by B. Groves
A quill pen sitting inside an ink base sat on top of the desk for decoration, not usage.
Claire inhaled the scent of vanilla and almonds from the old books and smiled. She could stay in here the rest of her life reading all these books.
“Claire, you’re a little too young to read that, dear,” a voice said from the doorway.
“But, I want to read it,” the little girl answered.
“Okay, you can read it, but if you don’t understand what it means, come and ask me,” the voice answered with a smile.
“Okay, Mom-mom.”
Claire could almost envision herself sitting on the floor struggling to read one of these books. Claire clung to that happy memory.
She looked through the drawers of the desk but found no paperwork, and George told her an older computer was located somewhere in the house.
That must have been where Rose did most of her business. Perhaps it was upstairs. She would check later.
Claire turned and walked around the walls gazing at the books. There was everything from the classics to poetry to law and other fiction and nonfiction.
She grazed each leather-bound book within her line of sight with her fingers trying to pick out something to read later, but most of what was there, she read already. Most were classics, like Jane Eyre, but she found some modern books like Stephen King and Dan Brown.
She turned to the last bookcase and stopped in her tracks.
She would know her books anywhere.
The signature pink and black swirls on the spine were something Claire always hated.
Rose had kept her whole series lined up on its very own shelf.
Claire was shocked to see her books there, and from the bending of the spines, they’d all been read.
How did Rose know she was an author? Did Mary or Clay tell her?
She grabbed one of her books and thumbed through it, noting where some pages had handwritten notes inside.
She chuckled when one caught her eye.
Too much sex. Tone it down.
I guess Rose didn’t like the steamy parts, Claire thought with a grin.
Some notes said good twist or nice development.
This paragraph didn’t need to be here.
So Rose had critiqued her work from afar.
Claire closed the book and ignored the models on the front cover. They were typical romance with the bodice ripped dress on the heroine and the shirtless hero.
She wanted to write more than romance, although it would always be her first love.
She sighed and moved on. More questions to than answers. Claire hated that.
How did Rose know she was an author?
Hell, how much did Rose know about her granddaughter before she passed away?
Why didn’t she ever contact Claire?
The mystery deepened for Claire and she would have to search for answers after she settled into her new home.
Her goal, for now, was getting to know the house and moving in.
She closed the door behind her and checked to see the front door was still wide open.
She could see her car and the trailer sitting in the driveway waiting for her.
She turned around and ignored it. She should shut the door, but she didn’t feel unsafe in this neighborhood.
Claire walked into an opening and into the most stunning kitchen she ever laid eyes on.
She couldn’t believe this room. It wasn’t old-fashioned or worn down. It had modern features with stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and cherry cabinets.
There was an island in the middle with a sink and some brand new barstools.
Claire was confused. This room didn’t match the rest of the house.
She stepped further into the kitchen and could see a breakfast nook in the left corner next to double glass sliding doors that opened onto a smaller wooden deck.
Modern track lights hung from the ceiling.
She turned to see a refrigerator next to a huge pantry. She walked around to see a brand new gas stove.
Next to that were two wall ovens and even a convection oven.
Claire couldn’t believe her eyes. What the hell would she do with three—no, four—ovens, if she counted the one in the stove.
Any chef worth his salt would kill for a kitchen like this.
She opened cabinets and drawers as she went on her small tour of the kitchen and found gadgets of every shape and size for cooking. There were enough utensils and dishes to supply a small army. The dishwasher had a bottle washing component installed.
Wow…
The pots and pans hung in a cabinet next to the convection oven.
The cookware was stainless steel and didn’t have one scratch on them.
She opened the pantry to find the usual items such as flour, dry pasta, a bag of sugar, spaghetti sauce, a container of coffee and a box of tea bags.
The pantry was like a walk-in closet and Claire found another light inside. She flipped the switch and was greeted with Mason jars full of fruits, vegetables, jams, and jellies.
All the jars were meticulously labeled and organized.
Claire liked to cook, but she wasn’t too familiar with canning, and she wasn’t sure if these items were still edible. She would have to research that.
Claire closed the pantry and saw the coffee maker on the counter. It looked old and needed an upgrade. There were knives in their block, and a huge spice rack sitting against a cream-colored splash wall.
Claire turned to the refrigerator with a high definition screen to give updates on freshness.
She noticed it was turned off, and when she pressed a button a screen popped up to tell her it was time to replace the food inside with one of those weird robotic voices.
Claire took a chance and opened the door.
The smell… Jesus… the smell that greeted her was horrendous.
It was so bad the room spun for a second, but she tried to keep the door open long enough to see what was causing the smell.
