A Murder at Alcott Manor

by Alyssa Richards

  The way he felt about her today—his unwavering sense of finality and conviction that she was the one for him—might be difficult for anyone else to understand. Particularly since they hadn’t seen one another for over a decade. Yet it made perfect sense to him. Finally, anyway.

  He had been happiest when he was around Layla, and she had always been his person: the one he wanted to share everything with—his secrets, his celebrations, every bit of his free time. She had a gift for getting him out of his head, for broadening his horizons, for taking him on a guided tour beyond his comfort zone. His friendship with her was the most real, the truest happiness he’d ever known. Unfortunately, he had to lose her to realize that.

  And there was that kiss. He’d had thousands of kisses from pretty girls in his lifetime, and none that he could remember all that clearly. But the first time he kissed Layla—that one never left his memory.

  Nearly every detail replayed in his mind with haunting accuracy—beams of light that sparkled like flickering stars on the water, “Up Where We Belong” echoing across the lake from some neighbor’s gathering, the feeling of forever dancing around them as easily and gently as every meant-to-be-moment did.

  “Hey—”

  Mason jumped so hard he thought he pulled a muscle. “Good Lord, Mama.” He placed his hand on his stomach. “Give a guy some notice, would you?”

  His mother’s toothy smile showed him that she didn’t feel one bit sorry for the fact that she had startled him. In fact, her shoulders shook with her silent laugh. “Well, darlin’, I’m parked right behind you, it’s not like I was hidin’.” She gestured to her dark blue Honda that was indeed parked right behind him, with the engine running, no less.

  He knew she had just been to her morning yoga class at the YMCA. She wore her thick black leggings and a sleeveless, loose-fitting shirt with the imprint of a bronze meditating Buddha statue on the front. Her brown, naturally curly hair was twisted into a high ponytail, and loose ringlets framed her face.

  He turned the engine off. “What’s up?” He extended his arm toward her through the open window and she put her hand in his. He squeezed it. That was the closest he could get to giving her a hug right now.

  “I heard from your Aunt Ethel this morning. Clear as day.” She patted the side of his truck’s door three times when she told him, for emphasis.

  “Oh, Mama.” He took his hand back and rested his head in it. “Not this again.”

  “No, now listen. This is important. Very important.” Her soft brown curls danced around her face when she shook her head. He often wondered how she got them to move as if they were a visual exclamation point when she was emphatic about something.

  “I’m late. Can we schedule some time to do this later? Or not at all?”

  “She says there’s someone new in your life and that it’s someone I know. Is that true?”

  It wasn’t lost on him that she ignored his objection completely. “Aunt Ethel has been dead for over five years, Mama. She did not come to you this morning and talk about my personal life.”

  “I’m not going to debate with you about how I got my information. I just shared that so you won’t think I’m being nosy or that I’m snooping.”

  “No, of course not.” He flashed her a sarcastic smile that he knew would earn him a pinch on the arm.

  And it did.

  “She also said a few other things. Important things. As in there are some dangerous things going on at the manor.” She pressed a finger against his arm to make a point. “But before I share those pieces of information, I want you to tell me if I’m right about the first part.”

  Mason leaned toward the shiny steering wheel and banged his forehead against it several times. When he finally lifted it up again he said, “Why, Mama? You know I don’t believe in this stuff. And honestly, you shouldn’t either. It’s done enough damage.”

  “Enough. Spill.” She waved him off with a regal swipe of her hand.

  He sighed, long and slow. “There isn’t anyone new in my life.” He put air quotes around the word ‘new’. “Unless you’re talking about Layla Alcott. I saw her at the manor this morning.”

  His mother gave a quiet gasp and pressed the tips of her fingers against her lips. “How did that go?”

  “Well, first of all, she’s not in my life. We’ve only just reconnected.” He told her the story about how the bank took her house and how Tom offered her the caretaker position.

  “Good. You know that caretaker position was my idea. You need lots of activity around that place day and night. It needs a new infusion of positive energy.”

