Secrets at Sweetwater Cove

by Sally Roseveare

  “Where are we going?” Carole peered out the window into deepening shadows.

  “I told you it was a surprise.”

  “I know, but I don’t remember any restaurants in this neighborhood. To be honest, I don’t remember this neighborhood.”

  Win slowed and turned onto a paved drive, stopped at an iron gate, pulled a remote from his jacket pocket, and punched in a number. The gate swung open, then closed after he drove the car through. Victorian-style lamp posts lined both sides of the drive for a quarter mile. A huge stone house stood at the end of the driveway. Parked in front was a white paneled truck with “Cabaret Catering” painted on the side.

  “Win, where are we? This can’t be just a restaurant.”

  He looked at her and grinned. “You’re right. It’s a private club owned by the caterer. I’ve rented a dining room for dinner. Carole, get ready to experience the night of your life.”

  “I agreed to dinner only.” Don’t panic, Carole, she said to herself. Be calm. Don’t let Win know you’re nervous.

  “And dinner you’ll get, my lady.” And a whole lot more than that. Whether good or bad depends on you, he thought.

  Carole forced a laugh. “My goodness, Win. You certainly cut no corners. Will you at least tell me where we are?”

  “Why, Carole, you sound concerned. You’re not scared, are you?”

  “Don’t be silly. I just always like to know where I am, especially a place this incredible. I can hardly wait to see what it looks like inside.” She looked at him, faked a smile. A valet appeared, opened her car door and helped her out.

  “So won’t you be a good boy and tell me where we are? Pretty please?” Carole watched the valet drive her car around the corner of the house and out of sight.

  “I’m pleased, Carole. I thought you’d like this place. It’s special; so are you. We’re on a 400-acre private estate that straddles the Franklin County/Pittsylvania County line. The sole purpose of the owner is to entertain the rich and famous from all over the world. And to make gobs of money, of course. Few locals know it’s here.”

  Win took her elbow, walked her up the marble steps to the front porch and rang the doorbell. A butler opened the door and ushered them inside. The 14-foot high mahogany doors closed behind them with a soft thud. Uneasiness ran through Carole. She trembled.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Charlie paced the floor while Dixie Lee put dinner on the table for the second time that night. He pulled out his cell, stuck it back in his pocket. He’d already called Sam twice; he should wait a little longer before trying again, but he couldn’t help being anxious.

  After much talking, Sheriff Rogers had agreed to send a search party to look for Aurora. The only problem was that Aurora hadn’t been gone long enough to file an official missing persons report. For now, the searchers would all be off-duty volunteers.

  “Supper’s ready, Charlie, dear,” said Dixie Lee from beside him. She put her arm around his waist, rested her head against his shoulder. “Are you ready to eat?”

  He looked at the sweet lady beside him, her eyes full of concern, and nodded. “This is not what I had planned for our evening. I know I’ve been a wet blanket tonight, haven’t given you the attention you deserve, even caused your wonderful meal to be cold so that you had to reheat it.” Was that a tear in her eye?

  “That’s okay, Charlie. I understand. I’m worried about Aurora, too. Even though I’ve known her only a short time, I care about her a great deal. She’s a nice person and a good friend. And if supper’s too cold, we can just zap our plates in the microwave again.” Dixie Lee guided him to the table. “Will you bless our food?”

  Back at his house, Sam stowed peanut butter crackers, water bottles, two cans of sardines, pork and beans, saltine crackers and Vienna sausage into a cooler.

  “Add these cookies, Sam,” said Robert as he came in the kitchen, “and these candy bars. How about some blankets and a first-aid kit, too? And maybe some dog food for Little Guy and King?”

  “Good thinking, Robert. We’ll need to put the dog food in something other animals can’t tear into. There’s a big popcorn can in the pantry if you’ll get it. Just dump the popcorn in the trash. While you’re in there, look on the shelf on the right just inside the door and grab the box of plastic forks and spoons.” He dropped a bunch of bananas and a few apples in the cooler.