She covered her nose and mouth with her scarf and found what was left of fresh vegetables, butter, juice, milk and other containers of food inside.
Claire didn’t even bother to look on the shelves on the door before she closed it.
She decided cleaning out the refrigerator would be her top priority before she unpacked.
She didn’t dare open the freezer.
Deciding enough was enough, Claire turned to make her way out to her car when a small door caught her eye next to the dining room.
The main dining room looked as extravagant as everything else in the house, but that could wait for later.
Claire was reluctant to open the door. No familiarity came back to her as she hesitated to the turn the handle.
Was this a closet?
Thinking she was being silly about her hesitation, she turned the handle to find a small staircase inside.
Claire wondered if this had been a servant’s staircase at one time when the home was built.
She couldn’t believe how small it was. Hell, she could barely fit inside the doorway.
Finding another light switch a single yellow bulb illuminated the stairs. They twisted as they ascended so Claire wasn’t sure if they led to the second floor or all the way to the attic.
Even with the light on, the shadows still hung around the stairs in the corners, and Claire shivered from the sheer creepiness of the hidden stairs.
The lone light bulb illuminated the spider webs.
She forgot this part of the house, but her curiosity over the stairs got the better of her and she climbed them.
The wood creaked and groaned beneath her feet making the steps come right out of horror movie where the heroine was trying her best to be quiet, but giving away her location to the monster.
The way up was a tight fit and she placed her hands on the walls to keep steady with each step she climbed.
She tried to push the spider webs out of her way but they kept clinging to her as she w
alked up.
Since she remembered nothing about these stairs she wondered if Rose kept her and her brother away from them for safety.
That might be the answer.
It wasn’t long until Claire was met with another closed door. The dust from lack of use of these stairs tickled Claire’s nose. She sneezed and coughed, hoping there were tissues on the second floor.
She went to turn the handle. It was unlocked, but the swelling of the wood made the door difficult to open.
Claire had to push hard against the door to open it, and when it finally swung open, Claire found herself lying on the hardwood floors staring down the hallway of the second floor.
“Brilliant, Claire,” she said with a laugh as she picked herself up and brushed off some dust.
Claire pushed herself off the floor and stood.
She was fixing her sweater when she thought she heard a noise.
She stopped and strained her ears to listen for any unusual sounds.
What was that? She could have sworn it sounded like a giggle.
Did something laugh at her?
What was that noise?
She stood there for what must have been minutes when her phone beeped in her pocket again.
She was receiving notifications from her Facebook post, but she’d been ignoring them since she entered the house.
Where did that giggle come from?
Thinking it was her imagination, she brushed it off and then turned to her right to see another set of double doors opened to a room.
She stepped inside the room and the familiar feeling returned while her eyes darted around the room.
She’d been in here before.
A vanity tower sat on the left wall of the room, and Claire had a flash of sitting in front of the mirror while someone helped her put on makeup.
“Look how pretty you are,” the voice echoed in her head.
Claire couldn’t help but walk over to the vanity and run her fingers over the chair.
She gazed into the mirror remembering she’d been holding a brush and someone was showing her how to apply blush to her cheeks.
Rose’s makeup kit sat in one corner. The doors to the tower opened up to baskets with lotions and other makeup supplies, combs, and brushes organized neatly on the vanity ready for use.
Claire remembered George telling her he removed the jewelry Rose owned and had it placed in a safe deposit box for safe keeping until Claire moved there.
Claire took out her phone and made another entry to her list of things to do.
Claire turned her gaze to the arched windows covered in gold drapes.
The walls were a simple cream color with a darker carpet beneath her feet.
A doorway with an entrance to a master bath was in the corner of the room near another window.
A huge and elegant dresser sat on the far wall with a mirror.
Claire walked over to open the drawers, feeling uncomfortable going through Rose’s personal things.
All she could see were clothes and underwear and some drawers that contained men’s clothing that looked dated.
Those must have been her grandfather’s clothes, she thought.
Feeling like she was invading her grandmother’s personal space Claire quickly shut the drawers.
Claire turned to set her gaze on the bed and stared in awe at the high canopy sitting over baby blue and white striped duvet and decorated with blue and white satin pillows. The bedside tables were on either side with small lamps set on top.
Claire looked down and saw a box sitting in the middle of the bed.
She walked around the side and found a small jewelry box right smack in the middle.
A note was laid carefully on the side.
Claire leaned over to see what and why there was a small box there.
There were only two words on the note, and it read… For Claire…
6.
C laire didn’t know what to do. Her body shook… from what, she wasn’t sure.
How could Rose know she would move back to Lingate? George said Rose’s death was sudden. Did she know she was dying? Is that why she left that box on the bed for her?
