by Rebecca York
“Take it easy. I’m coming,” Graves called.
“Did you bring the flashlight?”
“Uh, no.”
“Go back and get it, you fool.”
She heard him turn and start back to the kitchen, but she was already in the hall. She took the steps to the second floor two at a time. In the upper hall, she switched on the flashlight as she pounded toward the schoolroom.
When she dashed into the room, her heart leaped into her throat. She didn’t immediately see Dinah. Then the beam of light revealed the child huddled in the corner clutching Alice.
Dinah whimpered and Bree called her name as she hurried across the room.
“The lights went out!” the girl said shakily.
“Yes, but it’s okay. I’ve got the flashlight.”
“I thought you weren’t coming back. Mrs. Martindale was up here a little while ago, and she was looking for you. She was mad. I’ve never seen her so mad.”
“She was upset,” Bree murmured.
“I was scared of her. I wanted you to come back.”
Bree hunkered beside the little girl and pulled her close. “I’m sorry I took so long. I think we’re going to have a bad storm. So we’ll stay here nice and snug until it’s over. Okay?”
Dinah huddled against her. “Okay.”
As the wind howled at the windows Bree held her close, needing Dinah’s comfort as much as the child needed hers.
HE SENT A FORK of lightning across the sky. Then he wrapped the structure of the house in a gust of wind.
Bree had done what he’d asked without question, and now he was taking control of the drama.
He tugged dark clouds into place, then called down a torrent of rain from their depths.
As the storm raged outside, he went looking for Martindale and Graves. Bree had said he had special powers. He had hardly known how to use them at first. He had played tricks, small pranks. But he had felt his abilities growing. And now he knew his supernatural talents had come into their own.
He found Martindale and Graves in the basement, heard them stumbling around and gave them a nudge toward the steps.
They scrambled up and into the kitchen, where Martindale made her way across the tile floor and opened a cabinet, then cursed loudly.
“The flashlight. It’s always here. But it’s gone.”
“I told you I couldn’t find it! Maybe you have the wrong cabinet,” Graves suggested.
“Of course not!”
In his best horror movie imitation, Troy sent his voice into the confines of the room. He had frightened these people before, frightened everyone in the old mansion. Now he multiplied that power, playing the part of an evil demon.
“Go, get out. Get off my property,” he shouted, ending the instruction with a cackling laugh that reverberated in the air.
Then he punctuated the order with a sizzle of lightning along the kitchen counters and a thunderclap to match.
“Get out. Get out before it’s too late.”
The housekeeper screamed and pulled her apron over her head. She dashed out the door, Graves right behind her.
“I told you,” he shouted. “I told you he’d get us.”
“Quick, the truck.”
They staggered toward the vehicle. But when Graves reached inside his pocket for the keys, his hand came out empty.
“The key’s missing, too!” he screamed.
“What did you do, lose them, you fool?”
“I had them! They’re gone. Don’t call me a fool. You’re the one who let Helen London talk you into this mess.”
The wind swirled around them, howling its anger, tearing at their clothing and their hair, even as it confused their senses.
“Run!” Graves shouted. “Run for your life before he gets us.”
Yes, run, Troy thought. That’s what I want you to do. Run.
He tore at them with blasts of wind, blinded them with swirling fog. Pelted them with rain that drenched them to the bone.
Teeth chattering, eyes straining in the darkness, they staggered through the tempest, seeking safety.
He spun them around with a gust of wind, heard them gasp in terror as they lost all sense of direction. But he knew where they were at every moment. Near the cliffs. He used small bursts of wind to urge them closer, then closer still, to where he knew the ground was unstable.
Nature did the rest. The earth gave way beneath their feet and they plunged to the rocks below.
His night vision was excellent, and he watched them go over, heard their screams carried off by the wind.
He lingered for long moments, watching their bodies washing back and forth in the roiling waves.
His strength was fading now. He felt weak and shaky. But he used the wind to sweep away the dark clouds and the rain before he turned his attention back to the house.
He knew his time on earth was almost finished. But he had to find Bree and Dinah to make sure they were all right.
He found them in the schoolroom, huddled together on the rug in front of the sofa. He wanted to go to them, to gather them both into his arms, to kiss them and stroke them and to tell them the danger was over.
Well, almost over. Helen was still at large. But he knew Bree would make sure she got what was coming to her.
“Troy?”
Bree must have sensed his presence.
He didn’t answer and he didn’t let them see him. He couldn’t. Not now.
He didn’t want to endure the sadness or the horror on their faces when they saw him fading like a light turned slowly down. The storm had taken all his energy and he could feel himself sinking into blackness.
He had been tied to this place because he had a job to do. And now he had done it.
It was over. Bree’s love had brought him back to life, but only for a little time. He’d made love to her. Two glorious times. Not enough. Not nearly enough. But it would have to do.
Yet he understood what he had lost and the sadness of it gathered around him, choking off the last of his strength. He would never see his daughter celebrate her sixteenth birthday or marry the man she loved. He grieved for the loss of those precious events.
