by Rebecca York
Either way, clearing out would be a good idea—in case she opened the door and discovered that someone was interested in what she was doing so early in the morning.
The watcher hurried away down the darkened hallway, thinking that if Ms. Brennan had been smart, she would have turned away before she’d driven through the gate. But now she was here. Locked in. Helpless to do anything but play the role that had been assigned to her.
AFTER DONNING a light blue sweater and jeans, Bree stood staring at the closet door.
She’d dropped her gun in the tunnel. And leaving it there could be a bad mistake, assuming someone besides Troy really could get into the passageway from the other end.
But she’d also dropped her flashlight—into the pit, if she wasn’t mistaken. Despite her new resolve, the idea of going back there in the darkness made goose bumps rise on her skin. Besides, what chance did she have of finding the gun without a light?
With a sigh, she stepped to the window and looked out, studying the spellbinding panorama in the light of day.
Long ago Troy had described the house and the seascape. He’d painted a vivid word picture, but now she knew it was impossible to capture the rugged setting in words.
He’d told her he loved this place, that he was always drawn back here after his summers in the mountains. It did have a wild beauty—but a beauty that was as dangerous as it was picturesque. Perhaps that was part of the appeal for him, she thought as she watched the relentless power of the waves, particularly one spot where fierce currents pulled the ocean into a circular whirlpool of what must be icy-cold water.
As she stared at the awesome natural scene, her thoughts circled like the whirlpool back to the man who had come to her room last night. She was pretty sure he was Troy London. Definitely sure he was in some kind of trouble. And either he was pretending to have lost his memory or he was using memory loss as an excuse not to communicate.
About the present? Or about the past?
She snorted. The past was over for both of them. She was nothing like that naive girl who had traveled to Montana to visit a college friend. She’d taught school, buried her mother, found a job she loved with the Light Street Detective Agency, changed her life for the better. And he was different, too. He’d gotten married, had a daughter, buried a wife. But what if everything that had happened since that summer was less important than what was happening now?
Suppose he’d really lost his memory? Was he reaching out to her on some unconscious level because they’d shared an intense couple of weeks together one summer?
Of course, there was another explanation, just as plausible. He was cold-bloodedly using her—acting as though he wanted to make love because he knew that she’d been attracted to him and he thought he could get what he wanted from her.
Which was what exactly?
Was he up to something shady? Something illegal? Did he figure she was going to help him pull off some scheme he’d kept hidden from everyone? Even his sister. Maybe the Sterlings were even in on it and Helen simply didn’t know about it.
Bree sighed as her mind spiraled back to the inconvenient fact that she still couldn’t be absolutely sure the man who had kissed her so passionately last night was Troy London. What’s more, no matter who he was, as far as she could tell, he’d vanished into thin air at the end of the tunnel.
Either she’d have to wait until he chose to contact her again or she’d have to find out where he was hiding. In some secret room in the house, a cave carved out of the rock, a hut on the grounds? She had no idea.
But she had a map of the house that Helen had given her. Now that she was actually here, she should be able to find Troy’s bedroom and poke around.
But all of that would have to wait until later.
Quickly she put on a little makeup, then stood beside her door, listening intently before turning the lock. She told herself that she was being paranoid. There was no one on the other side. Still, as she stepped into the hall, she looked quickly left and right, letting out the breath she was holding when she saw the corridor was clear.
As she came to the place where Graves had disappeared, she stopped. Another man pulling a vanishing act! Last night she’d wanted to figure out where he’d gone. It must have been into another secret passage, and now she was wondering if that passage connected with the tunnel that opened into her closet.
There were curtains near the spot where he’d been standing. When she looked behind them, she found a wall covered with paneling, like the back of her closet.
Stepping partially behind the curtain, she knelt and began to examine the wall for signs of a hidden door.
She had just raised her right hand to tap on the paneling when the sound of footsteps coming down the hall made her freeze.
Chapter Five
“Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?” a sharp voice asked. A voice Bree recognized.
Straightening, she slowly withdrew from behind the curtain to find herself facing Nola Sterling.
She had given herself a few seconds to think of an answer to the question. Going back to her Southern belle persona, she batted her eyes, looking confused.
“Oh, I swear, I’m so disorganized. It must be the jet lag and the long drive up here from the city. Last night I lost an earring. I was trying to find it.”
Nola cocked her head, studying her with narrowed eyes. “But you’re wearing earrings,” she pointed out.
“Yes. I put in a different pair,” Bree answered quickly.
Nola waited a beat, letting her squirm, before asking, “Any luck finding the missing one?”
“No. But I might have lost it somewhere else in the hall or even in my room.” On a breath she continued, “It was shaped like a little rose. Really, it’s such a pretty piece. And it belonged to my grandmother. I’d be simply devastated if it didn’t turn up. Will you keep an eye out for it?” she asked, babbling on as though she were thrown off her stride. She was, of course. But not because of a piece of jewelry.
Under Nola’s piercing gaze, she shifted from foot to foot.
