Another one of Maria’s lies. Why had she said she had come back through touching Pete and that he had helped her? Maybe she was such a compulsive liar that she couldn’t tell the truth even when there was no danger in it.
It wasn’t until Jane was in her car that she realized she had never found out what Pete was going to ask her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jane arrived at the mansion shortly after noon. Thunderheads had built up over the ocean after the bright start to the day and a cool breeze ruffled the tops of the tall trees. The promise of stormy weather matched her mood better than the cheery sunlight of the early morning.
She parked at the rear of the house, backing her small car into a sheltered spot where it would not be visible from the windows of the main part of the mansion. She locked the car door and took a step away. Struck by a new thought, she opened the driver’s side again and tucked the keys under the floor mat. If she had to make a speedy retreat at least she wouldn’t be fumbling for keys or struggling to turn the vehicle around. She closed the door without locking it.
Pleased with her calm assessment and thoughtful provision for the “might be”, she hefted the key to the house. The black clouds that had threatened all morning chose that moment to swallow the sun. It was as if a light had been extinguished. The top branches thrashed and the temperature dropped by five degrees. Jane was thankful she had changed into practical jeans and a light jacket. Her cell phone was charged and her shoulder bag still held the pepper spray and a small flashlight from her stay in the house. She gave a wry smile at the fears that had beset her at that time. They were nothing compared to what she now faced.
Her sneakers made a faint crunching sound on the gravel as she walked toward the main entrance. She looked around for signs that Maria might also have had the idea to arrive early. There were no signs of disturbance anywhere, although she asked herself who would be able to tell what had passed over the gravel paths strewn with dead leaves from the previous fall? She consoled herself with the thought that Maria didn’t have the key and, unless she had added the talent of walking through walls to her other accomplishments, she would have to wait to be let in.
Jane took a deep breath and opened the front door.
It was obvious no one had been inside since she and Pierce left. A thin film of dust covered the floor and the picture rails. The same sheets shrouded the furniture, offering good hiding places. She shivered. She felt more spooked now than when she had first entered this building weeks ago. But at that time she hadn’t believed in ghosts and now…
Jane made a quick tour of the house, refusing to allow the strange shapes and the shadows to play on her imagination. She had spent hours in this place, alone at first, and had come to no harm.
She lingered in the turret room where she and Pierce had made love, then in the bathroom where they had made love, lastly in her little room by the entrance, where they had made love. Where had they not made love? The thought of Pierce and of what they meant to each other, all they had lived through in such a short time, strengthened her resolve.
She had first come to the house hoping for a cash reward that would set her life going in a new direction. Instead she had come away with a prize greater than money. She had found her soul mate, a love she could never have imagined and a purpose that she had to fulfill.
At last, the only room remaining was the living room where the ghosts had enacted their scene. She hesitated in the doorway. The picture of Pierce and his family still hung over the mantel. Maria’s painted eyes seemed to glitter in the faint light and follow Jane as she paced the room. There was the sideboard where Maria claimed Stan had been hiding. Of course he would not be there now. She frowned. Why hadn’t she thought of that? If Pierce was no longer available to reenact the scene, then Maria and Stan would not be playing their parts either. She had asked Pierce that some time ago but it had slipped from her memory.
Even if it were true that little Stan had been a silent witness to the murder, with the main player missing he would no longer be tucked inside the cupboard to watch and listen.
She knew now why Maria had begged Pierce to come back to the house to complete the murder reenactment. She had been right to keep him away.
She made her way back to the small room where she had set up her bed in order to win the cash prize. It was now bare of furniture but the window gave a good view of the entrance. She slid to the floor, her back against the wall, and hugged her knees.
Selma had said that revenants could die from natural causes. What were they?
Disease and old age. No. Maria looked very healthy and she was in the prime of life, if that could be true of a ghost. Pierce had said that ghosts stayed the same age as when they died. She looked about thirty-five. So she had years in her yet.
Drowning? No. There was no water around and she couldn’t see using the tub upstairs. It would take eternity to fill. Maria might well die of old age before then. She giggled then pulled herself together. Her nerves were making her frivolous. Suffocation? She couldn’t imagine pulling a plastic bag over Maria’s head and keeping her immobile until she died. Nix that idea.
Exposure and starvation. Her brain slowed down. Was this a possibility? If Maria were trapped in the house with no way out would she die from lack of food and water?
Jane sprang to her feet and made for the small powder room under the stairs. She turned the tap. Nothing. Dry as a bone. The water had been turned off.
She hurried back to her refuge and fished in her bag for her cell phone. Quickly she dialed Selma’s number. “Be there,” she prayed. “Pick up, pick up.”
“Hello.” Selma’s voice was like a miracle.
“Selma, I’m in the house, waiting for Maria.”
“Good. Is it safe?”
“As safe as I can make it. I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Can you… Can revenants die of starvation or thirst?”
“Of course.”
“Is it a long, painful death?”