Nor would he ever hold the woman he loved again. It was too much to bear. With a trembling hand, he reached toward her and the child. But then his eyes misted and the image of them faded away and he was left in blackness.
Blackness that was somehow comforting. Blackness that smothered the terrible pain and soothed his wounded heart.
Chapter Seventeen
The wind died as suddenly as it had blown up, leaving an eerie quiet.
Bree stirred, standing and grasping Dinah’s hand. For a moment she had thought Troy was here, but now it felt as if she and Dinah were the only two people at Ravencrest.
Troy had told her things—terrible things that she didn’t want to believe. She forced them out of her mind because she couldn’t break down weeping now. There was too much she had to do.
Yet she was cautious as she emerged from the schoolroom, taking Dinah with her. She clutched her small hand as they made their way down to the kitchen. It was empty, and the back door stood open. The wind had blown leaves and dirt inside.
“Mrs. Martindale will be angry about the mess,” Dinah whispered as Bree closed the door.
“I don’t think so,” she answered as she crossed into the pantry and switched on the power, flooding the kitchen with light once again.
Dinah peered anxiously around. “I don’t see Mrs. Martindale.”
“I think she and Mr. Graves ran away,” Bree murmured, suspecting that it was a little more than that. Above the sound of the wind she’d heard screams, long, vanishing screams like the sounds of people falling off a cliff. But she wasn’t exactly going to talk about what might have happened outside.
Instead she got the child a hot cross bun and some milk, which she carried into the cozy sitting room next to the office.
“I’ll be right next door,” she said as she turned on the
television and got a PBS channel.
Leaving the door open, she made sure that Dinah was comfortably settled in front of “Sesame Street,” then worked at getting the lock off the phone.
As soon as the receiver was free, she called the Light Street Detective Agency.
Jo O’Malley, the woman who had started the agency, answered. When she heard who was calling, tension crackled over the line. “Bree, where have you been? We’ve been worried. We needed to get in touch with you, and you didn’t leave a phone number.”
She felt her chest tighten. The Light Street Detective Agency had been a wonderful place to work, and she knew now that she had let them down. “I’m sorry,” she answered. “I thought I was being really clever. It turns out I can use some help. That is, if I’m not fired,” she added in a small voice.
“You’re not fired. Tell me what you need,” Jo answered at once.
With a surge of gratitude, Bree lowered her voice and launched into an edited version of events, trying to keep the story coherent. She ended with the two recent murders and the disappearance of Graves and Martindale, whom she suspected were dead.
“It sounds like you’ve had a pretty scary time.”
“Yes. And I’m not sure what to tell the police.”
Jo paused for a moment then cut to the chase by asking, “You mean, what are you going to tell the police about Troy?”
Bree glanced into the other room, where she could see Dinah was still watching television. “I don’t know what to say about him. I—” She stopped and started again. “I held him in my arms, and he seemed so real and solid. But he told me Martindale and Graves had killed him. And they thought so, too.”
Jo was silent again, then said, “Do you think you were dealing with a ghost?”
The directness of the question stole the breath from her lungs. “I don’t want him to be dead,” she choked. “But…he said he had to go away. And, oh, Lord, Jo—” She gulped back a sob.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said gently. “You care about him a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Jo’s voice firmed. “But you have to be practical. You don’t want this turned into a supernatural circus. And from what you said, it sounds like there’s correspondence between Martindale and Helen about Troy’s murder. Can you keep your cool and tell the police you haven’t seen him since you arrived?”
Bree thought that over, yet she still couldn’t abandon all hope. “But what if…”
“What if it turns out he has amnesia and is wandering around the estate somewhere?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Then he won’t have much to say, will he?”
Bree closed her eyes for a moment. Jo was giving her a way out of a very sticky situation. “I can do it,” she murmured.
“Good.” Jo’s voice turned businesslike. “Just a minute. Let me check on something.” She was gone for several minutes. When she returned she said, “Alex was on assignment in Portland. I caught him as he was leaving. He can be there in a few hours.”
Bree breathed out a small sigh. Alex Shane, one of the detectives with the agency, was a good man to have on her side.
“Right now, call the local police and tell them a sudden storm blew up and you think there might have been an accident on the estate. You can’t find the housekeeper or the handyman.”
“Yes. Thanks,” she answered.
“Or the Sterlings, for that matter. Don’t volunteer anything else. Let them investigate and see what they find. And don’t let them intimidate you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Yes. Thanks,” she said again.
As soon as the conversation ended, Bree called 9-1-1 and made the report.
TWO DAYS LATER a lot of the mess had been sorted out, thanks in large measure to Alex. A former police detective, he knew how to talk to the cops.
The authorities had found two bodies in the sea cave and two more bodies on the beach. And Bree had told her edited story several times.
