“That’s really not necessary,” Brynn broke in. She wasn’t comfortable with Reece hauling her suitcases around like a bellhop. “I’ve managed them this far…”
She might as well have kept her mouth shut. Reece didn’t so much as look her way as he bent to gather her bags.
“No, really you don’t have to.” Brynn reached to take her case from him, but he jerked it away and pinned her with a frigid glare.
“This is what they pay me for.” He hoisted her bags and started down the hall.
“Sorry about that,” Eleri said, once he’d gone. “He’s new.”
“I don’t like someone waiting on me,” Brynn said. “And for the record, I also believe in being nice to waiters and cashiers.”
Having waited tables in college to supplement her student loan, she liked to imagine there was a special corner of hell set aside for people who got their rocks off by being rude to people in the service industry.
Eleri crossed the foyer and pushed open a dark wooden door. “Do you think he might quit?”
“Do you want him to?”
“It’s better for him if he does.”
Brynn followed Eleri into a large living room. Cream-colored walls with pale blue inlay looked rich, especially with a cream brocade Louis XIV settee and chairs. But as she moved farther into the room, she realized it was a facade. Thin cracks spidered across the plaster walls. The fabric on the settee was worn and split. Fluffy white stuffing poked out from the arm of one of the chairs where the material had frayed.
“Sit down. You must be exhausted, and you’re soaked through.” Eleri crossed to the fire in the hearth and lifted the poker. She jabbed the smoldering log until it crumbled, tiny flames lighting along the edges. Orange glow flickered across Eleri’s small features, giving her an almost demonic appearance.
Brynn slowly sank into the chair closest to the door. What in the hell had she gotten herself into? “Reece and the housekeeper didn’t know I was coming.”
“No, they didn’t,” Eleri said, without meeting her gaze.
“Arthur doesn’t know either, does he?”
A faint flush crept into Eleri’s face. Her mouth pulled into a wry smirk. “If I know Iola Voyle, he does now. Our father’s ill. I didn’t want him upset with the anticipation of your arrival. He can be very stubborn.”
Eleri’s admission hit her like a kick to the stomach stealing her breath. “You came looking for me. You said he wanted to make his peace with me before he died.”
“He does. He will,” Eleri said, quickly, setting down the poker.
Brynn stood, and raked her fingers through her damp hair. “I won’t stay where I’m not welcome.”
Though, the idea of hauling her bags out to her car and facing the sea again sent a fresh wave of exhaustion rolling through her. Maybe she could stand on that particular principal starting first thing tomorrow.
“I want you here.” Eleri sat on the chair opposite Brynn. “Our father’s dying. Soon we will be all the family we have left, and we know nothing about each other.”
Brynn’s anger fizzled. She knew what it was to be on her own. Her grandparents were gone, and so was Zack. Never before had she so keenly felt like the orphan she was.
She flopped back into the chair. “He doesn’t want me here.”
On some level she had expected this reaction. After all, her father had always known where she was and never once tried to contact her. Still, as much as Brynn hated to admit it, some small part of her had been hoping for the sitcom father-daughter reunion. Even if her cynical side knew she was in for a much different outcome.
As usual, her cynical side was right.
“When I called you the first time, you were adamant when you said you wouldn’t come here,” Eleri reminded her.
Brynn nodded. Apparently, her first instinct had been the right one.
“What made you change your mind?”
“I found the paperwork granting my grandparents custody.” And her mother’s letters, one for every birthday from the time Brynn turned four until she was eleven. Each letter filled with her mother’s love…and her fears.
“You came here to understand where you came from, who you are, to know something of your family. You mustn’t let him spoil that for you.”
Don’t let the man’s blatant rejection spoil meeting him for the first time? Brynn shot her sister a baleful stare. “Maybe I should stay at a hotel while I’m here.”
“He’ll come around,” Eleri said, quickly.
Brynn wished she were as confident as Eleri sounded. Unease scuttled up her spine. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, or rid herself of the small voice whispering in the back of her brain, What else isn’t your sister telling you?
Chapter Three
Reece’s head thudded like it was about to explode. He set down Brynn’s cases and pressed his fingers to his forehead. His skull pulsed like a cartoon character struck with an anvil. He’d swear that bastard knew exactly what places like the pub did to him and insisted on meeting there on purpose.
He glanced at his watch. Five-forty. Damn, he was late. Maybe if wrapped up what he needed to here and took one of the cars back to the pub, he’d make it before the other man left.
If this headache didn’t knock him on his ass first.
The pills he’d swallowed in the car had taken the edge off, but not much more. He reached into his pocket, curling his fingers around the plastic vial. If he popped another, he’d be down for the night and driving would be out of the question. Lord save him if he missed this meeting.
Bloody Dylis Paskin and her grand ideas, but she’d jump at any excuse to get him out of her place. He’d like to believe his connection to Stonecliff was what made the woman so uncomfortable around him, but he knew better. Like so many others, she sensed something off, something not quite right, and while he’d never given her cause to refuse him at her establishment, she looked for any reason to keep his visits short. Ironically, were it up to him, he’d never darken her door.