  Five minutes later the two men loaded Aurora’s Jeep with the packed items. “Just thought of something else,” said Sam. He dashed back inside the house and yanked Aurora’s down coat, ski cap and gloves from the hall closet.

  “Good idea,” said Robert when Sam stuffed them in the back seat. Sam nodded, cranked up the Jeep and drove to the dock.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Brilliant smears of red, gold, orange and gray shone over the distant mountains on the Franklin County side of the lake. Aurora watched the sun drop below the trees. Soon darkness would come. She couldn’t remember if the moon would be full. She hoped so. She figured she’d better get her bearings while she could still see the mountain peaks on the horizon.

  The dampness of late fall chilled her. A heavy jacket or at least a sweater would feel really good over her thin, long-sleeved shirt. How could I have been so stupid as to come to the mountain without preparation? Be prepared, her dad had always told her. She patted her pants pocket; at least she had her dad’s Boy Scout knife. She hoped she wouldn’t need it.

  She stared at the skyline, recognized Turkey Cock Mountain in Franklin County, knew that if she turned left and kept the lake in sight she’d eventually wind up where she’d beached the rowboat—as long as she didn’t fall in the water. The last rays vanished. In the darkness, the chances of stumbling over a root, stepping in a hole, or sliding into the lake soared. Not a fun thing to do this time of year.

  As she trudged the rough shoreline, she wondered what Sam had thought when he’d arrived home and she wasn’t there. She hoped this wasn’t one of those evenings when he’d have a last-minute meeting and call home to say he’d be late for dinner, because she wouldn’t be there to answer the phone. And if he called her cell, he wouldn’t get an answer. He’d figure then that something was wrong. Surely he was looking for her. She hoped he wasn’t too worried. After all, she told herself, this is my mountain, Mom and I rode horses on it when I was growing up. I’m in no real danger. Right?

  A twig snapped behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She wheeled around, twisted her left ankle and fell to the ground. Her hands felt around for a root, a branch, anything to grab hold of to stop her downward slide. She cried out when her injured foot hit a stump. Lying on the ground, she waited for the pain to subside. Look on the bright side Aurora, she thought. At least you’ve stopped moving.

  A rustling in the brush four feet away erased all thought of pain. Something—or someone—is stalking me, she thought. She eased her hand into her pants pocket, pulled out the pocket knife, opened the blade, and waited. The rustling ceased.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  No answer.

  “Show yourself.” Nothing. Lord, she thought, am I going to die? Please not like this, Lord. Please.

  Something—was it human or animal—moved closer. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Aurora raised the knife above her head.

  A familiar whine stopped the downward thrust of the knife in mid-air. “Little Guy! Am I glad to see you.” She put the knife back in her pocket and wrapped her arms around his neck. He licked her face. Funny how much safer she felt now. She wished she’d brought a leash. Again she chided herself for being unprepared.

  “This time you won’t run off and leave me all alone.” She grabbed his collar with one hand and unbuckled her belt with the other.

  “Down, Little Guy.” He stretched out on the rocky ground. “Good boy. Now please stay long enough for me to hook this belt to your collar.” She ran one end of the belt through his collar and pulled it taut. “Glad you’re tall e
nough and my belt long enough so I won’t have to bend over when we walk. This isn’t perfect, but it will work. It has to. I can’t let you run off again. Wish you could tell me where King is.”

  When she tried to stand, pain seared through her ankle. She winced. “Not good, Little Guy. Hope I haven’t broken it. Don’t think I’ll be able to put much weight on it. Nope, not good.”

  I need a walking stick, Aurora thought. Still holding on to one end of the belt, she crawled through twigs and leaves until she found a stick. Using the makeshift cane to brace herself, she hauled herself upright.

  “I need to go right, Little Guy, get closer to the lake, follow the shoreline to the rowboat. But I can’t see the lake or the shoreline. And I don’t want to fall in the water.”

  Holding onto the belt, she hobbled a few yards and stopped to catch her breath. “This isn’t working. I can’t limp along uneven ground for more than a few steps at a time.”