When the police wanted to speak to Troy, she kept repeating that she’d heard Martindale and Graves talking about having killed him, and she hadn’t seen him the whole time she’d been at Ravencrest. Dinah backed her up on the last part. She hadn’t seen her father in weeks, except in her dreams. So Troy was presumed dead, although they didn’t find his body.
One mystery Alex solved was the disappearance of her gun. He found the pieces scattered in the pit. So it had gone over the edge that first night, and she hadn’t known it.
Also, with the information Troy had given her, she was able to find documentation of Helen’s diabolical scheme. The correspondence he’d mentioned was in Martindale’s dresser drawer where he had said it would be. Bree produced the strongbox with the stock certificates and the letters between Troy and Helen.
The whole plot was spelled out. The Sterlings had walked into the trap. They had been down on their luck and they’d been grateful when Troy had allowed them to stay. Then he’d disappeared and Mrs. Martindale had taken charge, telling them that if they wanted to stay, they had to act to the outside world as if they were running the estate.
Helen London was one more complication Bree didn’t want to deal with. She was still too shocked and saddened by the elaborate and murderous scheme her supposed friend had cooked up. She’d thought she knew Troy’s sister, or at least she’d ignored what she didn’t want to know about her. That had been a mistake, and she’d almost paid with her life.
With the proof of Helen’s scheme in hand, the authorities were waiting for her and she was taken into custody as soon as she set foot in San Francisco.
BREE HAD GIVEN her official statement to the police. But alone in bed at night, she went over and over the events of her week at Ravencrest and the events of the more distant past, trying to figure out what she could or should have done differently.
One decision she made was not to tell anybody about the grave in the grove of trees. She didn’t want them to dig it up and find a body buried there. Against all reason, she wanted to cling to the belief that Troy was still alive, although she had no idea where he was.
Several times she told Alex that she needed to go out for some air and slipped away. Really, while she made contingency plans to take Dinah back to Baltimore, she was searching everywhere for Troy. She knew she was being irrational, but now that she had the run of the estate, she explored the secret tunnels. She went through every room in the house. She even went out to the grove, praying she would meet up with him there as she had before. But he was in none of the places she looked. Each time she searched and didn’t find him, she felt a new sense of loss weighing her down as though she were slogging through heavy snow.
As the days stretched on, a great sadness settled over her, so that it was often difficult to hold back her tears.
She’d loved Troy London all of her adult life. She’d finally gotten together with him again and found to her joy that he’d never forgotten her, either. But it had already been too late. Against her will, she had to accept what he had told her before the storm. Graves and Martindale had killed him, and the man she’d held and kissed had only been a ghost, a ghost who had been made more real and alive by his tie to her.
At least she had that knowledge. For a little while she’d been able to hold on to him through the strength of her feelings. But now it was finally time to cut the last tie with him.
Well, not the last. She had Dinah, his child, and Bree would raise her with all the love she had to give. Not just because she was Troy’s daughter, but because Bree had already come to love the girl.
An hour before they were to leave for the airport, she made sure once again that everything Dinah needed was packed. Then she asked Alex to watch the little girl while she went outside for a while.
Alex gave her one of his long looks. She knew he was aware of her despair and her restlessness. She knew he had talked to Jo about what had really happened at Ravencrest. But Bree hadn’t spelled it out to him in so many words, b
ecause talking about what she’d lost was simply too painful.
One last time she slipped out the back door and hurried through the garden to the headlands.
What a glorious location, she thought. Troy had loved this patch of seacoast. And she had come to appreciate the wild beauty of the setting.
Still, her shoulders sagged as she made her way through the tall grass and low bushes, feeling the wind tearing at her clothing and her hair. She had found him here and lost him here, and now she was coming to say goodbye. Finally. Because there was nothing left for her at Ravencrest. Still, her heart was pounding as she stepped into the shade of the grove and the power of the place caught and held her as it had on her first visit.
A bone-deep sadness shimmered through her.
“Troy,” she murmured, unable to banish the tears from her voice. “If your spirit is here, I want you to know that I’ll take care of Dinah for you. I love her. She’s a wonderful child, and I think she’ll be happy with me in Baltimore. When she’s a little older, I’ll let her make the choice of where she wants to live—here or back there.”
She brushed away the moisture in her eyes and took a deep breath, then began to speak again. “Troy, I love you. God gave us a little time together, and I’m so grateful. I just want you to know that.”
There was no answer. She had given up expecting one. As she stood in the twilight grove, her tears flowed out of control. It was time to leave, time to abandon hope. Rationally, she knew that as she wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, then fumbled for a tissue in her pocket. The last thing she wanted was for Alex to come out and find her crying.
Still, something held her in this place. As she lingered, she realized she felt the way she had that first night when Troy had come to her bed.
The sense of anticipation clogged her throat, made it difficult to take in a full breath. When she felt a slight tremor of the ground below her feet, her heart stopped, then started up again in double time.
From deep within the earth came a subtle vibration, a humming that she remembered so well from other times she had ventured here. The air around her seemed to dim and thicken, and the humming of the earth swelled.