  “Please don’t bring it up.”

  “Listen. If she got hired for that caretaker position, then my work has helped you. This will give you a chance to spend time with her. Make things right. Move things forward. You haven’t changed your mind about her, have you? I do think y’all are meant to be.”

  “No. I haven’t. And I agree.” He smiled his sweet smile this time and held his hand out to her again. She waited a beat before she put her hand in his. He gave it a little shake. “I do have to run, though.”

  “Alright. Are you coming by for dinner tonight? I have a few other things I need to pass on to you from Aunt Ethel. Important things. Safety issues. Has to do with Alcott Manor. She says there’s some kind of threat—”

  “I figured.”

  “All right. Here.” She handed him several folded newspaper pages with the black and white crossword puzzle on the front. “I saved these for you from last week’s paper.”

  “Thanks, Mama.” She kissed him on the cheek and he took the crossword puzzles and placed them on the seat next to him. She had done things like this for him since he was a little boy, and he didn’t think she would ever stop. He was a little surprised he didn’t see a stick of gum taped to the top puzzle.

  “Oh, and when I come by tonight, I don’t want to talk about whatever else Aunt Ethel had to say about me. I really don’t.”

  “See you about six-thirty?” She walked toward her car.

  “Mama—”

  She raised her arm over her head and waved behind her.

  “Daddy always said that arguing with Dixie Holloway was just fighting a losing battle,” he murmured.

  He thought about how she tried to be more open about her gifts when he and his brother were in elementary school. She did a reading for the minister’s wife, only that foray didn’t go as well as she thought it would.

  They learned that when Mrs. Milligan asked if her husband was cheating, she didn’t really want an honest answer to that question. When word got out that Dixie had exposed Reverend Milligan’s indiscretion, they also learned that the community was not nearly as accepting of her abilities as she thought they would be. He and his brother weren’t invited back to their private school, the country club didn’t renew their membership, and his father lost his biggest clients. Not to mention the neighbors became far less friendly and much more…condemningly curious.

  His dad never said it was Dixie’s fault that their lives as they knew it disappeared. Though he did say that the world was an insecure and judgmental place and still not ready to accept what wasn’t familiar.

  Mason’s takeaway was that anything paranormal was an unnecessary and unadvised choice. Caused nothing but harm. Especially in today’s world. Not to mention that he really didn’t believe in it. So he continued, in vain apparently, to convince Dixie to stay away from it.

  From his side view mirror he watched her get in her car. She waved sweetly with each of her fingers moving independently, then backed her car out of his driveway.

  He really hadn’t wanted his mom to know that he had spoken to Layla, at least not yet. Since she had known Layla so well when they were growing up, it wouldn’t be unlike her to drop by the manor and ask way too many questions, share too much. He didn’t want her psychic side at the manor again. Not yet. Not ever, really. The paranormal wrecked his life once before. Now he would do whatever he had to in orde
r to keep that stuff out of his life forever.

  7

  The night wind howled against the outer walls of Alcott Manor. It rattled the shutters and sent a subtle breeze past the warped glass of the windows and across the upper balcony of the interior. Tom tried to ignore the unsettling moan and instead made a note to replace the sealants on the upper floor windows.

  He also tried to tune out the strange energy that crept about the manor like an unseen intruder. It was a presence that filled empty spaces and stalked his every move. If he had his choice, he would have left Alcott Manor a long time ago and never so much as looked at it in his rearview mirror. But he had made a promise to a dear friend that he would finish the restorations on this house, for the benefit of his company and all their employees. And so he would keep his word.

  He scribbled a few more notes and wondered for probably the twentieth time if he should have extended that offer to Layla. She was a grown woman, he argued. She knew about the manor’s history and how odd it could be. He couldn’t have just stood there and offered her nothing but sympathy. Mason was here as much as, if not more than he was. He would tell him to keep a close watch on her, to help her with the evening rounds.