  Little Guy barked.

  “Why do I keep talking to you? I know you’re smart, but surely not smart enough to understand me.”

  The terrier barked again. “Guess hearing my own voice makes me feel safer.”

  Her progress would be at turtle-speed, but she had no choice.

  “Standing around gabbing won’t get us anywhere. Let’s go.” Putting her weight on the stick in her left hand, she held the belt in her right hand and started out.

  Crack! The crude cane broke in two. Aurora tumbled several yards down the hill, hit her head on a log, and lost consciousness. Little Guy’s improvised leash fell from her hand. The Jack Russell terrier nudged her arm, licked her face. When she didn’t respond he let out a high-pitched bark.

  Two minutes later, Aurora moaned, rubbed the back of her head, felt the knot already forming. Her head hurt like crazy. She hadn’t felt blood, but she was a little dizzy.

  Little Guy cocked his ears, barked again. He dashed into the woods, yelped, returned to Aurora. She reached for his leash but missed. He whined, ran a few feet, stopped, looked back at Aurora, and disappeared into the night.

  “No! Little Guy, come back!”

  But he didn’t come.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Wednesday, 6:45 p.m.

  Sam guided the pontoon boat to shore. Robert grabbed one end of the line, stepped onto land and tied the line around a pine tree.

  The two hauled the cooler from the boat and set it down near the rowboat. Knowing that if Aurora returned to the boat she’d find the supplies, they loaded the blankets, first-aid kit, dog food and flashlight into the rowboat. Sam placed Aurora’s coat, hat and gloves on top of the pile.

  Sam jumped when his cell phone rang. “This is Charlie. Any luck?”

  “Not yet. We just arrived at the mountain a few minutes ago. We’ve unloaded supplies for Aurora. I’m anxious to start searching. Have you talked to Sheriff Rogers recently?”

  “He called a few minutes ago. The search party has reached the dirt access road running up the mountain. They plan to drive to the top of the ridge, separate into three teams and search on foot. You’ll probably see some of their lights as they move across the mountain.”

  “Good.”

  “Almost forgot to tell you. The sheriff wanted you to know that he had no trouble finding willing volunteers. They all know Aurora’s my niece.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I’ll go help you look, Sam. I can be on the access road in 30 minutes.”

  “I’d rather you stay where you are, Charlie. Sometimes cell phones don’t get a signal on the mountain. I think you’ll serve us better if you act as a command post. Even if you can’t reach everyone, surely you’d be able to communicate with some of the searchers, forward info to the rest of us as needed.”

  “I’d rather help search, but I see your point. If you find Aurora or need me for any reason, call me. I’ll be at Dixie Lee’s. She insisted I spend the night at her place, said I’d be closer in case—well, that I’d be closer. Of course, I could always stay at your house.” Charlie looked at Dixie Lee sitting on the couch, raised an eyebrow.

  She smiled and shook her head.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Wednesday, 7:00 p.m.

  Carole stood in the 25-foot high foyer amid old-world elegance. Her apprehension temporarily forgotten, she turned slowly around, fascinated by the antique paintings on the walls. To her left and right, two magnificent wide marble staircases curved up turret walls on both sides of the foyer and came together to form a landing on the second floor.

  “This way, Carole,” Win said to her.

  She didn’t budge.

  “Carole.” He touched her arm.

  “What?”

  “The butler wants us to follow him to the pub.”

  “The pub?”

  “Yes.” Win laughed. “I can tell you’re in a state of shock. This house is really spectacular. There’s a lot more to see.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place. Nobody I know—except for you—knows it’s here. Well, I guess the two county treasurers must, but they’re certainly tight-lipped.”

  With Win’s hand on her arm, they followed the butler through a maze of rooms to the pub in the rear of the house. A bartender stood behind a massive mahogany bar. Across the room, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a lighted terrace, garden and free-form swimming pool. Arranged around the room were a dozen tables, each with chairs for four. Persian rugs covered portions of the parquet flooring.

