by Kira Blakely
“What?” I throw her a confused look.
“I swear someone put a curse on this household.”
I shake my head. “That’s too bad.”
“That’s why she was sent to a mental institution.” She looks over her shoulder. “But don’t tell anyone I told you that. It’s supposed to be a secret. You know, rich people don’t like to be called loony.”
“I won’t tell,” I promise her. “So who lives here now?”
“Terrence Donahue,” Maggie answers as she gets another plate from my arms, lightening my load. “He’s the younger brother of the old master. And let me tell you,” she whispers in my ear. “He’s a creep.”
I crease my eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at some of the maids,” Maggie answers. “Plus, he’s always surrounded by thugs who also look at some of the maids. Pray that you don’t run into them.”
“I pray with all my heart,” I say sincerely.
Maggie takes another plate. “Oh, and he’s got these really bushy eyebrows that look like caterpillars. Sometimes, I wish I could shave them.”
Okay.
Just then, a phone rings in the kitchen and Polly picks it up. After a few seconds, she places the phone back in its cradle.
“Something needs to be cleaned up on the fourth floor,” she barks.
“The fourth floor?” A maid in her thirties gets to her feet, her face pale.
Maggie puts the last plate inside the cabinet and turns to the maid at the nearby table chopping vegetables. “What’s up with Tina?”
“She said she saw a ghost on the fourth floor,” the other maid answers.
“A ghost?”
“She said it was the ghost of the younger Mr. Donahue, the one who drowned.”
My heart stops and I’m grateful I’m no longer carrying any plates or I would have dropped and broken them.
The younger Mr. Donahue. Chester. He’s here.
“Of course, Polly doesn’t believe it,” the other maid goes on. “She said Tina’s making an excuse not to go clean the attic again.”
“Chester Donahue, huh?” Maggie touches her chin. “I’ve seen his picture and you know what? He can haunt me anytime.”
I ignore her, raising my hand. “I’ll go clean it up.”
“Me, too!” Maggie seconds, raising her hand.
Oh yay, company. That’ll make this easier. Not.
“Okay,” Polly says. “Off you go. Hurry.”
We leave the kitchen, getting the cleaning supplies from the cleaning closet.
Chase is here. He’s here.
Of course, I have to get rid of Maggie first.
I follow her past the rooms that are being renovated to the bottom of the grand staircase but as we’re about to go up, she stops, turning around. I turn, as well.
Moments later, a man in his fifties with dark brown hair and blue eyes, a scar over his left eye at the tip of his bushy eyebrow, enters.
I draw a deep breath.
This must be Terrence Donahue.
He comes closer, and I bow my head, following Maggie’s lead. Still, his gaze tracks over me, and I suppress a shiver.
“One of you, go fetch me Morris, the guy who’s in charge of the renovation,” he orders.
“Yes, sir,” Maggie answers, going back the way we came.
Alone, I keep my head bowed and as he comes even closer to me, stopping in front of me, I start shaking in my shoes, though I try not to show it.
“You,” he says.
“Yes, sir?” I answer without lifting my head.
“Don’t you have something to clean?”
“Yes, sir.”
I turn around and head upstairs with a broom in hand. At the top of the stairs, I pause, leaning against the wall as I take a deep breath.
I’m completely alone. I sprint up the next set of stairs to the third floor.
Chase waits there.
Chapter 20
Chase
I throw my head against the wall behind me, and my fingers through my hair.
Uncle Terrence is definitely the man who tried to get rid of me.
Worse, he got rid of my father first.
The papers in my hands are enough proof.
Some of them are receipts of large amounts made out to nefarious politicians, not in Montana but all over the United States, one of whom I recognize as the one who was once accused of murdering an entire family on a yacht but was never convicted, another who I’ve heard has ties to mobsters. They were dated all before my father’s death.
So, even when my dad was still alive, Uncle Terrence was already into shady deals. And it gets shadier.
Another document is an order placed by a terrorist organization for certain chemicals, also before my father’s death. I recognize the names of some of them from my high school chemistry class, well aware that they’re poisonous, deadly. Besides, they’d have to be if they were being purchased by terrorists.
Unbelievable. My dad would never have approved of it. He would have chosen to die rather than deal with terrorists, businessman that he was.
And maybe that’s why he’s dead.
I reread the sheet of paper in my left hand, an email from my father dated a few days before his death. It’s quite cryptic but in it, he says that he knows what Uncle Terrence is up to and that he won’t tolerate it. He goes on to say that if Uncle Terrence continues with what he’s doing, the consequences will be severe.
It’s a threat, a threat that I can imagine must have sent Uncle Terrence into a fit of rage. For many years, he’s been practically running the company, doing all the hard work and without my father’s knowledge, the dirty work. Now, he’s facing the possibility of being fired from the company, of losing everything.
If Dad was right and he was miserable all along, this would have pushed him over the edge and maybe it was enough to make him push my father over the edge.
Literally.