  He looked up from his paper and was startled by a human-sized shadow that shifted along the wall and disappeared behind an open door as quick as a blink. He stood rock solid still and stared at the wall where muted gold paint glimmered innocently as though nothing had happened.

  “Trick of the light,” he said in a you-don’t-scare-me tone. But he side-stepped away from the top of the stairs just the same. Casually. As if he knew someone was watching him and he didn’t want to let on.

  He had gone to West Point, served in the Army. He had faced down enemies that would make most grown men cry for their mamas. He was strong, he knew, and shouldn’t feel afraid.

  But the presence was there again, lurking nearby as it sometimes did when Tom walked the house alone. Like an uninvited guest, the presence was an interloper he couldn’t quite explain. A ghost, maybe. The house had always had them.

  He shook the newel at the top of the grand staircase, and it wobbled as if its stability had been worn thin by decades of use, even though he knew Mason had just repaired and reinstated all of the iron balusters and posts.

  “Someone could get really hurt because of this.”

  He held his clipboard steady and scribbled yet another item on his repair list for Mason. The base would have to be rebuilt. There were nine items so far tonight, nine broken pieces that hadn’t been in need of repair on the night before. He had yet to finish making his rounds, and he knew there might be another nine before he called it quits.

  He glanced over the balcony, remembering in a flash how Asher’s body looked after he’d fallen to his death. When he’d arrived at the manor on the morning after it happened, the detectives had shown him the digital pictures. The broken and bloody plank rose from Asher’s midsection with valiant success, as though the manor were proud to have removed an enemy. After that, the house seemed to take on a new air. Something darker, something that had intent. Something that seemed to have a personal vendetta.

  No. Not going there.

  If Asher were dead and hanging out in this house, that was fine. For all the harm he had caused in the world, he should be sentenced to life as an impotent ghost. Tom stared at the open door for a moment, then stormed toward it to prove a point. He yanked the door away from the wall and saw only the empty wall and freshly polished hardwood flooring. He sighed with relief.

  Since the latest round of repairs had begun, Tom had committed to a nightly tour of the manor. He’d told Mason it was just to keep track of their progress—sort of like a one man oversight committee. But the reality was that he didn’t trust Alcott Manor. Or who might be wandering around in it.

  The ocean breeze blew harder this time, hard enough to rattle the panes. Only now the air carried a scent, one he’d smelled before, one that turned his stomach and made him search the room. Cologne. Alcohol-based and too strong.

  He didn’t see spirits. But now he wondered if the presence he sensed was Asher Cardill. If his spirit were still in the house, he could be the source of the strange smells, the shadows, and the unexplained damages.

  “You’re dead, Asher. Go home. Alcott Manor will never be yours.”

  Dixie had told him to say that whenever he thought he might be in the presence of a spirit. “Sometimes they don’t even know they’re dead,” she’d told him. “Sometimes letting them know that they’re no longer alive can help to move them on.”

  Tom’s shoes clicked across the hardwood as he left the area and headed toward the upstairs sitting area. If he hadn’t been so well-grounded and open-minded, he might have questioned his sanity when he heard the distant cackle. He rubbed his hand against his chin. Maybe that bastard really was somewhere in this house. He would reach out to Dixie, as well as a few other psychics he knew to see if they could get rid of a resident ghost. If this was Asher, he was there to make trouble, just as he had been in life.

  When he reached the carpeted hallway that led to the master bedrooms, the air chilled. He wasn’t imagining it, it was several degrees cooler in this area. This was another sign Dixie had warned him about. The presence of a ghost often lowered the temperature. Apparently, Asher wasn’t going to take a hint tonight.

  “Your days here are numbered, Asher. You’re yesterday’s news.” Tom pushed past the cold spot and opened the door to Anna Alcott’s bedroom. Doors were supposed to be left open to avoid stagnant energy. Also, the rooms needed to completely air out from the scent of paint and staining chemicals. He’d told the crew that time and again, and still the doors on this hallway remained closed. He made another note on his list for Mason: Leave all doors open!!!

