His smile was a life preserver from her past, tossed to her in this sea of chaos. She remembered everything about him, but the hug she especially recognized.
Everyone hugged differently, especially men when they hugged a female friend. Some kept a little distance, others squeezed and swayed, some patted repetitively like a nervous habit or a dog with an itch.
Mason went for full contact, body to body. Then he held you there, gentle and snug against the upper half of him that was firm and strong. This time he topped off his signature hug with a kiss to her cheek, as though she’d just returned from vacation.
She also remembered the guilt she used to feel when she was around him. At least toward the end.
“My God, sweetheart. Don’t you look amazing!”
With her hands in his, he extended her arms and looked down and up again. “Unbelievable. How long has it been?”
“Well, hopefully not that unbelievable.”
“No, I just meant—”
“I know what you meant. It’s okay.” She ran her hand along the front of her scrubs, pleased that she was down six (SIX!!) clothing sizes since the last time he saw her. She was even more pleased that her transformation left him stumbling over his tongue.
This was almost one of those dream come true moments—where the boy you crushed on for half your life shows up unexpectedly and you look terrific.
“With long hair—and blonde, no less? You’re out to break hearts, Layla-pop.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“I told her as much myself. How do y’all know each other?” Tom asked.
Mason ran his hand over his short brown hair and dusted the back of it with his palm, as if the teacher had just scolded him to keep his hands to himself. A boyish move, and just the way he would have done it ten or fifteen years ago. “We grew up together. Playmates, fishing buddies, partners in crime. Thick as thieves until—uh. Well, I guess going off to college separated us.”
That obviously wasn’t the reason, but she knew he hadn’t forgotten. The end of their friendship had been as traumatic as any romantic breakup.
“Well, how about that. This world is just one big small town some days.” Tom rested his hands on his hips and shifted his glance between the two of them. “Mason, you must not have realized it, but this is who agreed to serve as our liaison with the rest of the Alcott family members. She’s the largest stockholder in the family.”
“Wow. Okay. It is a small world.”
“She has been a strong voice for the benefits of our continued restoration. So far we haven’t had any more…resistance.”
Tom turned to Layla. “Sorry, sweetheart. I was trying not to bring him up.” His voice was low and tinged with regret for her.
She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Well, anyway.” He sidled close to her and hugged her twice. “I’ve offered her the caretaker position we discussed and she’s accepted. She has two young girls, so there will be lots of activity throughout the manor while they’re around.”
“That’s wonderful. Really good.”
He sounded genuinely pleased at the news, and her nerves settled a little. The fireworks didn’t.
“So, you’re the builder?” she said.
“Yeah, took over my dad’s business.”
“Oh. Wow.” A slow squiggle of guilt and panic wormed through her insides. “What happened to New York?”
“Change of heart. Change of plans. Long story. So, you’re going to live here for a while, huh?”
“Yeah, for a little while.” Her heart broke into a jog, and she caught herself glancing at the door that led to the outside. Run. She wanted to run. She wanted cake and a quick escape.
“That’s great. Well, I’m here all day long and half the night. It’d be great to catch up.”
“She's going to keep an eye on things for us,” Tom said. “Keep the energy moving in the right direction.”
“Tom brought Dixie in to try to figure out how to keep the manor’s more mystical events to a minimum. Right, Tom?” Mason’s tone held just the slightest mocking flavor.
“I know how you feel about psychics and the paranormal in general, Mason. But your mother was quite good.” Tom turned to Layla. “Regular activity in every room, every day is supposed to keep the energy fresh and active. We were going to put a plant in each room to remind us to water it. But she wanted us to have a lot of regular activity throughout the house. Not just an in and out of a few rooms here and there. House needs to feel loved and lived in.”
“I don’t think houses feel anything,” Mason scoffed, and his handsome face hardened just enough to show he didn’t think anything was funny.
“Rooms can get stagnant when no one has been in them for a while. I’ve heard that emptiness can breed a sort of negative energy that attracts ghosts,” Layla said.
“Neither of you have seen some of the things that have happened in this house like I have. If you had, you might be a little more believing,” Tom said.
“Not me.” Mason winked at Layla.
He obviously assumed she would agree with him. So she smiled her sweet smile, the one she often used in new situations, the one that covered what she really believed. Deep down, another wriggle of panic reminded her that Mason had never been able to flow with anything that wasn’t logical.
Tom waved Mason off. “Never mind him. Let’s talk about when you can move in.”
She ran her fingers around her lips to make sure she hadn’t left any remaining crumbs. “I guess I’ll need a few days to get everything packed and organized.”
“Let me know if you need any help.” Yet another grin from Mason, one that came with a steady gaze that was downright flirty.
His behavior took her by surprise. So did the goosebumps that slid over her body. She had forgotten just how deeply certain smiles from him affected her.
The heavy front door opened with a groan and shut with a slam, and Peyton’s voice rang out. “Layla?”
Layla excused herself and called to her sister from the doorway to let her know where she was. “I hope you don’t mind, I asked my sister to meet me here.”