He could have easily thrown my father off the balcony, being the younger, stronger one. He was here that day, after all. I remember because he was on the staircase. He was in a hurry to meet with my father and I was in a hurry to go out to meet my friends. Still, I stopped and so did he, ruffling my hair as was his habit.
Hours later, I got a call that Dad was dead. A maid spotted his body and screamed.
Later, Uncle Terrence told the police that when he left the mansion, my dad was alive but upset.
I believed him then.
There are more papers, more transactions right after my father’s death laid out on the floor, both receipts and purchases.
Uncle Terrence wanted control of the company. He wanted more power. He wanted more money. And with my dad out of the way, he could have all of that.
Well, he thought he could, but I’ve got the document right, here – a page of my father’s last will and testament.
A passage of it reads:
On the day my only son, Chester Donahue, reaches the age of thirty, my entire estate–including the Donahue mansion and all shares of Glacier Pharmaceuticals– will be transferred over to him and he will become the sole CEO with my wife, Elsa Donahue, as his adviser.
I put the piece of paper down.
Me? Sole shareholder and CEO? Surely, Uncle Terrence didn’t see that coming. I didn’t.
And he wouldn’t have approved. If I only had half the company, he would have been able to stop me but if I owned all of it and I was the chief executive to boot, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. He wouldn’t have any power or any money.
That’s a clear motive for wanting to get rid of me. And if he already pushed his own brother off a balcony, who’s to say he can’t have his nephew killed, too?
This hurts. I won’t say it doesn’t. He was like a father to me and he tried to kill me. Worse, he almost succeeded.
Almost.
He failed and now, he’ll pay for hurting me and my mother. All I have to do is show myself and these papers t
o a police officer and…
Just then, the door to the study opens and I shove the pieces of paper into my pockets.
What the fuck? I didn’t even hear the trap go off. Now, I…
“Chase?”
The familiar voice stills my movements.
Lauren?
It is her. Her ebony hair is barely visible through the gap in the closet door, her amber eyes, her thin lips.
I run toward her, then throw my arms around her.
“Lauren.” I squeeze her tight.
I told her not to follow me. She shouldn’t be here. I don’t even know how she got here. But I’m glad she is. After finding out that my father was murdered and my own uncle tried to kill me, her weight in my arms brings me grace.
In spite of all the craziness and the chaos, I have her. I may have nearly lost everything but I found her.
I pull away, flattening her hair, risk a quick kiss on her forehead. “Are you all right?”
“I should be asking you that question.”
“I’m fine.”
She runs her hands over my smooth cheeks. “You shaved.”
I touch one cheek. “I did.”
“You’re the most handsome farmhand I’ve ever seen.”
I return her smile, take in the outfit, and my eyebrows furrow. “You’re a maid?”
“They mistook me for one,” she explains, running her hands over her apron.
I grab her hands. “You’re the most beautiful maid this mansion has ever seen. But you have to go.” I pull her arm, leading her to the door. “It’s not safe here.”
As thrilled as I am that she’s here, she can’t linger a moment longer.
“What about you?” she asks.
“I need to check on a few more things.”
“Then I’ll wait for you.” She stops walking, planting her feet on the carpet. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Lauren…”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You left me in that motel. Still, I followed you. I found you and now, I’m not leaving this mansion without the man I love.”
She’s so god damn stubborn. But that’s one of the things I love about her.
“Now, if you want me to leave, you’ll have to…”
I close the distance between us with one stride and silence her with a kiss, my hand pressed against her cheek and the other gripping her waist.
It’s meant to be a peck, a fleeting kiss but the moment her soft lips meet mine, I can’t stop. My body buzzes, high on her, already.
I kiss her over and over, harder.
God, I love her. I never want to let her go.
Two marbles collide down the hall. It’s a soft sound but my ears pick it up.
I break the kiss and shove a confused and frazzled Lauren into the closet. I hold a finger up. “Stay.”
Then I close the door and sit on my father’s chair, my hands over the keyboard as I pretend to do something on the computer.
A second later, the door opens, the guy with the sunglasses and the one with the snake tattoo and long hair entering.
The guy with the thin hair lowers his sunglasses, looks at me. The guy with the long hair chaws his gum extra slow.
I give the fuckers a wave. “How’s it going fellas.”
“You,” Mr. Sunglasses snarls.
Mr. Snake reaches for the gun tucked into his belt.
I stand up and raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Now, now. I’m unarmed.”
The thug with the sunglasses grabs my arm. “I heard the maids talking about a ghost here on the fourth floor but you’re no ghost,” he hisses. “But don’t worry. You soon will be.”
They drag me out of the room.
Chapter 21
Lauren
I fall to my knees inside the cramped closet, both hands clasped tightly over my mouth.
I want to scream but I can’t. I can barely breathe, my chest and my stomach in knots. My whole body shakes, my knees so wobbly I can’t stand.
Chase is gone.
The goons have found him and taken him away and I can only guess what they’ll do to him.
No. I don’t have to guess. They’ve hurt him before. They can do it again and something tells me they will.
