by D. L. Wood
Lewis’s death hadn’t been part of the plan, but now it seemed that development might turn out to be even better than the plan.
Only that didn’t deal with Chloe Bartholomew poking around where she shouldn’t. Making things more complicated by overturning rocks better left alone.
There had been no way to anticipate that someone else, that Chloe Bartholomew, would slide into Hollis’s place so quickly and keep going, trying to finish the job.
Which meant, more than ever, disruption was key.
So disruption was exactly what was going to happen.
22
CHLOE
The world was gray and hazy as Chloe stepped out from their suite into the hall. Thick night enveloped the mansion, silent except for the tap-tap, tap-tap, that she now followed. Her bare feet moved noiselessly in the direction of the sound that had started in their room, then beyond the door. A chill fluttered over her skin, and she shivered, both from nerves and the cold. Her pajamas, a soft, black long-sleeved top and pants with white piping, offered little in the way of warmth.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
The sounds continued, and she kept walking, the occasional creak of a floorboard beneath her feet the only answer.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
She needed to stop. She needed to leave this alone. What did she think she would find if she ever caught up to the sound?
I need to know.
It stayed ahead of her, maintaining a steady pace, traveling down the wall to her right. Chloe hurried, doubling up her steps until she reached where it was.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
Tap…
Tap.
The sound stopped moving. It was as if it knew she was there, just on the other side of the wall. Chloe raised a shaking hand and placed it flat against the cabernet-colored wallpaper, its velvet embossed pattern scratching against her palm.
Silence. Nothing. The sound had disappeared.
Chloe slowly leaned her head toward the wall, stretching her neck so her ear was pressed against it—
Something flashed at the end of the hallway where it connected to the cross-corridor. Chloe’s gaze snapped to it, shock riveting her to the floor, paralyzing her as she took in the silver figure, floating…flowing…like it was wearing a dress.
Lily’s dress—
Chloe’s eyes flew open wide. She was in her bed, her chest heaving as she took in labored breaths. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, sending her blood racing.
It had just been a dream.
No, a nightmare. She turned her head on the pillow to see Jack, sleeping deeply, his mouth slightly parted. She sat up slowly, not wanting to wake him.
Had she heard something that her brain had transformed into the tap-tap sound in her dream? She listened intently but only heard Jack’s breathing and her heart pounding in her ears.
Too much talk of legends and ghostly apparitions had kicked her imagination into overdrive. She sighed and took several deep breaths, working to counter the adrenaline. Her pulse began to slow.
Her immersion in the gallery project was seeping into her sleep.
But Deidre was happy with her progress. Chloe had brought her behind the curtain just before dinner to show her how far she had come. Deidre had grinned at the sight of the mannequins fully dressed, two of the four glass cases filled, their contents organized and labeled, and the documents related to Will Rader set out in a proposed arrangement for one wall section. She agreed with Chloe that fleshing out his story made the exhibit more compelling.
Chloe gently swung her legs out from under the blankets and set her feet on the floor. Her toes curled then opened against the soft rug that covered a large part of the original wood planks. Her dry throat begged for water, and she slipped into the bathroom for a drink, then stood in the doorway, sipping it as she watched her husband sleep.
She was fully awake now, even though it was only three thirty. If she were at home, she would slip out of the room and stream a movie for a little while, something she knew well, like Pride and Prejudice. Or read a few chapters of a book until she was drowsy again. But she might wake Jack if she tried either in here.
I could go work on the exhibit. I’m thinking about it anyway. Might as well be productive.
The decision made, she slipped on her clothes from the day before, which were laid out on the side chair. She grabbed the room key and slid out the door, careful to hold the latch so it wouldn’t click when she shut it.
The hallway was deserted. She fought off a shiver of nerves. After her nightmare, being alone in the space was unsettling. Chloe navigated several hallways, passed through a parlor, and finally descended the stairs from the third floor to the second. She had just walked out onto the upper landing of the grand staircase when her breath caught in her chest.
A sound, like something shifting, emanated from behind the free-standing curtains Deidre had erected around the gallery.
Is my imagination still playing tricks on me? Or is this real?
Was she hearing things? Had an improperly balanced item slid off a pile?
Or was someone in there? She thought of her conversation with Tara earlier. Someone…or something?
No. Not something. She didn’t believe that.
The noise came again and, ignoring the voice in her head that sounded like Jack telling her to leave immediately, she plunged forward. When she reached the curtain, she ripped it back, holding her breath.
It was nearly pitch-black inside, the curtains keeping out both moonlight and the glow from the dimmed foyer chandelier. All was still, and there was no sound. No tapping. No scratching or dragging. Chloe reached for the pull switch on the reading lamp on the work table, but before she gripped it, she heard hushed breathing behind her. She turned and saw something whipping toward her head. She ducked toward the desktop, catching herself on it with one arm. Pain shot through her skull as whatever it was grazed her head. Grabbing the point of contact with one hand, she looked up to see a figure darting past her, disappearing through the opening in the curtains.
Shock momentarily paralyzed her before she burst through the parted curtains, swinging her gaze left and right, then spinning to stare down the grand staircase and into the foyer. There was no one there.
