rack, dear. The knives come out spotty.”
Jane moved a couple of pieces. “So what happened at the Newland mansion?”
“It was before my time of course but I heard the story from my grandmother who lived over near Cove Bay. I’m sure it was exaggerated in the telling. You know how people love to embroider stories as they go around.”
Jane closed the door of the dishwasher with a little more force than necessary. She picked up a towel to dry her hands. “What happened, for goodness’ sake?”
Elaine settled back into her chair and moved the pepper and saltshakers to the center of the table. “Well the Newlands were very wealthy. They owned a whole fleet of fishing boats, that’s when there was cod and lobster for the taking of course.” She shook her head. “Those days are long gone.”
“What happened to the Newlands?” Jane tried not to clench her teeth and to keep her voice low and pleasant.
“Nothing really. They just kind of died out, faded away. There was a son who disappeared. Some said he ran off with a girl from Boston. Other people said his stepmother did away with him.”
Jane’s heart gave a little jump and her pulse began to race. “You mean she murdered him?”
Elaine nodded. “The stepmother had a so
n and rumor said that she wanted him to inherit. But he died in a terrible influenza epidemic and there was no one in the family to carry on. The fleet was sold and the house stood empty. I did hear there was a cousin who inherited and who said he would never sell the house in case Pierce Newland came back. It seems they had been good friends when they were young. There was some kind of a trust set up, I think. Why are you so interested?”
“Someone mentioned it the other day. I was just curious.”
“It must be a complete ruin by now. The roof has probably caved in and goodness only knows what’s living in there.” She shuddered. “You wouldn’t get me near it. There’s always been a story that it’s haunted, you know.”
Jane picked up a cloth and began to wipe the spotless counter again. “A ghost?”
Elaine nodded. “Pierce apparently liked the ladies but those who didn’t believe he’d run off with a girl say he was killed and buried somewhere in the house. His spirit wanders around the rooms looking for his family.”
A cold shiver crept up Jane’s spine. “Has anyone seen him?”
“One or two. But they’ve mostly been out there partying or smoking dope so there’s nothing reliable.”
“I guess you can never be sure of having seen a ghost.” Jane gave her mother a smile and hung the cloth over the tap. “Enough of this creepy stuff. It’s time for Jeopardy. I’ll turn it on.”
Later that evening she phoned Annice. “It’s haunted,” she said.
“What is?”
“The Newland mansion. There’s a ridiculous story about the last son of the family being murdered and walking the halls wringing his poor ghostly hands and wailing for his family.”
“So you won’t go?”
“Of course I’ll go. I don’t believe in ghosts.”
The following Tuesday afternoon, her mother hovered around while she stowed her gear in the trunk and the backseat. “If you’re going camping won’t you need a tent, dear?”
“I’ll use shelters or a lean-to.”
“Do you think it will be safe, going off on your own?”
Jane showed her the can of pepper spray and one of bear repellent. “I’ll be fine. I just need some time away on my own. It’ll help me unwind after last term.” It had been her year to have the class from hell and it made sense that she needed to destress.
“Don’t forget your phone.”
Jane patted her pocket. “Right here and charged up.”
Her first stop was at the law offices of the firm that had written to her. She met a plump, motherly woman called Abigail, who introduced herself as an executive assistant. “Here is your video camera, dear,” she said. “It’s been tested and it’s working fine. Now all the instructions are in the box but just remember that you’re to walk around the whole house filming at certain times, especially at night.”
“Why? I mean, why does someone want video of an empty house?”
“I believe the owner wants to sell at last. The house has been empty for years. There have been some silly stories of a ghost and the owner thinks it’s someone spreading rumors to scare away buyers and bring the price way down. This way he thinks he can prove it’s not haunted.” She pushed her spectacles up her nose. “People do funny things.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Don’t forget we have a short day on Fridays, so bring it in before noon if possible.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll get someone to give you a hand with these things.” Abigail patted Jane’s arm. “I don’t believe in ghosts, do you, dear?”
“Of course not.”
The little Honda was packed to the gills with boxes of food, spare batteries, camping equipment and the camcorder when she pulled up in front of the Newland Mansion in Cove Bay.
The mansion didn’t look in bad shape from where she parked. Maybe parts of the roof had fallen in but if so, the damage wasn’t visible from the driveway. In fact it was almost as if the house wanted to look its best for her. The afternoon sun sent probing fingers of shadow over the carved moldings, picking out delicate traceries around the windows, hiding cracks and flaking paint. The lawns and flowerbeds were overgrown of course, but at one time they must have been magnificent.
A turret stood at one end. Curved windows up high promised fine views over the treetops and interesting angles to the rooms.
Jane climbed the stone steps at the front, one of her cans of pepper spray firmly in hand, and fit the key the lawyers had given her into the lock of the front door.
