by Corwin, Amy
“The chain? The chain was window-dressing. Once it hit the water, it was almost weightless.” She rubbed the back of one leg, her actions belying her words. “It’s the water that was deadly. I may not have drown, but the ghosts will be happy to learn that I may still join them thanks to the long term effects of the parasites in that pit. I’ll be lucky if I’m not dead in a year from some kind of organ failure.” She pushed a lock of damp hair off her face. “Shoot—I wish I’d brought some antibiotics or sulfa drugs. Or fenbendazole. Then I could at least avoid giardiasis.”
His anger and frustration at his failure, and her blindness to the effects of her stubbornness, flashed in him like the explosive incandescence of a gasoline fire. “I should have—” He swallowed the words he was going to say, before continuing calmly, “Why didn’t you listen to me when I called your name? I was going to—”
“You were going to what? Jump in to rescue me? What good would that have done? Then we’d both be infected and stuck in that pitfall of a moat. I got out, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” He grabbed her arm when she turned back to the door. The air between them vibrated, and for tense moment, his deep awareness of her pushed his thoughts away. He took a deep breath before he managed to grind out, “Someone tried to kill you. It’s not a joking matter. You shouldn’t stay. Let me investigate—for your own safety.”
“I’ll be careful, and I’m staying. And I think what happened to me pretty well proves that my uncle was murdered. I want to talk to the police and see what they think. I’m sure they’ll be around since they haven’t finished their original investigation. And if they’re here enough, it’ll make whoever did it a little more cautious, right? We’ll be fine. I want—no, I need—to do this to get my shelter off the ground. Is that really too much to ask?” She twisted the hem of her shirt as she studied him with troubled, brown eyes.
“It’s crazy to stay.” He grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. Why couldn’t she see that she was in serious danger? Why couldn’t she understand the situation? “Particularly in this room—it’s impossible to search effectively. Is an animal shelter worth your life?”
“It’s worth staying.” Her mouth tightened, and she blinked rapidly. His chest tightened with guilt when he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes before she looked away. “You don’t understand—do you have any idea how many animals I have to put down in a year? Abandoned, abused, injured—” Her words broke in her throat. She stopped, swallowing repeatedly and shifted to turn away. “They trust me, even lick my hand. They think I’m helping them. And each time, it feels like betrayal, and my soul shrinks just a little bit more. It’s bad enough when they’re old or in pain and dying, but what about the healthy ones? The ones no one wants and have run out of time—what about them?”
“You can’t save them all—” He looked away, unable to meet her gaze as the trite words came out of his mouth.
“No kidding. But I don’t have to put down so many, either. With a little more land, a little more cash, I can save a few more. It’s worth it.” Her chin tilted up, and she rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s important to me. I’m staying.”
“There are other avenues, other ways to get funding.” He struggled to sound reasonable. There had to be other ways—alternatives that wouldn’t require her to remain in such a dangerous situation. “Risking your own life is crazy.”
“So I’m nuts. I’m not going to argue with you. Right now, I need alcohol, and lots of it.” She pressed one hand against her stomach and made a face. “I can almost feel bacteria starting to reproduce inside me.”
“We’ll find some vodka, or I’ll go get some if I have to.” When she moved toward the door, he caught her forearm again. “What I want to know before I do is, who knew when you were coming?”
“Well, I called Miss Lennox—Sarah—and told her we’d be here no later than nine-thirty this morning.” She eyed him. “Of course, we were late, but she knew approximately when we’d arrive. And then there was my godfather, Frank.”
Still aware of the crackling air between them, he released her to avoid the temptation to throw his arm around her slender shoulders, a move he was sure she’d rebuff. “They could have told anyone.”
“I expect Sarah did. Why? Don’t you believe the spirits tried to prevent me from entering Autumn Hill?” she asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No more than you do. Rotten drawbridge planks can be explained. Or a corroded chain. Both at the same time?” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “No. I want to take a look at that chain and the bridge.”