“At my age it would be, but for someone who’s just come over it would be quick. The flesh would still be in transition. Most of us have very healthy appetites during the first weeks.”
Jane let out a breath. “So if I could trap her here she might die again?”
“She certainly would die again if she couldn’t find a way out. You’d have to make sure there was no window or door she could get through. Lock her in somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
Slipping the cell phone back into her pocket, she sped through the house once more, checking locks and window catches, breathing a vote of thanks to the builders who had provided inside security on every window. Someone had been almost paranoid about preventing anyone from entering or leaving without permission. She gathered up all the small keys and put them into her pocket. They made a lump against her hip that she could feel when she moved.
The basement stairway also had a door that locked. She removed that key.
“Lock her in,” Selma had said.
The obvious spot was the small cloakroom under the stairs. Although an addition to the original house, it had the typical heavy door and a sturdy lock. An instinct made Jane take one of the dustsheets from a small table in the entrance hall and fold it neatly. Leaving the key in the lock of the small powder room, she pushed the door back against the wall as far as it would go.
The front door remained ajar, to be opened wide when Maria arrived, but Jane took the key from the lock and slipped it into another pocket. If she had to leave the house at a run she would need to be able to secure the door in double-quick time.
Slightly breathless from hurrying up and down stairs she eventually returned to her little hideaway.
The bunch of window and door keys went in her bag, which she slung bandolier-style across her chest, after taking out the can of pepper spray. The folded dustsheet lay within reach.
Nothing left to do but wait.
Time ticked by. She won
dered what Pierce was doing and if the documents Alex had talked of were interesting. She pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Her finger hovered over the speed dial button. How she longed to hear his voice. If only she could tell him what was happening…
What was she thinking? If she called him, she might give something away that let him know where she was and why. He would immediately hurry to her side and might even run into Maria.
She put the phone away.
At that instant she heard car tires crunch on the gravel. A door slammed and a woman’s voice spoke briefly. On her knees Jane edged to the window and peered over the sill. Maria was paying off a taxi. The wind was whipping her silk skirt around her legs. She was trying in vain to hold an umbrella over her coiffed hairdo. It occurred to Jane to wonder where Maria was getting her money for clothes and now a taxi. She dismissed the thought. Maria was devious and manipulative enough to find her way around. In a few hours it wouldn’t matter anyway.
When the cab pulled away, Jane watched the woman pause as if searching the paths and the façade of the house. She was probably wondering if Jane was already here and if so, where she’d put her vehicle.
A sudden stronger gust almost blew the umbrella inside out and Maria took hurried steps toward the main entrance. Jane scrambled to her feet and tucked the dustsheet over her arm. God, she hoped this would be as easy at Selma said.
“Remember she’s dead. It’s not a crime,” she whispered, echoing Selma’s words.
Before Maria could ring the bell, Jane threw open the door.
“Oh, you startled me.” Maria lowered her umbrella.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were expecting me to be here.” Jane took a firmer grip on the pepper spray can in her pocket.
“Of course. It’s just that I didn’t see your car.”
“Leave the umbrella outside.” Jane nodded toward a dry corner of the porch.
“This dreadful weather. In my day we had real summers with warm days, lots of sunshine, parties on the lawn…” As she chattered Maria entered the house and shook out her damp skirt. She smoothed her hair with one hand.
Jane took a step back. No way she wanted to be within arm’s reach. The door stood ajar.
Maria moved forward, passing Jane. “I can’t wait to see my little boy. What are you waiting for? Let’s go into the living room.”
Jane took a step to one side, bringing her close to the front door. She took the can of pepper spray from her pocket, one finger lightly placed on the nozzle. “It’s not true, is it?”
Pierce’s stepmother turned. “Not true?”
“Little Stan isn’t there.”
“Of course…” Her voice faded.
“Shall we check?” Jane gestured to the living room with the hand holding the pepper spray.
Maria’s eyes flickered to the can and the travesty of a smile twisted her mouth. “I always thought you were too smart for your own good. Of course he’s not there,” she said, “but you’re here. It was Pierce I wanted but I can get rid of you and then take my time over Pierce.” Her face contorted with hatred and her body tensed.
Just as Maria launched herself, Jane’s finger pressed on the nozzle and a jet of pepper spray hit Maria full in the face. She screamed and raised her hands to her face. In rapid movements Jane shook out the dustsheet and threw it over the writhing woman, turning her and giving her a push. Hobbled and blinded, Maria stumbled toward the gaping door of the cloakroom. Jane shoved her inside and slammed the door. She turned the key and heard the satisfactory click of the solid lock.
Without waiting to listen for shouts and sounds as Maria tried to fight her way out of the shroud of the dustsheet, Jane spun around, unlatched the front door and slammed it behind her. She inserted the key with shaking fingers and tried to turn it.
From a distance she heard Maria pound on the powder room door. “My eyes! I can’t breathe! Open this door. I need help!”
At last the heavy key slid into place and turned in the lock. Jane stumbled down the steps and raced for her car.
