She’s known Harrison Dox’s history since he booked a room under his family’s company, Dox Incorporated. And he’s not trying to hide an identity easily found on the worldwide web. She’s discovered his family owns several wineries in the vicinity and a slew of resort hotels across the country. As he already owns several hotels in nearby towns, she suspected he booked a room at Twilight Ends with shady motives. She should have been upfront and asked what brought him to Twilight but decided not to intrude. Now, provoked by his probing, she doesn’t care if he takes offense to her queries. “So why are you here at Twilight?” Her question lingers in the air. The nagging stench of deception since she’d overheard his phone call on the porch has roused her curious mind.
“Oh, I guess you could say both business and pleasure.”
He turns with a leisurely saunter to the mantel, stops and examines two bronze wolf statues flanking the sides of the red-brick fireplace. “Exceptional touch,” he says, lifting the black, wrought iron fireplace poker from the stand. “In fact, I love the whole Native-American theme and the Iroquois clan names you’ve given the suites.”
“My grandparents named the guestrooms, and yes, they’re Seneca Tribe clan names, Wolf, Turtle, Beaver, Heron, and so forth.” He squats with a bounce, turns, and pokes the crackling log with the practiced effort of someone who’s stoked a fire many times. For a moment, Twyla ponders his handsome features, but his snobbish air eclipses any appeal. And those hungry eyes and sly smiles look more feral than the wolf statues next to him.
“So what brings you to Geneva?”
“I’m scouting locations for a business venture.”
“Oh, somewhere on the lake?”
“Yes,” he replies, returning the fire poker to the companion set.
“And were you successful?”
“Well, I won’t know until I make my offer, but I should have an answer before I leave, today or tomorrow.”
She sees through his pretense and suspects his true mission involves her family’s inn. Feigning ignorance, she asks, “Is this location near Twilight?”
“You could say it’s close,” he replies, staring out the window. “There’s no better place for a resort with skiing nearby, water sports and, my favorite, the wineries. We’ve been exploring Seneca Lake for a while.”
I bet you have, she muses with twisted lips. “Where there’s extensive business, sizeable crowds follow. Locals might not like a big resort in their peaceful town.”
Harrison clears his throat, roused by her rebuff. “Well, that’s a common objection. But people soon realize new industry means more jobs, not to mention more customers for their small mom-and-pop shops,” he says with a condescending smirk.
“I’ve heard of your family’s big resorts, Harrison, and how your company gobbles up small family businesses. People around here won’t appreciate it.”
“I’ll take that into consideration, Twyla.”
Harrison’s blunt tone says the end of the discussion. She bets he doesn’t give a damn if local mom-and-pop shops survive. “I’m aware Dox Incorporated bought Grayson Vineyards, and I suspect you’re eyeing adjacent properties to expand the winery,” she retorts. She rises from the sofa, faces him and crosses her arms across her chest with a defiant narrowing of eyes. “Where does Twilight fit into your business venture?”
Silent, his wily eyes hold hers.
“If your plans involve my family, we’re not interested. This is ancestral land, and we’ll never sell it for any price,” she says with keen eyes, knowing she’s just ruined his sales pitch to her parents. “My people and others in this community have strong ties to the Seneca Nation. If you don’t want to piss them off, look elsewhere, Harrison.”
She waits for a caustic retort or deceptive reply. Holding his chin high, Harrison doesn’t waver until the jarring mobile breaks the uncomfortable silence.
He glances at her as if to speak but hesitates and looks at his phone. “I have to take this call,” he says, before adding disingenuously, “Take care of yourself and watch those dizzy spells.” His lips slit into a grin as he swaggers from the parlor, cords drooping around his slim hips.
Twyla’s gaze remains on his backside until his figure turns the corner.
“Finally, it’s done!” she mumbles and glances at Grams and Papa smiling at her above the fireplace. She smiles back, knowing they’d approve of her confronting Harrison. Although he hadn’t stated specific interest in Twilight, his behavior confirmed her suspicions.
She sighs and turns toward the window. The encroaching fog she’d seen earlier is now hovering around the porch. Something rustles, and she turns around to Cristal Whelan by the door.
“Odd storm, isn’t it?”