“And I want vodka. Lots of vodka—enough to kill anything wriggling around in my digestive tract.” A vulnerable look of uncertainty crossed her face. Her mouth softened and the lower lip trembled before she caught it between her teeth. “You don’t think that Miss Lennox…?”
He studied her mouth, mind blank.
“Well?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He frowned in concentration. “Unless she’s a nut, I can’t see that she’d have any reason to kill you. I’d like to know the terms of your uncle’s will, though.”
“Maybe she thinks I’ll fire her. She’s worked here her entire life. This has got to be hard for her.”
“She knew she’d have to leave eventually. That’s inevitable. She’s got to be in her sixties and about ready to retire, anyway.” He shrugged, not feeling a lot of sympathy for the stern-faced Miss Sarah Lennox. “And you’re not the only one likely to get rid of her. Your cousins are here, too.”
“Don’t say that. I kind of like her—I feel sorry for her. It couldn’t have been a lot of fun stuck out here, working for Uncle Archie.”
If Nora felt that way, she was a lot more charitable than he was. Or maybe she saw something in Sarah Lennox that escaped him.
“Fine. If you’re going to say, let’s go meet your cousins,” he suggested. Time to evaluate the other heirs. And potential murderers. “And then I want another look at the drawbridge and chain.”
“And I’m not doing anything until I get a good long drink of a nice, antiseptic alcohol.” She elbowed him in the gut before sliding through the door with a grin on her face.
Chapter Five
The rattle of a door and the sounds of movement made Nora glance over her shoulder at her bedroom door.
Gabe caught the direction of her gaze and walked back through her room to the bathroom. After a second’s hesitation, Nora followed. The skin on her forehead tightened with tension as he disappeared through the connecting door to his room.
What was going on? She felt antsy, wanting to find out who had entered Gabe’s room, but still anxious about obtaining some liquor. She desperately needed something to kill the amoebas and bacteria swimming around, taking advantage of the warm, inviting habitat of her stomach. The image of the nasty, greenish water of the moat and thick mats of slimy algae wouldn’t leave her alone. She needed to get clean—both outside and in.
“Miss Lennox?” Gabe stopped a few feet into his room. “Sarah?”
Someone moved in the dimness beyond Gabe. Nora pushed him forward and stepped around him. “Sarah, is there any vodka here?”
“Vodka?” The housekeeper snapped a sheet out into the air, letting it unfold, and then casting a brief look over her shoulder at Nora. The sheet wafted down over Gabe’s bed and sent a gentle, lavender-scented breeze across the room.
“I need something like vodka, or maybe whisky.” Nora took a deep breath and stepped closer. “I need it for medicinal purposes, to kill anything I swallowed in the moat.”
Sarah straightened the sheet and tucked it in, making precise hospital corners at each end of the bed. When she finished smoothing the white cotton, she picked up the blanket and shook it out over the bed as well before she finally answered, “I don’t know. Mr. James kept his alcohol in a small bar in the dining room. I suspicion he bought what he needed. I don’t know if there’s any there or not.” She glanced over her shoulder at Nora, her face e
xpressionless. “Do I call you Mrs. James or Mrs. O’Brien?”
“Nora.” She smiled despite a flash of irritation. Sarah seemed determined to be as slow and unhelpful as possible. “Just call me Nora. Is the bar locked?”
The housekeeper shrugged. “I haven’t never had no reason to check. I don’t drink.” She finished making up the bed by smoothing a colorful quilt over it, and she straightened. “I serve dinner at noon. Supper is at five. I don’t work after that—I stay in my room. If you want snacks, you’ll have to fix them yourself. Breakfast’s at seven. If you need me, I’ve got me some rooms behind the kitchen. Is there anything else?”
That certainly covered the domestic arrangements. Sarah’s attitude made Nora feel both guilty and impatient, as if she were asking her to commit some kind of heinous crime by requesting a drink.
Life at Autumn Hill must have been pretty jolly when her uncle was still alive, given the housekeeper’s stiff attitude.