He sighed, snatched up Brynn’s cases and continued on to the kitchen.
He’d had everything timed perfectly—until Brynn walked in. He hadn’t even known Arthur James had another daughter. Or had he? Hadn’t he heard something about Eleri and a sister? Of course, the story ended with Eleri having killed the infant. But that’s how all the stories about Eleri ended—in death and murder. With so many, how could he keep track of them all? Or know which to believe?
Obviously, Brynn hadn’t been murdered. She was very much alive and looked well enough to him. He certainly wouldn’t have pegged her for Eleri’s sister. Unlike Eleri’s small, hard features, Brynn’s were softer, prettier. Warm brown eyes and pale red hair falling damp and windblown to her shoulders gave her an earthy sexiness he would’ve had to be dead not to notice.
Did Brynn have any idea of the mess she’d stumbled into? For all he knew, she and her sister were two of a kind. He considered her artless questions, open expression, and somehow didn’t believe it.
Why? Because he liked her face? He of all people should know better. Human beings rarely looked like who they really were. He, for instance, played normal so well no one would guess at the freak he really was.
“You must be mistaken, Iola. Perhaps you heard her name wrong.” Hugh Warlow’s condescending voice drifted from the kitchen. Reece slowed his pace and pressed against the wall. The musty stink from the ancient wallpaper wafted to his nose while he inched nearer to the opening so he could better hear the hushed conversation without being seen.
“He introduced her as Ms. James.” The housekeeper’s whisper gave way to a shrill squeak. “Who else could she be?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Warlow murmured. “Why would Eleri bring her here now? Why would she come?”
“A father at death’s door? I think we can guess, can’t we? Like mother like daughter. She’s come for whatever she can get her hands on, mark my words. The apple wouldn’t have falle
n far from the tree with that one.”
Warlow chuckled softly, the sound cool as a November wind. “Then she’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. And that still doesn’t explain why Eleri would seek her out now.”
“Mr. James is ill. If Eleri isn’t aware there are no provisions for Meris’s girl in his will…” Shrewd implication crept into Mrs. Voyle’s voice. “Perhaps, she plans to finish what she started.”
Unease unfurled inside Reece. What had Eleri started that she might finish now? Based on the stories he’d heard, the possibilities weren’t good.
“She’s gone through a lot of trouble to bring that girl here, I doubt Eleri would do so without knowing who gets what when her father passes. She’s too clever.”
“Crafty, more like it.”
Silence fell between them. Reece tensed, ears straining.
“Do you suppose this has anything to do with Langley?” Mrs. Voyle asked, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.
Now that was interesting. In the weeks he’d been working here, Reece had yet to hear anyone at Stonecliff mention the man found murdered on the property less than six weeks ago. Conversely, in the village they spoke of nothing else.
“Don’t let gossip cloud your better judgment,” Warlow said. Given the animosity between Eleri and the butler, Reece was surprised the man would defend her. “But we do need to know just what that girl is up to.”
“Which one?”
“Both, I imagine.”
Footsteps scraped across the tile floor, moving in his direction. He tensed. It was only a matter of time before one of them caught him eavesdropping.
He pushed away from the wall and rounded through the door, bringing Mrs. Voyle to a halt in front of him. The woman’s beady eyes narrowed, as if guessing he’d been listening.
“What’re you about, then?” she snapped.
Reece opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get the words out. “How is it that girl came in with you?”
The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Bad enough he had to put up with Eleri constantly looking for an excuse to sack him, but to have to offer up explanations to this tight-faced harridan was almost more than he could stand. “I ran into her at the pub. She was lost, I showed her the way.”
“At the pub again, were you?” Mrs. Voyle said, with a derisive sniff. “No surprise there. Well, if you’re after your dinner, you’ll just have to wait. I serve at six sharp. Not before, not after.”
The thick, meaty scent of whatever vile concoction the woman was cooking filled the kitchen. The pounding in his head increased, and his stomach swirled. He’d pass.
“Eleri wants her sister’s things taken to the guestroom. She said you could direct me.”
The shrill whistle from the kettle cut through the quiet, and his skull contracted. Lips pursed as if sucking lemons, Mrs. Voyle shut off the gas burner, lifted the kettle and the whistle ceased.
“So, I’m to fetch tea and tell you how to be about your own duties, am I?” Before Mrs. Voyle could rant further, Warlow lifted his hand, and the housekeeper’s mouth snapped shut.
With his dark suit and short snow-white hair, Warlow looked fastidious and stately, every part the English butler. Despite the color of his hair, only a few lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled, making his age difficult to guess.
“The front room in the northeast corner,” he said.
Facing the sea? Brynn should love that. He nodded and started to turn away.
“Mr. Conway,” Warlow said. Reece stopped and faced him. “Would you join me?”
As if he had a choice. Not in what Warlow asked of him, or Eleri James, or in working within the walls of this stone asylum. Choice had vanished years ago.
“I really should get these to Br—Ms. James’s room.”