“You did what?” Pierce stared at her, for once at a loss for words.
Jane was in her robe. As soon as she had arrived home she’d stepped under the shower, cleansing herself of every vestige of pepper spray and Maria’s perfume. Her hair was still damp and she’d lifted it from her neck in a loose ponytail. “You heard me. I locked Maria in the house. Selma says she’ll die very quickly.” Jane had a flash of a neglected houseplant, withering and fading. “She won’t suffer.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say you love me.”
Pierce kissed her. “Haven’t I said that enough?”
“Never, it’s never enough.”
“She could have harmed you.”
“I was prepared. More to the point she could have killed you again and taken you from me. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” She tucked her head beneath his chin, listening to the thump of his heart under her ear. She thought of the blood rushing through his veins, of the life in him, growing stronger every day.
“I still can’t believe it. I would never have thought—”
“Believe it. Although I don’t think I ever want to use that powder room again.”
“I’ll have something done about it.”
“Please. Let’s change the subject. Tell me about the documents Alex showed you.”
“We had a really good time going through those old papers…” Pierce slipped his hands under her robe and stroked her back. “But they’re not nearly as interesting as,” he brought his mouth close to hers, “what I can do with you.”
She swept her hands over his hair. She loved to feel every inch of him. She thought she would never grow tired of touching him, making sure he was real.
He lifted his hands to her neck and pulled her mouth to his in a sweet and tender kiss. When she made a sound in her throat he pressed harder and his tongue pushed inside her mouth. She felt the familiar spark in her belly.
“I love you, Jane Chartraine.”
“I love you too.”
How could anyone be so happy without their heart bursting?
His lips fastened once more to hers and he loosened her robe, pushing it off her shoulders. It slid to the floor. His hands knew her so well, knew every curve and secret place of her body. Heat and moisture pooled between her legs.
He turned to click off a lamp, leaving only one small light burning. The sun was almost set and little light penetrated into the reaches of the room. She could make out the pale blur of his features and the long lines on his body.
She touched her side where the skin burned with an inner flame.
“Do it here. Right now.”
“On the floor?”
“Wherever.”
“God, you make me hot, woman. Hot and wild.” He released her and stepped away, unzipping his jeans. His eyes darkened like the storm clouds outside. “But I’m going to need a bed for what I’m going to do to you.”
She sank to her knees as he kicked off his shorts and unbuttoned his shirt.
“Hurry,” she whispered and lay on her back, legs spread. His cock was thick and long. She ached to feel him inside her.
Naked, he followed her to the floor. She knew she would come in an instant when he fucked her.
He knelt astride her, that delicious cock just inches from her eager mouth. He held her face between his hands, stroking her lower lip with a gentle thumb, his eyes boring into her, challenging her. “I need time for this,” he said. “No quickies, right?”
Her heart was beating too furiously to speak. With an effort of will she drew in her breath and exhaled on the one word. “Right.”
He leaned over her and touched his lips to hers, his mouth soft yet demanding. They moved closer and the kiss went deep, dizzying in its effect. She sank below the pleasure like a drowning woman, lost and moaning.
In her subconscious she was aware of his hands under her body and instinctively she reached
for him. “Just wait a moment, beautiful lady,” he whispered.
Suddenly his hands were hard and sure on her waist and lifted her onto the bed.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down closer. Their lips clung together for an eternity until he broke the kiss. Supporting himself on his hands, he gazed down at her.
“I want to see you.” Her robe lay spread open and she watched him feast his eyes. She loved him looking at her nakedness, knowing what her body aroused in him, anticipating what that clever mouth and supple hands would do to her.
His eyes still locked on hers, he sank to his elbows and at last his cock was in reach. She raised one hand and stroked it almost tentatively. She felt him harden even more under her fingers.
He stroked her breasts, curling his fingers over each one in turn and tickling the hardened nipple. Her hips rose in an ancient rhythm, begging for completion, but he ignored her silent pleading. She moaned as she felt her flesh swell and throb between her legs.
“More,” she whispered.
He rolled one nipple between two fingers. “More of what?” he teased. “I suppose I could give you just a little more.”
He cupped one breast and brought it to his lips and tongue. He licked and sipped at it as if he were tasting a fine wine.
“Maybe you should taste me,” he murmured. He swung his legs around and shifted his position to lean over her, facing her feet, bringing the wet tip of his cock to her mouth. With a sigh of pleasure she parted her lips and let him slip inside her warm wetness. She fitted him inside her and teased the flaring tip with her tongue, tasting the pearly saltiness that seeped from him. She drew her lips in tighter and sucked, pulling him deeper to her throat.
His hand floated down her side and fluttered over the curls at her thighs. She arched, desperate for more, every nerve quivering. She felt his fingers dive into her wetness, gliding up, down and around, touching her throbbing clit and caressing her aching opening.
Her mouth full of his pulsating flesh, she could only moan in her throat as she longed to beg him to enter her.
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