Where had the intruder gone? It had only been seconds.
Chloe closed her eyes and listened for anything that might give the person’s location away—the softest footstep, creak, or unnatural noise carried on the night air, betraying their maker. But there was only her own labored breathing.
Instinctively, she reached for her phone, but of course, she hadn’t bothered to bring it with her, seeing no reason she would need it. There was a land-line in the gallery, though. She walked back between the parted curtains, turned on the desk lamp, and gasped.
The place was a disaster. All the records she had neatly organized lay strewn across the floor randomly, as if someone had started a game of fifty-two-card pickup and forgotten the pick-up part. The glass of several frames was smashed, diamond-like shards littering the desk and floor. The glass cases and their contents were intact, but vintage pieces that she had stored on top of the cases—solid silver cutlery, vintage ashtrays, a cigar box, several teacups, and so much more—had been raked onto the floor, the labels lying scattered amongst the mess.
Chloe, Jack and Deidre—she had been Chloe’s next call after Jack—stood in the exhibit, surveying the damage while a security guard and desk clerk waited downstairs for the police. He had been walking the third-floor when Deidre called him about the exhibit break-in. This prompted Deidre to declare that they’d be adding another security guard at night, stationed in a location that would allow that person to keep an eye on CCTV footage at all times.
During the ransacking the night clerk had been asleep on the couch in Deidre’s office, which was standard practice unless he got a call during the night. He hadn’t heard a thing until the intruder attacked Chloe, which was when he raced upstairs to find her calling Jack
. Looking around at the shattered glass mixed in with the vintage clothing tossed on the floor, it seemed the intruder must have used the cloth to muffle the sound of the glass breakage to avoid detection. Whoever it was obviously hadn’t planned on Chloe popping in at three in the morning.
The intruder had grazed Chloe with an antique clock, fortunately only causing a small cut. The wound wasn’t deep and had stopped bleeding already. Despite Jack’s urging, Chloe refused to go to the hospital, insisting she was fine. There was a bit of an ache, but she would grab some Tylenol as soon as she got back to the room, certain that would take care of it.
“Did security find anything on the video feeds?” Jack asked in a hushed voice. They had been keeping their voices low. It was only four in the morning, but still, the fewer people drawn into this the better.
“Just a figure,” Deidre said. “Could be male or female—too hard to tell—dressed all in black and a ski mask. We don’t have cameras everywhere. They’re strategically placed right now, although that may change given what we’re dealing with. Whoever it was knew how to avoid them. He or she only first appeared on the one aimed down the hallway leading away from the gallery exhibit. None of the other cameras picked them up entering the mansion, which means either they knew how to get inside without being seen, or they were already inside.”
“So likely someone with a thorough knowledge of the place.” Jack’s brows narrowed solemnly. “As in someone who works here.”
“I have a hard time believing it’s an employee,” Deidre replied firmly. “I hired every one of these people. I feel sure I would’ve picked up on something if that were the case.”
“I know there are guests here now, but I think they can be ruled out. Especially since you’ve been having problems long before they started arriving,” Chloe speculated.
“Maybe Patrick Kingsford got to someone,” Jack said, standing beside Chloe, his arm around her. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I mean he stole your manager out from under you.”
“It would make sense,” Deidre said. “This exhibit is just one more thing that makes the resort competitive. Maybe ransacking it was an attempt to keep the grand opening from happening on time. Or at all.”
Chloe’s eyes flashed to Deidre. “Is that a possibility?”
Deidre shrugged. “A lot depends on how the guests react. Whether they stay or not after hearing about this. We won’t announce it, and we’ll ask the staff to keep it quiet, but these things have a way of getting out. The police aren’t coming with sirens blaring—I told them whoever it was is long gone—but they’ll be here any minute.” Deidre inclined her head toward the foyer where the night clerk and guard were waiting at the front desk to receive the police. “Someone’s bound to notice. And”—she sucked in a breath—“the police are now saying Nate Lewis’s death most likely was not an accident.”
“What?” Chloe said.
“I found out after you left dinner last night. I got a call from the lead detective. They’re declaring his death ‘suspicious.’ They’ll be conducting more interviews, off-site of course, but still, it’ll be disruptive. I wouldn’t be surprised if they call you two in after what you witnessed when you arrived and then you, Chloe, with that light in the middle of the night.”
Chloe nodded. “Whatever they need. But don’t worry about this.” She waved her hand around. “Once the police release it, I’ll clean it up and get it back in shape. I know how it looks, but it’s not that bad. With Tara’s identification system and the work I’ve done, I should be able to fix it pretty quickly. I’ve got that meeting with Lilyanne Caudle in the morning, but after that I’ll be free, and by then the police should be done here.”
“I’m going with you to see Mrs. Caudle,” Jack said.
“No, Riley’s here—”
“I’m going.” Jack left no room for discussion.
“Listen, after you speak to the police,” Deidre said, “you should probably think about going to the ER to get that checked out.” She tilted her head toward Chloe’s.
“That’s what I said.” Jack gave her an I-told-you-so look.