The key turned easily and the door opened on oiled hinges. No creepy creaking here. Someone must have been here to see to things like that. Of course Abigail had said they wanted to sell, so they would have spruced things up. She hoped that meant they had swept out the cobwebs and scared away any bats at the same time.
The light was fading by the time she finished hauling in all her equipment and supplies. She chose a small room near the front door to set up her camp. Since she was to be alone it gave her some reassurance to be near an escape route and the room had a window that locked firmly and two doors. Not that she would need to make an escape.
She surveyed her setup with satisfaction from the doorway. It really looked quite cozy. Almost like her own home. The power had been turned on in the house so she picked up her can of pepper spray and decided to explore. She had already located a small bathroom—it was likely called a cloakroom years ago—under the wide stairs. It appeared to be in working order.
Under the dirt and neglect she could still see the magnificent bones of the house. The rooms were large and airy with banks of windows and hardwood floors covered with faded rugs. They were paneled in wood marked with water stains, hung with brass light fixtures now tarnished, velvet drapes full of dust. Some of the rooms contained heavy, ornate furniture. A huge mirror with elaborate carving around the edge was poised above a wide, empty fireplace. Jane recalled a story she’d read by Margrett Dawson, one of her favorite erotic romance authors. In the book a woman had pulled a man from the last century through the mirror and enjoyed wild, uninhibited sex with him.
Jane put out her hand and touched the mirror. Her hand hit solid glass and she sighed. Fantasies belonged in books.
Opposite the mirror hung a large oil painting, darkened and discolored with age. A family group was visible in the gloom, obviously a middle-aged father with a young wife. The woman had her hand on the shoulder of a boy of about six. Behind the couple and a little apart from them as if wishing to distance himself stood a tall young man with chestnut hair and glowing dark eyes. Jane moved her head and the man’s eyes seemed to follow her. He wore a suit in the style of the early twentieth century but the loose cut could not disguise the width of his shoulders or the careless arrogance of his stance. Pierce Newland without a doubt.
This had to be the Newland family before Pierce disappeared and before the young boy died of influenza. What a waste. She stretched out her hand and touched the tip of her finger to the young man’s cheek. A tiny vibration hummed through her nerves and she snatched her hand back. Fantasies!
Darkness was closing in fast, so she had better read the instructions on the video recorder before her first filming at ten p.m. Back in her cozy little room she closed the drapes, switched on her CD player, poured herself a glass of wine and settled into a camping chair with the instruction manual and a bag of cheesy tortilla chips. Her mother hadn’t set eyes on her food supplies. For two days she could indulge herself with junk food and chocolate with no one to urge her to eat fruits and vegetables. Her rebellions were small but nonetheless meaningful.
Chapter Two
The book she’d brought with her was absorbing enough and Jane read until her eyes started to droop. She’d tired herself out picking up the equipment, carrying around all her boxes. Not to mention that despite her bravado her nerves had been just a tad on edge since she arrived. She checked her watch. Nearly ten. The house was deathly quiet. She hastily revised the adjective. It was calm and peace
ful. Although Cove Bay had grown in size since the house was built, the grounds were still extensive and provided an effective visual barrier and sound buffer. She yawned and put her book aside. As she did so, an owl hooted from the woods. Perfect for a gothic horror novel, she thought. She could make her students’ hair stand on end next Halloween by telling them about her time in the haunted mansion.
At that moment she heard the crunch of wheels on the gravel outside. Carefully she raised the edge of one curtain. A dark-colored car stood in the driveway and she saw the driver step out and scan the house with a powerful beam of light. She let out her breath. The promised patrol. It was good to know the lawyers had kept their word. The man tried the front door and then moved away, presumably to check at the back of the house. A few minutes later he came back and the car rolled quietly away.
Time to get to work. She had to earn her prize money.
She picked up the video camera and panned around the room. All seemed to be working fine. There was even a light attached that would give enough illumination for nighttime shots. The instructions had stated that she was to film without using the electric lights. Presumably there was more chance of seeing a ghost in the dark. She slipped her phone in one pocket, her can of spray in the other and emerged into the front hall. She checked that the door was locked and obediently shut off the lights in her room and the hallway, but left the power on in the fuse box near the entrance. Her flashlight beam swept up the wide staircase but barely reached the first landing. Overhead lay deep shadows and the expected hush of unused rooms and dust-covered furniture.
The camera purred faintly as she walked though the house. She couldn’t help thinking that she was like one of those heroines in badly made films who inevitably and stupidly went to explore a noise in a dark basement. Except that she wasn’t in a movie, her spray and her phone were in her pocket, she wasn’t going into any basements and she knew exactly what she was doing. She could click on lights any time she wanted.
JanesPrize Page 1