“You can spare a moment.” Warlow’s smile stretched a little wider, blue gaze chilling ever so slightly. He waved Reece to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”
The man wanted something. Normally, he barely spoke to him—unless to contradict Eleri.
Reece dropped into the chair Warlow had indicated and struggled against the urge to check his watch. He had to get back to the pub.
The butler hesitated before speaking, his gaze following Mrs. Voyle as she placed a teapot onto the trolley’s tray next to a plate of biscuits. Once loaded, she pushed the cart out of the kitchen. The dishes clanked together and one of the wheels squeaked intermittently.
Warlow lifted his teacup and asked, “Would you care for some?”
Just get to the point, already. Reece shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll just take up these cases then be off.”
Warlow leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “Meris’s girl arrived with you. Did Eleri ask you to meet her?”
Reece shook his head. “I wouldn’t have bothered with her at all, but Dylis Paskin offered me up when Brynn couldn’t follow the directions Eleri sent her.”
“You had no idea Eleri had contacted her sister?” Warlow’s piercing blue stare bored into him. “Why were you at the pub this afternoon?”
Was the man actually trying to catch him in a lie? Funny, Reece had been at the pub for nefarious reasons, just not the ones Warlow assumed. “I was desperate for something edible for my dinner.”
“Ah, well, no one could fault you for that, my boy.”
Reece stiffened beneath the weight of the butler’s patronizing tone.
“A word of warning, though. The Paskins have a long, angry history with this family. You may want to keep that in mind the next time you visit The Iron Kettle.”
Well, considering Eleri had likely murdered their son, one could hardly blame them for holding a grudge. “I really should take Ms. James her cases.”
“A little longer, please.” Warlow waved Reece back into his seat when he started to stand. Good God, would the man never shut up? “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m very concerned about this visit affecting Mr. James’s health. Did the girl tell you anything about why she’s come?”
Irrational irritation prickled the back of Reece’s neck. She has a name. “No.”
Though, her turning up now with her father so ill, Mrs. Voyle probably hadn’t been far off the mark. Not that he was in any position to judge. The things he’d done for money didn’t leave much room to be self-righteous.
“Did she tell you why Eleri contacted her?” Warlow pushed.
Ask her your bloody self if you want to know so badly. “We weren’t in the car long, and didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” The man’s smile dimmed and he nodded almost to himself, then those light eyes fixed on Reece once more. “What did you think of her?”
A bloody nosy neurotic. Instead, he shrugged. “I didn’t think anything of her.”
Warlow chuckled. Only the barely visible narrowing of his eyes hinted at his annoyance. “You formed no opinion?”
He could tell the butler about her panic attack, her fear of water. Reece met the man’s hungry gaze, and a surge of distaste curdled his insides. Hugh Warlow could dig up his own dirt. “Like I said, we didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”
He glanced at the clock over the stove. Ten minutes to six. He’d never make it back to the pub in time. He was well and truly fucked now.
The telltale hiss of Mrs. Voyle’s skirt announced her arrival just before she stormed into the room, dark eyes glinting like onyx.
“Now, I’m to serve Her Highness dinner in her room,” the housekeeper fumed, shooting Warlow a pointed stare. “Familiar days, I tell you.”
Reece saw his chance for escape and jumped at it. He scrambled from his chair and gathered Brynn’s cases. “I should take these up.”
“Yes, of course. One more thing, Mr. Conway.”
Reece lifted his head and Warlow flashed a smile nearly as white as his hair.
“I realize you’ve only bee
n with us a few weeks, but I’m extremely pleased with you so far. There could be a real future here for someone loyal.”
Reece nodded despite the slick knots tightening his insides. A future in this house? Were that the case he’d stick his head in the oven and get it over with now. Besides, he knew the sort of loyalty Hugh Warlow was looking for. Reece was already spying for one son of a bitch. He had no desire to make it two.
* * *
Brynn stared out the window, but only her watery reflection in the glass was visible against the black sky. She couldn’t see the ocean in the darkness, but given the relentless hush of the surf beating the shore, her room no doubt overlooked those endless waves. She shivered. For a moment, images of the ground beneath the house shifting, all this stone and wood tipping forward and sliding down the cliff into the icy waters below filled her head.
Her heart rate quickened and Brynn grasped the fireplace mantle next to the window to steady herself.
She’d just keep the drapes closed during her stay.
Or maybe she should just head back to the airport. Hop on the first flight home. And go back to what? Her grandparents’ empty house? Her career swirling down the toilet? Her life was a mess. If everything had been going great, she probably wouldn’t have made this trip to begin with.
She thought of her mother’s letters tucked away in her purse. No, even if Zack hadn’t knocked up the CEO’s secretary at the company where they both worked, and she hadn’t been given a transfer to a tiny subsidiary instead of the promotion she’d been promised before her personal life had become fodder for gossip, she would have made this trip.
Even knowing her father didn’t want her here, after all.
A lump thickened in her throat, a faint tingle tickling the back of her nose. She was just tired. She drew a trembling breath and let it out slowly. After a decent night’s sleep, she’d be back to her old self.
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