16
Silverware and Winter Florals
“This is futile,” Cristal grumbles, agitated that her husband is sleeping while she tosses and turns beside him. For the umpteenth time, she rolls on her side, staring at Dante’s serene face. His expressive brows, thoughtful eyes, and laugh lines are boyish in slumber. An hour ago, his mien wasn’t so innocent, but filled with mischief when he murmured in a husky voice headier than a glass of wine, “A sweaty, heart-pounding cure is what you need, babe.”
Cristal sweeps hair from Dante’s forehead and kisses his brow, recalling the energetic foreplay that sailed him to sleep and left her wide awake, gazing at the ceiling most of the morning with haunting thoughts and images of spectral dust coiling around Skylar in the backyard.
She banishes the thought with a swift wipe of her eyes, wishing she could banish insomnia that easily. The perfect remedy for restiveness is a brisk walk outdoors. But with the storm, her only choice is a simulated trek on Twilight’s treadmill, in the soundproof gym with a juice bar that Tessa was so proud to unveil five years ago. A wise business decision, given it’s a convenience guests look for and appreciate in hotels. But neither she nor Tessa used gyms, preferring outdoor exercise to man-made contraptions. Often, on many visits, she’d stroll along the lake and hike Geneva’s trails with Tessa and Ian after breakfast. She misses their walks at this moment.
Exasperated from trying to fall asleep, Cristal springs from bed and pads toward the bathroom for a quick wash, dressing in sweat-wicking workout clothes and a hooded fleece jacket. Since a snowstorm wasn’t in the forecast, she’d packed only riding boots, sexy heels, and sneakers for the trip. Lacing the trainers tight, she hopes their grip is strong enough for the short trip to the Main House. She heads downstairs and leaves the Carriage House without a sound, adjusting the fleece hood over her head. Razor-sharp wind slices through her nylon-cotton-blend sports tights, cutting her to the marrow. The wintry landscape, autumnal just 24 hours ago, emerges hoary, a touch otherworldly.
Now, heavy snowfall mutes late fall’s crisp brilliance, cleaving to crooked tree branches bare of autumn leaves. Even the yellow lights on Twilight’s porch cast an eerie glow, not the typical welcoming warmth that lures people from the road. And from the mist-obscured lake, she senses spectral energy growing greater.
In the white landscape, a black speckle emerges in her periphery. She turns her head, lifts her hand over her brow, and squints at a hooded man in a black ski coat, trudging toward the inn carrying a pail. When he lifts his head and waves, she recognizes the longstanding caretaker of Twilight Ends. In his late sixties, he hasn’t changed in 15 years.
“George’s ancestors were guardians of the Western Door, a duty George undertook as the sentinel of the gate.” Tessa’s words replay in her memory from the Indian-summer day on the dock. What she later revealed seemed like the words of an insane person. But she knew Tessa’s mind was as sound as always.
Immortal? Can it be true? Is that why George never ages? It can’t be the work he does around Twilight keeping him in such shape. But after witnessing the images from the window, she realizes this property holds more secrets than even Tessa divulged. She waves back at George and continues toward the house.
Dodging a tumbling icicle, she
hastens on to the porch, stomping snow from her shoes as she slides the card key into the automated door slot. A loud gust pushes her inside the solarium, dubbed the reading room, with its snug sofas and a bay-window view of the lake. She catches the door before it bangs her backside and pulls it shut.
Breakfast aromas permeate the home, pulling Cristal straight to the dining room’s self-service coffee bar. Along the walls, white-linen-covered tables sparkle with silver platters of fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, strawberry scones, and perfect round pancakes warmed over hotplates. She picks a blueberry from the assorted fresh berries and pops it in her mouth, admiring the sterling flower-stenciled pitchers full of maple syrup and thick molasses. Reddish flames dance across the silverware from the fireplace, pulling Cristal’s gaze to the winterberry holly above the mantel. Tessa loved that wreath.
Cristal has always been fascinated by the antique silverware, an attraction she’s never understood, given her preference for modern decor. Although she’d decorated her home with contemporary furnishings, she admires the inn’s blended Victorian and 21st-century interior design. Once or twice, during tea with Tessa, she’d unwittingly polished the tea server with a napkin. When she caught Tessa’s curious expression, she’d put the server back on the table, wondering what possessed her to shine the silverware.