George never told her about the box waiting for her on the bed.
Did she want to know what was inside the box?
Claire tried to calm her pounding heartbeat.
She placed her phone down on the bed, ignoring the incoming messages from her Facebook page and sat down next to the box. She didn’t want to open it because she didn’t want to find any weird surprises. These thoughts were silly, but she didn’t know Rose and how she lived.
She took a deep breath and grabbed the note first.
Nothing else was written on the note except that small message in elegant handwriting.
Placing that on the bed, she lifted the box and set it on her lap debating if opening this tiny box would be a smart move, but curiosity got the better of her.
With shaking fingers, Claire carefully lifted the lid, half-expecting something to jump out at her like a jack-in-the-box, instead nothing happened and she sat staring at a beautiful piece of jewelry.
A butterfly brooch.
A brooch?
Claire lifted the expensive and handmade brooch out of its protective setting and held it in her hand in confusion.
She frowned, while her nerves calmed down from the initial shock of finding the note and the box on the bed with her name on it.
It was beautiful.
The craftsmanship was delicate, intricate, and masterful.
The wings were an ornate design with tiny diamonds set at the edge of each wing.
The body of the butterfly was lined with diamonds, as were the antennas and the eyes.
The rest of the brooch was pure gold, including the clasp.
Claire turned it over in her hand, noting how heavy it was.
She held it up to the light in the room and smiled as the diamonds sparkled from the sunlight.
She had no memory of this brooch, and nothing familiar came to her.
So, what was so important about it?
Was it a treasured piece of jewelry that Rose wanted to make sure Claire had?
Claire didn’t know how long she sat there questioning why it was so important for Claire to find this piece of jewelry.
She tried to fight to dig up her memories but gave up after several minutes.
She rose from the bed to finally go unload her car when what sounded like a door slamming closed caught her attention.
Claire jumped up from the bed, grabbed her phone, and cursed herself for leaving the front door wide open all this time.
That was the noise she heard, right?
The front door?
Fear flooded over her as she stopped tried to listen for any more noises.
Her ears perked when she thought she heard footsteps at the other end of the hallway.
On the stairs?
“Hello?”
Silence.
Claire took a few tentative steps forward.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” She called.
Her only response was silence. Claire’s finger hovered over the emergency button on her cell phone. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for any possible means of escape.
She tried to listen for any other noises, but her heartbeat was thumping inside her ears.
She took a deep breath and cursed her stupidity at leaving the front door open.
Panic set in when Claire thought she saw movement on the staircase.
Was someone walking up the stairs?
Should she grab a weapon?
Taking a few more steps closer to the landing, she tried to see if someone was sneaking around and trying to scare her.
Not seeing much from where she stood, she ignored the rest of the second floor and knew she needed to get back downstairs and close that damn door.
But, what if someone came in?
She moved closer to the wall thinking if someone was in the house, sh
e could duck inside a room and call the police.
Her heartbeat pounded the inside of her ribcage; her breathing was coming out in short gasps as she tried to peer over the staircase.
Her phone beeped with another post making her jump.
She cursed the phone and held onto it for dear life as she moved closer.
She was close enough to take her first descending step down the main staircase, but she kept her feet planted on the landing.
“Hello?” She asked in a whisper.
No movement.
Did she want to chance walking down the stairs?
She turned her gaze to the windows. Nothing except her car.
She then turned to the balcony entrance and from her vantage point, there was no movement on the front yard.
She needed to go downstairs.
Claire swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and took a deep breath.
She thought about a weapon, but nothing would hold off an intruder if there was one inside the house.
She gripped her cell phone and took a deep breath.
She stepped onto the main staircase and descended quietly.
Every time the wood would creak or groan beneath her feet she would freeze and listen for any response to her movements.
Her hands were sweaty along the railing as each step drew her closer to the foyer.
She stopped one more time about halfway down and listened for any unusual sound.
All was silent.
Oh dear God, she thought. I hope this was my imagination.
She puffed her chest trying to find her courage and made her way down the rest of the staircase.
She landed in the foyer and heard nothing.
Her eyes turned down the hallway, but all was still and quiet throughout the house.
Claire tried to calm her rapid breaths and pounding heartbeat. Somehow she knew she was alone.
She turned to shut the front door when another wave of shock hit her in the face.
The front door was closed.
Claire took a few steps back, she stumbled and almost fell against the wall.
What the hell?
How did the door close on its own?
She tried to find a logical explanation. It confirmed the noise she thought was the door when she was upstairs.
Was it a breeze? Were the hinges loose and she didn’t know it.
She did a 360-degree turn and searched the rooms.