  “If you’re interested, we could walk down to the stable area in a little while. The horses here receive the best care possible and the stable is nicer than most homes. Cleaner, too.”

  “I’ll pass on the stable. I like horses okay, but I’m not what you’d call a horse nut like Aurora is.” Carole looked at her watch. “Speaking of Aurora, I should probably call her. I told her I’d call around seven o’clock. It’s 7:20 now.” She reached for her phone.

  Win grabbed her wrist. “Can’t it wait ‘til later, Carole? Believe me, there’s lots more for you to see. Aurora will understand.”

  “Well, okay.”

  After the bartender poured them a glass of wine, Win said, “We must make a toast.” He held up his wine glass. “To the most gorgeous real estate agent I’ve ever met.” Carole blushed as their glasses clinked. Win ushered her through an archway into another room on the back of the house.

  “Do you come here often? You seem to know your way around.”

  “You could say that. I’ve done some favors for the owner, so he reciprocates by letting me use the facilities whenever I wish.” Win looked at her. “Stick with me, Carole, and you can live like a queen, come here as often as you wish.”

  She said nothing.

  “This is the billiard/game room. Do you play pool?” He swallowed a sip of wine, set the glass down, and picked up a cue stick.

  “I played a lot in college, was pretty good back then. But I haven’t played since. That’s been a while.” She sipped her wine. “This is excellent, Win. What is it?”

  “Glad you like it. And it should be excellent. The bottle cost over $100.00.” Win racked the balls and handed Carole a cue stick.

  “I didn’t come here to play pool, Win. I came for dinner only, remember. Luke’s expecting me to be home when he calls at 10:00.” She laid the stick on the pool table.

  “Just one game, Carole. It won’t take that long. Pretty please.” He tried to hand her the cue stick.

  “Monsieur Ford, Mademoiselle, the chef asked me to announce that dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” said the maître de from the doorway.

  “Can’t he hold it a little longer?” Win asked.

  “Oh, no, Monsieur. The dinner he is preparing for you must be served as soon as it is ready or the taste will not be so delicious.”

  Carole was glad they would eat soon. She looked at Win, didn’t like the expression on his face. He was not happy. Did he have other plans for her this evening besides dinner, pl
ans she wouldn’t like, plans that dinner had temporarily foiled? She wanted to leave, but how?

  When they reached the pub room, the maître de showed them to a table in front of the large window. He pulled out a chair for Carole, seated her, and with a flourish removed the white linen napkin from her plate, unfolded it and placed it on her lap. “Your dinner tonight consists of dishes famous in the East of France, in the Alsace region. Your soup is Soupe aux abats d’oie.”

  “And the English translation?” asked Carole.

  “As you Americans call it, goose giblet soup.” Carole forced herself not to gag. “It is very delicious, a delicacy.”

  He motioned to the waiter who set filled bowls on gold chargers in front of Carole and Win.

  “Smells wonderful,” said Win.

  “What’s our entrée?” She was almost afraid to ask.

  “Rognons de veau au Chablis, also known as calves’ kidneys in wine and mustard sauce,” said the maître de.

  She opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it and said nothing. Carole looked around the room. No other guests were visible. “Are we the only ones here?” she asked the maître de.

  “Oh, no, Mademoiselle. The others, they dine in other dining rooms, the guest houses, or in their suites tonight. That is good, oui? You and Monsieur will have more privacy.”

  Strange, thought Carole. She finished her wine and set the empty glass on the table. Admiring the sterling silver place settings, she picked up the teaspoon and traced her finger over the ornate scrollwork on the handle.

  Win watched her until she set the teaspoon back on the table. He covered her hand with his.

  “Look at this gorgeous china, Win.” Ignoring his gesture, she pulled her hand away, picked up her plate and turned it over. “It says ‘Theodore Haviland, Limoges, FRANCE.’”

  “Carole, look at me.”

  “Win, can you read what’s stamped here?” She pointed to the indentation in the plate. “It looks like an ‘H’ and then something and then ‘L.’ Wish I had a magnifying glass.”