“No,” Chloe insisted. “If ice and Tylenol don’t take care of it, then I’ll get it checked later.”
Flashing blue lights shone through the foyer windows, catching Chloe’s attention. There were two patrol cars coming down the drive. The police were once again returning to Stonehall Estate.
Chloe's stomach contracted. She wasn’t a superstitious person by nature. But after everything, even she was starting to wonder if there might be some truth to the notion that Stonehall Estate was cursed.
I wonder what Lilyanne Caudle will have to say about all of it.
And whether she knows of any more secrets Stonehall may be hiding.
And if I’ll be able to get her to tell me.
Lots of questions, and there was only one person who had the answers. A seventy-one-year-old in Poughkeepsie who’d already made it quite clear she had nothing helpful to offer whatsoever.
23
Deidre was right. By the time Chloe, Jack, and Riley, who insisted on coming along to Poughkeepsie, had finished breakfast and headed for their rental car, the entire place was abuzz with speculation about the break-in and Nate Lewis’s death. Oddly enough, rather than frightening the guests, the news intrigued them, as if they had found themselves smack in the middle of their very own Agatha Christie novel. The legend of Stonehall Estate was what had drawn them there, and it did not disappoint.
Chloe was grateful that the medication and ice had taken care of the small cut on her head. There wasn’t even an ache, just a slight stinging. So instead of a trip to the ER, they were on their way to Poughkeepsie. It was a short forty-five minutes, and a good part of that time was spent with Riley berating Jack for not calling him in the middle of the night to let him know what was going on.
“I could’ve helped,” he argued for the tenth time.
“There wasn’t anything to help with,” Chloe replied. “It’s just a mess that needs to be cleaned, and it’ll be easier for me to put it back together myself.”
“He’s just mad he didn’t get a chance to show off in front of Deidre,” Jack teased.
Chloe’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, and she caught Riley rolling his eyes dramatically.
“That’s not it,” Riley said.
“You’re sure you’re not just sorry you didn’t get to display a little ‘Riley-saves-the-day’ for Ms. Nolan?” Jack made a right turn onto the street leading to Mrs. Caudle’s neighborhood.
“She seems pretty great,” Chloe cut in, intentionally steering the conversation in a different direction. “At least from the time I’ve spent with her.”
“There’s definitely something there,” Riley said. “But, I’m in Miami, she’s here…so…”
Chloe clucked her tongue, turning to face him. “Don’t let location dictate your love life. That can always be managed. You should go for it.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.” A thought struck her, and she felt her face explode into a smile. “I know you were planning on heading into the city, but you should ask her to be your date for the New Year’s Eve Ball.”
“Uh…won’t she be working?”
Chloe shrugged. “Maybe, but it can’t hurt to ask. She has to be there, I’m sure. Maybe it’ll be nice for her to experience it more like one of the guests. But if she can’t, you can just segue into asking her out for another night.”
Riley pursed his lips and cocked his head. “It’s not a terrible idea. And she did seem pretty content hanging with me after you guys left dinner, at least until she got the call about her employee possibly being murdered.”
“I think we’re here.” Jack turned left onto Azalea Lane. The houses were older, all variants of the salt box style, mostly two stories with a few three-story ones mixed in. Lilyanne Caudle’s home was in the middle of the block, two stories, with gray siding, black shutters and stark-white trim. The landscaping w
as minimal, the yard and porch neat, although the presence of mildew here and there on the siding suggested it was probably due for a freshening-up.
Jack parked at the concrete sidewalk leading to the wide porch that ran across the front of the house. He turned to Chloe and gave her a look she knew all too well—raised eyebrows and a tight smile that meant he wasn’t keen on whatever was happening. “Are you sure you don’t want us to go in with you?”
“To interview a seventy-year-old woman? Yeah, I’m sure. Besides, she barely agreed to talk to me. If she sees two big, strapping men coming with me, she’s liable to lock the door and hide.” Chloe leaned forward and kissed him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
She turned to Riley. “Keep him out of trouble?”
“Always,” Riley shot back, and she heard Jack groan just as she slammed her car door.
Someone had shoveled the snow from the simple concrete path to the house. At the end, Chloe climbed a set of wooden steps up to the porch, painted the same white as the trim. Rocking chairs sat on either side of the front door. There was no doorbell, so she knocked on the screen, lightly at first and then, when no one answered, harder.
“Coming, I’m coming, hold your horses,” came a faint voice from somewhere within. After another half a minute, Chloe heard what sounded like several locks being undone. Finally the door opened about four inches, with one last chain still stretched taut across the space. Half a woman’s face appeared in the gap, one blue-gray eye peering at Chloe.
“Mrs. Caudle? I’m Chloe Bartholomew. We spoke on the phone. You agreed to talk with me today?”
She looked Chloe up and down. “You realize I’ve already told that other woman everything I know. I answered all her questions. I thought we were done.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry about that. She’s pregnant and had to step away for health reasons, so I’m just tying up loose ends. I promise not to take up much of your time.”
The woman sighed, shrugged resignedly, then shut the door. She unlatched what sounded like the one remaining chain, then opened it wide.