“Of course,” her hostess finally said. “But right now, you might want to come to breakfast, since you didn’t have any dinner last night.”
Bree cleared her throat. “How do you know that?”
“Mrs. Martindale mentioned it.”
“Oh, right.”
“Let me show you the way to the dining room.”
As Nola started along the hall again, Bree walked several steps behind, because there wasn’t room to walk abreast. Did Nola know that there were secret passages in the old house? If not, it was probably a good idea to keep her in the dark about the secrets of Ravencrest.
“I’m sure you were wondering why Mr. London didn’t meet you yesterday,” Nola said, glancing briefly over her shoulder, then lowered her voice so that Bree had to strain to hear her. “I’m afraid he’s not well.”
She felt a tremor flicker over her skin. “What’s wrong with him? Is it something serious?” she managed to ask.
Nola lowered her voice another notch, so that Bree had to step closer. “He’s had a nervous breakdown.”
Her rejoinder was instantaneous. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“I guess it was an automatic reaction,” she said lamely. “When Ms. London hired me, she didn’t say anything about her brother’s mental condition,” she added, thinking as she said the words that they weren’t exactly true. Actually, Helen had discussed Troy’s mental condition. She’d been worried about him since the death of his wife. She’d said he was depressed and not acting like himself. So could he have suddenly gotten worse? Could he somehow have gone over the edge? Was that the real answer to her questions about him?
Her mouth had gone dry and she swallowed to speak. “Where is he?” she asked.
“He exhibited some violent tendencies, so he’s confined to his room.”
“Confined? You mean locked in? Is that necessary?”
; “I don’t know. His doctor thought it was better for him to stay in a stress-free environment after he smashed one of the antique clocks downstairs,” Nola answered smoothly, her expression hidden from Bree.
Bree struggled to take in that information.
“Who is his doctor?”
“Dr. John Smith.”
Bree struggled not to snort out a laugh. John Smith. How convenient. “He’s local?” she asked carefully. “Would it be possible for me to speak to him?”
“I believe he’s from San Francisco. Not that that’s any of your business. You were hired to teach his daughter, not concern yourself with his mental health.”
“His condition is my concern if it affects my work here. Or if it affects his daughter.”
Nola answered swiftly and succinctly. “If you’re worried about the working conditions at Ravencrest, you can always leave.”
“Um, yes…” Bree dragged in a breath and let it out. “Thanks for your insights,” she murmured, carefully considering the conversation. Either Nola was flat-out lying to her about Troy being locked in his room, or she was unaware that he was roaming the estate at night. If the man Bree had talked to was Troy.
Then there was the question of Nola’s motives. Was she really concerned about Troy’s health, or was she simply covering up his disappearance?
They had reached the stairs. Bree followed the other woman down, then through the entrance hall and into the back of the house.
The gold-and-blue dining room was on the cliff side of the house, with huge windows that provided a spectacular view of the restless ocean. Bree stood transfixed, struck once more by the wild, isolated setting and the waves pounding against the rocks.
Nola watched her for a moment. “You never get used to it,” she said.
“Does it frighten you?” Bree asked.
“Why should it?”
“I guess because it’s a reminder of the power of nature.”
“I don’t waste my time being frightened of nature,” the woman snapped, then turned her back on the window and marched toward a sideboard covered with a white cloth.
Bree saw that various dishes had been set out. At one end was cold cereal, milk and cartons of fruit yogurt. At the other end were several chafing dishes with scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns.
Bree hadn’t eaten since the afternoon before, but just looking at the heavy, hot food made her stomach roil. Instead she opted for cereal and peach yogurt.
Her hostess had already made a similar selection, and they carried their choices to the long dining room table. Following the other woman’s lead, Bree also poured herself a cup of tea from the cart against the wall.
As she and Nola were seating themselves, a door at the far end of the room opened and a short, plump woman bustled in.
She was wearing a crisp white apron over a flowered dress. And her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a bun.
“Well,” she said, “I see you’ve gotten settled all right. I’m Mrs. Martindale. We spoke over the intercom last night. I’ve baked some nice lemon and poppy seed muffins for breakfast this morning.” She thrust forward a small basket, emitting a delicious aroma.
“Thank you. That’s very kind.” Bree took one and transferred it to her plate before the woman set the basket down.
During the short exchange, Nola Sterling mechanically spooned up milk and cereal as though she couldn’t wait for the housekeeper to leave.
Bree’s suspicion was confirmed several moments after the door had closed again.
“That woman takes liberties,” Nola muttered.
“Oh?”
“She’s supposed to be a servant but she acts like she’s the grand dame of this place.”
“Um,” Bree answered. She had very little experience with servants, but she’d thought that Mrs. Martindale was simply being friendly—in a rather old-fashioned sort of way.
Nola leaned back in her chair. Cradling her teacup in her hands, she said, “I hope you slept all right last night.”
Was her hostess finally relaxing and making an attempt at polite conversation? Bree wondered. Or was she fishing for evidence that the new teacher was going to crack under the strain of living at Ravencrest?