“No,” Nora said. She’d lost that round to Sarah, but she’d worked with enough dogs to know better than to give in to such passive-aggressive behavior forever. “I’ll just go and find that liquor cabinet.”
Sarah nodded, picked up a red plastic bucket containing some dusty rags and a bottle of furniture polish, and strode out. When she closed the door behind her, the scents of lavender, lemon polish, chlorine from her hair, and the stale air tickled Nora’s nose.
She sneezed and opened the door, glancing over her shoulder at Gabe. “Well, you heard her. I guess we need to find the dining room and hope for the best.”
By the time they’d entered the hallway, Sarah Lennox had disappeared. After a couple of false starts, they wandered into a recreational room with a large screen television mounted on one wall and a long, sectional sofa angled in front of it. The room’s abandoned air made them turn around without a word and try another door. This one netted them a library with three walls of built-in shelves and books.
Nora looked at Gabe in frustration. Hadn’t they come down this hallway when they first entered?
Gabe shrugged his shoulder, a crooked smile and amused glint in his eyes making her feel breathless. Shaking his head, he led the way past the grand staircase and tried another door.
They found the dining room. And like the other rooms, it was deserted. However, the huge oval table in the center of the room had already been set for lunch. Six place settings were arranged at precise intervals, and a pitcher of ice tea dripping condensation onto a bright yellow plastic mat sat in the center of the table.
The bright color of the plastic mat caught her eye. Nora smiled, remembering the cheerful red bucket Sarah had used upstairs. Good for Sarah. Maybe she wasn’t as dismal as she seemed. The yellow mat had to be one of the housekeeper’s touches, considering that Uncle Archie seemed to prefer massive, dark, and completely hideous antiques. At least Sarah hadn’t given up all signs of life despite her depressing surroundings.
Gabe walked around the room once, his handsome face thoughtful, before he came to a halt in front of a small, black lacquer credenza.
“This appears to be the bar.” He bent and slid one of the front panels over to the left side. “It’s not locked, and it’s well stocked.” He pulled out several bottles and read their labels before holding one out to Nora. “Vodka. Not bad quality, either.”
“Honestly, I don’t care if it’s the worst brand on the market.” Nora took the nearly full bottle and opened it. She lifted it partway to her lips before she caught his amused gaze and lowered it.
Great way to make a good impression. He’d already seen her dripping with green slime, how much worse could it get? “Are there any glasses?”
Chuckling, he shook his head and bent to slide open the other side of the bar. “Yeah. Here you go. There isn’t any ice. Do you want some seltzer?”
“Heck no.” She sloshed a good quantity into the glass and took a large sip. Take that, you nasty little buggers. Party’s over.
The clear alcohol burned all the way down her throat. Her stomach cramped and then eased under a surge of warmth. By the third swallow, the liquid was going down as smooth and clean as spring water. But she could tell by the way her calves were tingling and beginning to go numb that she was getting tipsy.
Not that she cared, even if Autumn Hill was the creepiest place she’d ever seen. She’d developed a permanent itch between her shoulder blades, and she didn’t know if someone was watching her, or if it was just the aftereffects of her little bath in the moat.
Well, better inebriated than flopping around the bathroom, moaning with dysentery.
“Don’t you think two glasses is enough?” Gabe picked up the bottle, capped it, and put it back in the credenza.
“No. This is medicinal, so it doesn’t count.”
“It counts, trust me.” He took the glass out of her hand and placed it on the bar. “Come on, I want a look at the bridge.”
He led the way to the marble hallway and the front door while Nora followed meekly. She hadn’t drunk enough to feel comfortable in her uncle’s weird house, and she was beginning to regret coming, thinking about the upcoming lunch.
Dinner, she corrected herself. Whatever.
The other cousins would be there, all clean and tidy. She was at a distinct disadvantage in an old tee shirt and sweat pants. And slippers. Hardly inspiring or flattering attire.