  Then he remembered that he would have to tell Layla the same thing.

  That’s when the thought occurred to him. Layla. What if Asher wasn’t just in the manor as a squatter? What if he wasn’t only trying to make trouble for them by continuing to ruin the final repairs? What if his real goal was to get to Layla?

  Tom looked at some of the items on his list: loose newel, broken step, frayed wires…Asher wasn’t just trying to make trouble. He was setting the stage for an accident. A fatal one. He realized he couldn’t let Layla stay at the manor now. He couldn’t take the chance.

  The sound of water running echoed through the otherwise quiet. There was splashing, like someone was filling a tub.

  He would have to have the water turned off at all the access points on the top floor. First, he had to make a call. Tom pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Layla’s number. “Run all the water you want,” Tom whispered into the empty bedroom. “I’m putting an end to this right now.”

  Tom’s chest started to ache because his heart banged too hard against his rib cage. Why hadn’t he made this connection between the ongoing damages and Asher sooner? Layla’s phone rang two times, three times, four times…

  “Dang it, girl. Pick up.” Her voicemail answered and he hung up and dialed her number again. He hoped she wasn’t on her way over to the manor with a load of belongings. She had told him she might drop a few things off tonight once she got the kids settled. He’d told her to call him first so he could let her in and help her carry a load or two. But he hadn’t heard from her.

  He also hoped she wasn’t downstairs arranging things. Maybe Mason had come with her to let her in, help her out. An oily chill slid along his insides. He’d seen the spark between Mason and Layla. If Asher had seen it, too, then he would want her as dead as he was. Asher was the most insecure man Tom had ever met.

  The water continued to pour in the tub next door, and Tom began to visualize how the bathroom floor would be flooded soon.

  “That’s exactly what he wants, though. He wants me to hang up and go turn off that water. Meanwhile he’ll go downstairs and get to her before I can.” Layla’s voicemail picked up again and he shook his head. “Layla, this is Tom. Li
sten. I need to tell you something. We’ve had a change in plans and I need you to call me right away. We’re going to have to make other living arrangements for you. Call me right away. Don’t come to the manor. Call me.” He hung up and dialed her number again.

  The splashing was quiet now, and he knew the water level must be high enough in the tub that the running water no longer made a noise. That meant it was probably overflowing. He thought quickly about which room was beneath Benjamin Alcott’s master bath: the dining room. The one room with coffered ceilings and 14 carat gold accents, all of which would be ruined if water leaked on it from above.

  Damn it.

  With his phone still to his ear, Tom walked cautiously to Benjamin Alcott’s master bedroom. The heavy wooden door was closed. Of course. The hinges groaned when he pushed the door open.

  “Hello?”

  “Layla? It’s Tom, honey. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you so late, but this is important.”

  “Tom. No, it’s fine. I had my ringer off, and I just noticed that you called. Is everything okay?”

  The master bedroom was drenched in red—from the curtains to the bed canopy to the carpet—and it was freezing. The cold landed hard on his skin and made him shiver. The bathroom door at the end of the bedroom was wide open, and the marble bathtub was in plain view.

  The faucets were turned on all the way and water spilled over the edge of the outer rim of the oval-shaped tub. Water leaked from the tile floor into the bedroom, turning that area of the carpet a deeper shade of red.

  “Tom?”

  “Everything is fine, sweetheart.” Though he felt nothing of the sort. “Nothing to worry about. Just a little hitch in our caretaker arrangement, but I’ll help you work something else out.”

  “Oh?”

  He could feel her panic through the phone. He knew she was in a bad spot and needed a place to live. Or maybe that was his panic. The room was so cold he was starting to shake on the inside now.

  Nonsense. Army men don’t shake or shiver. Get a grip on yourself, man. Turn the water off, pull the plug and get the hell out of the house.