The thought makes me feel so sick I almost throw up on the carpet after crawling out of the closet.
I manage to keep the contents of my stomach down, though. I even manage to stand up, though I have to grip the edge of the desk as my knees buckle and I stumble.
Shakily, I walk toward the door of the study, my eyebrows deeply furrowed as I search my brain furiously for a way to resolve the current situation.
I have to do something. I can’t let them hurt Chase. I can’t let the man I love die.
But what should I do? What can I do?
I wonder about it as I get out of the room.
There’s not much I can do, just whittle and play the guitar and feed the horses and–
“Cindy!” A yell and I jolt from my reverie. It’s Maggie, picking up pebbles a couple feet away. “I was wondering where you went. I thought the ghost got you.”
That’s one way of putting it.
She comes over and touches my arm. “You were snooping around?”
The door’s right behind me, gosh, this is way too obvious. “I… I didn’t mean to…”
“Cool.” Maggie pats my shoulder. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that. I had to wait a week to summon enough courage to snoop around. And to think you were doing it at the old master’s study. So, what did you find? Anything interesting?”
“It’s a mess,” I answer.
Maggie frowns. “None of the maids have been in there to clean it up. I’m sure the new master will ask us to eventually.”
She goes back to where the pebbles, marbles, and soil are still scattered, and cleans it up.
I stand there. What the hell do I do now?
“Hey.” Maggie turns to me. “You didn’t see the ghost, did you? Because you definitely look like you saw one.”
I don’t answer, wringing my hands.
“Oh, by the way…” Maggie stands up. “The reason I was looking for you is because Polly’s looking for you. Tina’s too scared out of her wits to help out in the kitchen so Polly said you should. I’ll take care of this.”
The kitchen.
“You can cook, can’t you?” Maggie asks.
I nod absently.
Cook. Yes, that’s something I can do.
“Unless, of course, you’re also too scared out of your wits. I swear something bizarre is going on. I…”
I’m no longer listening, the wheels in my head turning, playing back the memory of when I made crepes with Chase.
I could poison you if I wanted.
Poison.
“Cindy?” Maggie snaps a finger in front of me.
“Sorry. I have to go to the kitchen.” I run down the hall.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you to do!” Maggie shouts behind me.
I leave her, turn the corner and take the stairs two steps at a time.
I have an important mission to do.
* * *
The kitchen is even more hectic than when I left, everyone on their feet now, pots boiling, oil splattering out of the pans, blenders whirring, knife blades clattering against the chopping boards, all at the same time. Steam, smoke, flour particles, and an even thicker aroma of spices fills the air.
I stand in the middle of it, overwhelmed.
What on earth is going on?
“Cindy,” Polly calls my name as she pulls my arm. “I need you to help Dorothy out. The master has returned, and he wants an amazing meal.”
The master has returned? Terrence?
I have to keep my wits about me or I won’t be able to help Chase.
“This is Dorothy,” Polly introduces me to a petite redhead in chef’s whites sipping from a ladle that she has taken out of a large, aluminum pot. “She’s the head chef for this meal.
”
Polly gives me a shove. “Put her to work, Dorothy.”
“I will,” Dorothy promises. She points to a table where there’s a chopping board and a basket of onions. “I want those minced. Let’s see your knife skills.”
I nod, taking my seat at the table and picking up the knife.
I cut the onions, first in halves, putting the halves down on the chopping board. I don’t know how I’m doing this when my mind is so far away and riddled with worry but my hands move on their own, spurred on by the bustling rhythm of everyone else in the kitchen.
Good. I have to keep moving or I’ll get kicked out of the kitchen. Then I won’t be able to help Chase.
I take the onion halves to the sink to wash them, first in cold water then in warm water. Then I bring them back to my bench and pick the knife up again to start mincing.
“Interesting,” Dorothy says, standing in front of me even though I didn’t even see her coming. “You seem to know your way around onions.”
“I’ve minced a few,” I admit as I begin mincing one half.
“I can see that.” She nods. “Well, it’s good to know at least one person here isn’t crying over onions.”
She leaves my table and I keep mincing.
Onion is strong. But it’s not poisonous. And I need something poisonous to put into Dorothy’s dish. Not lethal, of course. Just enough to make someone sick.
I scan the kitchen. What can I use?
“Cindy,” Dorothy calls my name.
“Yes?” I look up.
“After that, chop some herbs for me, will you? Get them from the herb garden outside. And then I want you to divide it into two piles – one for using now and for later as a finishing touch for the pork chops.”
The herb garden. Finishing touch.
Knock, knock, says opportunity.
“Got it?” Dorothy asks.
“Yes, Chef,” I answer.
I finish mincing the onions and place them in a bowl. Then I hurry outside.
“Wait!” Dorothy calls after me.
I pause, worried. “Yes, Chef?”
“Don’t forget your scissors.” Dorothy hands me the tool.
I nod, breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Chef.”
I head out into the garden and gather the herbs I need. Surreptitiously scan for anything I can use as a weapon.