She hated meeting new people, anyway. Dogs, cats, even fat little hamsters didn’t care. They were happy to accept you, regardless of what you were wearing, or not wearing. They weren’t critics like Sarah Lennox.
People were judgmental. And they could be so cruel.
Normally, she wasn’t a drinker, but the day had started badly enough, and as she trailed after Gabe’s broad back, she thought longingly of the bottle he’d replaced in the credenza. She could have used one more glass. At least. A little false courage would be very useful at noon.
Especially since she was fairly sure that one of her delightful cousins was a murderer.
She leaned against the wall as Gabe opened the front door and bent down to examine the wooden planks forming the drawbridge. The muscles beneath his white shirt bunched and then smoothed as he moved with deftness and a competence that surprised her. Her gaze drifted down his arms, resting on his rolled-up sleeves and strong forearms. He made her feel…befuddled. She shook her head. Maybe that last glass of vodka had been unnecessary.
When she looked at his face, he was looking thoughtful. Concerned.
And very handsome.
Her hand went to her hair even as her jaw tightened. He made her feel strange, as if she were waiting for something, and despite her confidence in her ability to protect herself, she was glad he’d come with her. However, he also wanted her to go home and forget about this whole thing.
Well, she wouldn’t. Why should she? He just didn’t understand—probably didn’t want to. He’d only come because he owed her godfather a favor. And of course, she’d paid him a pile of money, money that she could have used.
So he could say whatever he wanted, but she had no alternatives. He didn’t know that she’d already tried the banks, or that she was drowning in student debt, not to mention the loan she’d taken out last year to buy the veterinary business from Peyton’s elderly, retiring vet. She was up to her eyeballs in debt, and no one was going to lend her another dime.
This was her best—her only—chance, dangerous though it might be.
“The bridge should have held. These boards are sound no matter how they look.” Gabe straightened and dusted off his hands.
She watched him, mesmerized, feeling something catch in her heart. Waiting, she wanted him to turn, look up at her, and smile…
“It had to be rigged. And I need to get a look at the mechanism that raises and lowers the bridge.” He leaned back to study the outside walls above the door and then nodded at the moat’s far bank. “That’s where the far end of the chain was anchored. The other end was attached up there above our heads, but
I can’t see anything. The piece of the chain you used as a ladder dangles into the water from the bank. I can’t see if it was cut.” He grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. “Come on. We need to go up to the first floor. Right above the front door. Maybe we can see what happened from up there.”
She turned to join him and stopped. The room swayed. She braced a hand against the cool surface of the wall and took a deep breath. Her stomach gurgled uncomfortably in reaction, and a sharp pain speared her temple, as if warning her of a headache’s impending arrival.
She’d drunk the vodka on an empty stomach, and now it burned like acid.
“I’m hungry. And thirsty.” And whiney. The three grumpy bears of discomfort. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regain control.
Barely glancing at her, Gabe pulled out his cell phone. “Half hour until dinner. You’ll have to wait.”
Cell phone. She stared at his with longing. Hers had drowned in the moat, and she missed it already. It would have been so nice to order a takeout pizza and look up the symptoms of giardiasis. Then she could call one of her staff and get them to bring her some drugs to take care of it.
“Maybe I’ll go wait in the dining room. I saw iced tea on the table, and I can at least get a glass of that. We can explore later.”
“No, we should go now.” He placed a hand on her arm.
“Why?” She shook him off and gave him a black look. “I want something to drink.” And eat. Her stomach roiled, and she felt increasingly desperate to sit down and eat something.
“I want to look at the drawbridge mechanism. I’m sure it was sabotaged, and we’ve already delayed too long. The evidence may already be gone. But there’s no point in giving whoever did it more time to clean up.”
“Sarah Lennox thinks it was a ghost. So what do you hope to find? Ectoplasm?” she asked, driven by her uncontrollably ornery mood and the need to find a place to sit down. Her head throbbed again with tight thumps of pain.