“No, no, no. Of course not.” Tom’s first no was the highest and the loudest. The two ‘no’s that followed dropped in tone like notes in a song. It was the tune of a Southern gentleman, and Tom was that through and though. “It’s more your house than mine.”
Layla knew how the reintroduction with Mason would go down, and she prepared herself emotionally. Peyton was a beautiful woman. Her slender figure, blunt cut long brown hair and bangs that grazed her soft brown eyes would assure that she garnered all the attention in the room.
“Sorry I’m late.” Peyton breezed into the kitchen as if she’d been in and out of the manor all her life, as if she owned the space around her. She had her black on, her big city uniform that included a tailored suit jacket that said she was ready for business.
She kissed and hugged Layla first, her perfume drifting through the air like a quiet statement of elegance. “Look at you, you gorgeous thing.” Peyton hugged her again. Then she spun around and began to shake hands. Tom, she’d met. But she hadn’t seen him for some time, so she reintroduced herself.
When Peyton turned toward Mason, Layla felt a little twinge in her chest. She’d enjoyed the renewed connection she and Mason had shared earlier, and she didn’t want to see Peyton take part in the same thing, though she knew Peyton would stun him into a near speechless stare. That was just the effect she had on men.
“Peyton. It’s good to see you again.” He kissed her on the cheek and that was that. No hugs, no lightning strikes or love songs floating through the air. Layla decided she was the only one who was stunned. She definitely wasn’t used to being the one who got all the attention.
“What a small world. Did you know Mason was working here?” Peyton asked Layla as if Mason weren’t in the room.
“No, complete surprise. I thought he was still in New York.”
; “Your sister is staying on with us for a while.” Mason nodded to Layla, and she felt her skin flush warm. She also noticed how quickly he had changed the subject.
“Here?” Peyton asked.
“She’s really helping us out. She can tell you all about it.” After a moment, Tom patted Mason on the shoulder twice. “Come on, Mason. You need to find a place for that lumber you ordered. It can’t stay on the front drive.”
Mason nodded. “Layla, let me know if I can help you with anything.” He handed her his business card. “That’s my cell phone number there on the front.” He lingered a moment longer, waved, and then he and Tom stepped into the next room.
Layla reached to her sister and pinched her on the arm.
“Ow!” Peyton slapped her sister’s hand. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just making sure.”
Layla felt an old familiar wind of harsh emotion sweep through her. As if it worked its way from the outside in. She’d felt it from Asher before and curiously whenever things turned positive. Like when she’d gotten a promotion at work, or when one of the girls’ teachers complimented her or just when her flower garden birthed particularly beautiful blooms that landed her in the flower show.
Her happiness always sent him into a briar patch of severe insecurity. He never admitted as much, but her theory was that if she were happy and independent, he thought she might leave him.
When they met and married shortly thereafter, she had been close to eighty pounds overweight. And terribly low on confidence. She knew something about him preferred her that way. Without strength. Without hope. Without options.
Positive signs were flickering around her. Mason had reappeared in her life today. Someone who had always been kind, supportive and complimentary. Someone who had always given her strength. At least up until the end. And Tom Watson had offered her an assist—a shelter in a storm.
If Asher’s spirit were still around, all of those things would make him angry enough to not only take them away from her, but angry enough to work those people out of her life. Maybe even angry enough to do what he had obviously planned for some time now: murder.
A small dog bark sounded from the next room, and Layla and Peyton peered around the corner.
“Well, where’d you come from, little fella?” Tom held a small golden terrier that licked at his face.
Mason picked up a red rubber ball and tossed it lightly into the air. The dog barked and wagged his tail.
“Sure is cute. Does he have a tag?” Mason asked.
Tom spun the collar around. The tiny bell on its red collar jingled.
Layla shook her head and leaned against the wall for balance.
“Are you okay?” Peyton asked.
“Yeah. I just—it’s the manor. I need some air.”
5
Asher paced slowly through the distinguished antebellum hallways of Alcott Manor. When he passed one of the wall sconces, he flicked a dangling crystal to watch it swing. The black and white marble floors were flanked with deep mahogany wainscoting. The walls and arched ceilings were inlaid with rose-colored marble and heavy crown moldings in a style that mimicked the finest European castles.
But as impressive as the manor’s finishings had always been, Asher never gave them much of a thought. They never stirred his imagination or sense of family pride. Instead, it was the land that infatuated him and sent him dreaming of a tourist resort with condos and all the money that would come from that development.
In fact, being at the manor usually reminded him of what he could have had, of what he didn’t have. Being at the manor usually sent him into a rage. Because Layla stopped him time and again with a cruel flick of the vote in the wrong direction that kept him from his lifelong dream.
He had invested so much time with her, banking on the fact that he could sway her vote. And for quite a few years he had her right where he wanted her. She bought his act without question—his camera-ready smile, the tailored button-down shirts in subtle, soft colors, his patient listening through hidden and gritted teeth.