“Fine,” she answered, vividly aware that her bland statement was a lie.
Nola continued to study her, letting the moment stretch until Bree wanted to squirm in her seat. But she managed to keep still. Deliberately, she picked up her own cup and took a sip, looking down into the honey-colored liquid.
“So you weren’t…bothered by the resident ghost?” Nola pressed, watching Bree carefully.
She knew the words had been chosen for their dramatic content. Still, her head jerked up.
In danger of spilling the tea, she set down her cup abruptly, so that it clattered into the saucer, the sound ringing through the dining room. “What ghost?” she asked, her voice coming out high and thin.
Nola gave her a satisfied smile that grated on Bree’s nerves. “Are you afraid of ghosts, Bree?”
“I’ve never encountered one.”
“Well, I’m sure you will. If you haven’t already. The mansion is supposed to be haunted. By several ghosts, actually. The most, uh, bothersome one is the ghost of a man whose wife fell over the edge of the cliff one night in a storm. She was killed, and he never got over her death. When he couldn’t stand the pain any longer, he killed himself.”
Bree’s skin had gone cold. Under the table, she knit her fingers together and held on to her own hands. She didn’t want to know any more about the ghost. She wanted to simply drop the subject. It didn’t have anything to do with her. Yet she found herself asking, “How long ago was that?”
Nola waved a hand in an airy gesture. “At least a hundred years. I’m not precisely sure. He was a cousin of the owner.”
So one of Troy’s relatives had taken his own life, Bree thought as she ordered herself to sit there calmly. That is, if Nola was telling the truth.
After swallowing, she forced another question past her dry lips. “How do you know?”
Nola appeared to be enjoying herself now. “In the library there’s a book on the history of the house. Published by a vanity press. Apparently, one of the former residents fancied himself an author.”
Bree nodded. “Can I see the book?”
“Of course. It’s big and black with ‘Ravencrest’ on the spine in gold letters. I’ve put it on the library table. You can’t miss it. But then I also got some firsthand information from the former teacher Miss Carpenter. I believe she had several encounters with the ghost.”
Bree couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward. “What kind of encounters?”
“Very intense encounters. In the dark of the night. It seems the poor ghost never resolved his feelings. He’s still searching for his wife, and when a new woman comes to the house, he seeks her out, hoping she’s his lost love.”
Bree had gone very still. When Nola didn’t continue, she was forced to ask, “And?”
Nola smiled again, the same knowing smile that had grated on Bree’s nerves minutes ago. “He’s looking for a sexual relationship, although I don’t know how a ghost would manage the sex act, do you? But he craves female companionship, so he comes to her room at night, making advances. Kissing and touching, from what Ms. Carpenter said. She was frightened by it, and embarrassed, poor thing. I believe the ghost is what forced her to leave.”
“I thought she left because of Dinah. Or did I hear your husband incorrectly last night?” Bree asked carefully.
Nola’s face hardened. “He told that to the child because she’s such a pest.”
Bree was too speechless to respond, but Nola went on smoothly talking. “The ghost is quite sexy.”
“You know from personal experience?”
Nola’s eyes took on a speculative gleam. “I’ll tell you, if you’ll tell me.”
“I have nothing to tell,” Bree insisted, forcing herself to hold the other woman’s gaze.
Nola lowered her voice. “Don’t you think it would be…stimulating to have a phantom lover? He’d come to your room in the dark. Caress you. Kiss you. Attune you to his touch.”
Bree caught her breath, as remembered feelings swept over her. “Don’t…”
“Why not? Is it too close to reality?”
Bree held up a hand as if to ward off Nola’s inquiry. “No,” she averred resolutely, even as her body went rigid in the chair.
FOR WEEKS he had avoided the light of day. But now he took one of his secret routes to the dining room, then stopped short as he listened to the conversation.
Nola was telling Bree about the ghost, and he felt a spurt of anger. She was obsessed with the damn phantom. Too bad he hadn’t taken that book out of the library and burned it. Apparently, she’d read the good parts over and over, probably because her husband seemed to have no sexual interest in her.
When she’d first come to Ravencrest, her ghost fantasies had been amusing. But not when she’d started dwelling on the subject with Miss Carpenter.
Now Nola was starting in again with the new teacher, and every instinct urged him to sweep into the room to scare the living daylights out of her. Unfortunately, that would have the same effect on Bree. So he stayed where he was, an unseen listener.
That had been his primary role for the past few weeks. He had kept to the shadows, stayed hidden—unless something roused him to action. For a long time he’d hardly cared what happened one way or the other. Now he felt different. More oriented to the scene playing out in the dining room.
Because of Bree. His gaze was drawn to her. He was entranced by the sight of the sunlight dancing off her golden hair and warming her skin tones. She was wearing a blue sweater and jeans that did nice things for her gentle curves.
He’d stroked those curves last night. Awakened feelings inside himself that he thought were dead. The contact had changed him in ways that he couldn’t begin to understand. And he’d come to the dining room this morning eager to see her.