Tessa once asked her, “Is it inappropriate or pretentious to use such expensive antiques for guests?” The unusual question surprised Cristal because Tessa never cared what others thought.
“It gives Twilight Ends an authentic Victorian ambiance,” she’d replied. Tessa had agreed and explained the silverware belonged to the first matron of Twilight Ends, Mercy Dox.
Mercy. The name loops around her brain as it always does, an unfathomable emotion. Oddly, Tessa often narrowed her eyes whenever she mentioned Mercy. Cristal sensed she waited for a response and asked what’s wrong. She’d said, “Oh, you just remind me of an old friend.” But she’d never disclosed this friend’s name. And as usual, she’d dismiss the topic. Cristal concluded she was closemouthed for a reason. She sighs, staring at the winterberry holly, missing her friend and their endless talks.
Glancing around the silent dining room that had been full of chatter yesterday, she wonders if everyone’s checked out, or if maybe they’re asleep in their suites because of the storm. At once, she remembers the private family memorial weekend. Each year, Tessa welcomed guests to take part in in tree trimming, embracing people without family during the Christmas season into the Newhouse family. Cristal misses the elegant formal invitation she received every September. When Dante returned from examining Skylar and mentioned her verbal invite, she sneered at the last-minute gesture. Then she reasoned the oversight was due to the deaths of Tessa and Ian and the family adjusting to their new roles.
She pours steaming coffee from the silver decanter into a white mug adorned with the blue logo of Twilight Ends, adding an ounce of cream and a teaspoon of sugar. Taking a sip, she stares across the kitchen toward a circular wall of windows, displaying nature’s tempest. The storm’s hazy light distorts the dining room’s domed ceiling, shadowing lattice woodwork, spider legs extending toward each wall. The dim light of wall sconces surrounds linen-covered pedestal tables with French rococo-tufted ivory-upholstered chairs. The sight of the elegant space Tessa designed with so much work causes a pang of sadness.
Beyond the main dining room’s steep arches lies private dining where she’d celebrated her wedding evening with Dante, Tessa, and Ian. The low-hung crystal chandelier sparkles over the formal dining table just as it had that perfect night with the most important people in her life. Whenever she glances at the room, she recalls the impromptu wedding Tessa had coordinated better than a seasoned wedding planner.
As if it were yesterday, Tessa’s image prances around the table with her hair in one long braid swept around her head with loose girlish tendrils at her temple. Hair once midnight black, turned angel white. Tessa sprinkled her and Dante with white rose petals. Tessa had arranged her wedding bouquet of ivory roses, red winter berries, winter florals and pines, using freshwater pearls and lace to wrap the stems.
Dazzling peacock-blue edible roses embellished the white-frosted, three-layered wedding cake that came straight from Twilight’s kitchen. Because the wedding was impromptu, Cristal had worn a simple, white, satin slip-dress from Tessa’s closet. Though it had cascaded over Tessa’s feet, it flowed around Cristal’s calves. And despite the pintuck waist’s tight squeeze, the dress looked amazing. After 15 years, she can call upon the joy and love of her wedding night with a simple glimpse of the private dining room.
She starts when something wet encircles her ankle. Below, a ball of snow circles her feet.
“Mystik?”
She glances toward the lower back door, noticing the swinging pet gate by which Mystik had entered. Why was she outside in the storm? She grabs a bunch of napkins from the buffet table and dabs Mystik’s fur without drawing a protest from the cat. Carrying her toward a drawer in the kitchen where Tessa stored fresh tea towels, she places Mystik on the counter and wraps the towel around her body.
“What-cha doing outside, girl?” She asks, drying the pet collar and gold heart-shaped bell. Tessa explained the collar was a comfort to the owner of the first Mystik because the jingle alerted her to the cat’s whereabouts. “Mystik comes and goes as she pleases. The bell will always guide her home,” Tessa once said with a secret smile. Cristal thought it strange that a house cat should wander fearlessly outside. Many times, she’d caught her roaming the backyard, skulking around the maple tree called Old Man. Maybe she likes snow, but most cats hate getting wet. She lifts Mystik and carries her out of the kitchen.