But then, bit by bit, he realized his control over her was slipping. And that’s when he started to feel a slight burning in his gut, like heat rising from the cinders of his best laid plans.
The heat intensified when she once refused to make his evening tea. And it grew hotter still when she began to set her jaw just so, a blatantly defiant move. The burn spread through him like a wildfire when he heard her on the phone with a divorce attorney. But when she didn’t vote her Alcott Manor stock the way he told her to, the burn became a liquid heat, like lava that churned, driving his rage to new heights.
He stopped his nightly stroll and pushed on the newel at the top of the stairs—back and forth. Anna Alcott had commissioned carved seahorses to sit at the top and bottom of the grand staircase. Tom and Mason had had them recreated beautifully. The more Asher loosened it, the more it became the hazard he wanted it to be.
Layla would be living at the manor soon, and as a pseudo-caretaker, she would make as many trips around the manor as he did. That gave him the perfect opportunity to line up a payback event. Something catastrophic and deadly that would bring her to him for a happily ever after they could share within the confines of the manor. It would also prove to Mason once and for all who had the final say in their ongoing competition.
The base of the newel gave way with a crack, and Asher felt a satisfying release. The seahorse wobbled, and he envisioned Layla leaning on it and taking a header down the staircase.
That made him think. What if one of his girls happened upon one of his traps he had intended for Layla? He crossed his arms and rubbed his middle finger along the base of his lower lip. The pendulum of the grandfather clock clicked slowly behind him as if his answer were being timed. Did he mind if one or both of his daughters took up residence with him in Alcott Manor? Might not be a bad idea. Might be a nice family reunion. Might even be motivation for Layla to join them.
If none of his traps worked on Layla, he had a Plan B in the wings. It was the magic combination of the manor and that special dreaming of hers. He could get to her that way.
He walked to the window at the end of the second floor hallway and opened it. He tried to lean into the ocean air, but he met a firm resistance. The house wouldn’t allow him to go that far. He was stuck. The house owned him. Soon, it would own Layla, too.
6
Mason hoisted the last bag of woodworking supplies into the back of his dad’s old red pick-up truck and slammed the tail gate shut. All the building materials were housed at the manor. The sanding and staining items he used on the old Alcott kitchen work table were his own, though, and he had forgotten them today. So, he ran home to get them and looked forward to working on that project over his breaks and lunch hour. As usual.
Tom had suggested they take the table to a furniture restoration specialist in town. They had already taken several pieces to the business, and there was certainly room in the budget for one more. That way Mason wouldn’t have to use his time and effort on restoring a table.
Mason refused the offer. He enjoyed the physical work of putting his hands on the wood, sanding away the old stain and imperfections and giving this gorgeous piece a second life. He was not only happy to spend his free time in that way, he looked forward to it.
Working with his hands was the one bright spot in his work at the manor, the place where his life had gone askew over a decade ago. That was the night when his life broke from its close-to-perfect track and never quite recovered. That was the night when someone ruined the future he thought he might have had with Layla.
His mind dragged him back to that awful night: His former girlfriend Brooke in her sleeping bag, the back of her head smashed and sopped in blood. The police never figured out who did it, though Mason always suspected that it had been Asher. There had always been a strange competitiveness between the two of them that seemed to peak around then.
He often thought how different his life would h
ave been if they had never camped on the great lawn that night. Beautiful as it was, there was something deeply wrong with that house. As if its only legacy was death and the destruction of dreams.
He was there once again for one primary reason—Layla Alcott. After all this time, his dream for them was finally moving forward. He had bid to repair the destruction that was imposed on the historical home, with the specific intent to reconnect with her.
Her extended family had a business that owned and managed the property, its restoration, and, they hoped, the revenue it would bring in. Tom had mentioned that she served as the liaison between him and the family organization and that she had been a positive force for their efforts.
The papers had posted an older picture when they ran the story about Asher's death, one where she appeared to be just a slightly older version of the friend he knew and loved when they were growing up. When he met her in person, he hardly recognized her.
She had the same wry sense of humor and the same beautiful smile. Though she was a smidgen of the size she used to be, her hair was longer and she had dyed it bright blonde. She looked like one of those models they featured on tourism commercials for visiting Charleston and their nearby beaches.
She didn’t seem all that upset that Asher was dead and gone from her life. When Tom brought up Asher’s name, and not in a positive way, she just shrugged. “It is what it is,” she had said. So he guessed the shine from that jewel of a marriage had dulled a long time ago. Maybe she had used whatever disappointment there as a motivation to achieve her own personal goals. He hoped, anyway. He wanted her happy.
He threw his workout bag into the front seat, pushed the old knob gear shift down and into reverse, then sat there with his hands at ten and two on the wheel. He would ask her out for dinner. Today. Question was, could she forgive him? He had a pretty big mistake to make up for. He had tried to make things right with her, though he knew he hadn’t succeeded. Was the past really the past for her?
A Murder at Alcott Manor Page 4