“Where does Twilight fit into your business venture?”
Cristal stops at the sound of voices coming from the parlor and creeps behind the dining room’s steep-arched entrance. Twyla’s voice, sterner than she’d ever heard, piques her interest when she addresses the man as Harrison. Cristal sneaks closer to the entrance and strains her ears. Is he the same Harrison Dox Tessa warned of a year ago? For an instant, she detects Tessa’s spirit in Twyla and admires her pluckiness. But from what Tessa said, she knows Mr. Dox won’t give up so easily. Cristal perceives Dox might proposition Sky and Charlie today, given the run-in with Twyla.
When Mr. Dox walks from the parlor, she inches behind the archway until he ascends the stairs. She’d seen this man several times coming and going around the inn, unaware he’s the infamous Mr. Dox. Tessa warned he’d return, but not as a guest. If she knew he’d booked a room, she’d be livid! How devious. It’s time to warn Tessa’s family of this man’s intentions.
17
Cristal’s Revelation
Cristal waltzes into the parlor with a coffee cup at her lips and Mystik in one arm, finding Twyla at the window, twirling a strand of hair from her loose bun. Twyla turns when she enters the room with a striking resemblance to Tessa but pinch-browed from her exchange with Harrison. Noticing her puffy eyelids, Cristal wonders if she suffers from lack of sleep as she had last night or if her boyfriend kept her awake.
“Odd storm, isn’t it?” Cristal says with a smile.
“Frightful,” Twyla agrees with a grin and moves toward the fireplace, lowering her almond-eyed gaze to the fire.
Mystik mews in Cristal’s arms.
Twyla glances up with a brighter face. “Where did you find her? I wondered where she’d gotten to. Is she wet?” Twyla asks, staring at the towel.
“Mystic found me at the coffee bar, clumped in snow from wandering out into the storm,” Cristal says, setting Mystik on the floor and catching the unraveling towel as she saunters away.
Mystik plops in front of the fireplace, lifts and licks a paw pad, flicking her pink sandpaper tongue across frosty-gray fur.
“Cats, so uninhibited,” Cristal says with a snigger.
“Yep,” Twyla replies, watching Mystik’s cat bath. “She needed to get out and stretch her legs, but I’m surprise
d she left the house. I’d hate for anything to happen to Tessa’s pet.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about her. Tessa let her out often.”
Twyla nods. “Yeah, she did,” she murmurs, lost in thought again.
“How’s Sky doing?” Cristal doesn’t believe Twyla heard her and taps her fingernails against the mug. The rat-a-tat-tat pulls Twyla from her reverie.
“Oh, sorry…”
“I was just asking how Skylar’s doing?”
“She’s fine, just bruised. Dad’s been with her since Dante left.”
“And how are you, Twyla? You look bothered.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Cristal nods. “I overheard your conversation with Harrison when I was getting coffee. I know he’s the reason you’re upset, and rightly so. He’s up to no good.”
At once, Twyla lifts her gaze to Cristal’s eyes. “How do you know?”
Cristal sighs and places the coffee cup on the table. Taking a seat on the sofa, she stares at the Persian rug’s red border, collecting her words. “You know how close Tessa and I were,” Cristal says, glancing at Twyla.
“Yes, she considered you part of the family,” Twyla says, sitting beside her on the sofa.
“We talked about everything – business, life, even our deepest fears and our secrets. Well, the year before she passed, she told me of Harrison’s scheme. She asked me to wait a year after her death before advising the family. Dante and I planned to speak with you and the family tomorrow, but given your chat with Harrison, I need to tell you now.” Cristal shakes her head. “I’m appalled he’s booked a room here. Harrison believes Twilight Ends belongs to his family and will try to claim the property.”
“What! No!” Twyla exclaims, rocketing from the sofa. “That scheming bastard!”
“Don’t worry, I promised Tessa that will never happen. When she hired me as the family lawyer, she gave me proof of ownership to prevent anyone else trying to claim this property. I hoped Mr. Dox had vanished for good. Now that he’s re-emerged, I perceive he’s not backing off even though his great-grandfather ceded years ago.”
Keepers Of The Gate Page 12
