Chagrinned, Ari allowed the man to help her. Making small talk as they worked, they had the spare tire on in minutes.
The man retrieved a towel from his car and cleaned his hands. “So, you say you’re an interior designer and your job is to decorate that mansion outside of town?”
Ari nodded. “I’m excited to get started.”
“Well, be careful. I hear the owner is running from the law. Why else would he build his fortress way out there?”
Ari shivered. “What?”
The man chuckled. “Small towns and their rumors. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
She offered to pay him, but he refused, muttering something about old-fashioned values becoming obsolete. Ari couldn’t agree more. She waved to the stranger as he sped away.
Guided by her GPS, she continued southeast through Pueblo and beyond until she thought she’d left civilization. Her phone service faded in and out, forcing her to pull over and retrieve the paper map from the Somers’ file. She examined it, then studied the vast expanse surrounding her. Nothing. No one. The feeling of complete isolation nearly had her turning around, but she took a deep breath and pressed forward. Back on the road again, a few turns off the highway took her to an abandoned shack here and there, but certainly not the quaint neighborhood she’d anticipated. One more turn led her to her destination.
Her breath caught, and she could think of no words to adequately describe the house that sat on the slight slope before her, giving it a “castle on a hill” appearance. She’d studied the pictures in the Somers’ file, but to see it in person was indescribable.
It was the most beautiful, authentic Queen Anne-style Victorian home she’d ever seen. She swallowed and slumped down in her seat. The house loomed enormous and the detail meticulous. No wonder the Somers seemed to doubt her ability. Arianna shook herself, trying to reawaken the confidence she’d had just a few hours before in Mr. Johnson’s office.
The mansion was dove-gray, but when the sun hit it just so, it appeared to be a lovely shade of light pink. Constructed mostly of wood, it had several stone inset walls and was trimmed in white. To top it off, there were turrets reaching to the sky on both the east and west sides. A reverent sensation settled over her as she observed the fine craftsmanship employed to construct this incredible home.
Why build something this beautiful in the middle of nowhere? They must really miss England. Not to mention, they don’t seem to like people. Eccentric is an understatement.
She decided to take a stroll around the grounds first, while it was still light outside. It looked as if the landscapers had recently been working, as fresh sod covered the terraced front yard. A vast array of rose bushes lined the walkways, and newly planted saplings preparing to grow into huge oak trees framed the perimeter. As she worked her way to the rear of the house, she was surprised to find a corral and stalls for horses.
It felt as if she had been transported back to another time and place.
The grounds went on and on, but the landscaping did not. The landscapers would probably be there for much of the time that she was. She let out a slow breath, relieved she wouldn’t always be out in the middle of nowhere alone. So alone.
She circled back to the front of the house and mounted the porch stairs. A massive hand-carved door towered before her. The key slipped easily into the lock, and as soon as she stepped into the foyer she stopped—eyes popping and mouth agape. She breathed in the rich smell of wood as she scanned the highly polished walnut floors and the rich wood-trim moldings along the walls and up the grand staircase. Then her eyes were drawn to a glistening chandelier overhead. She almost heard the butler asking her to follow him into the parlor to have some tea while he “collected” her wealthy British friend. She laughed at the notion.
She commenced a self-guided tour, beginning with the bedrooms upstairs. Every space was equally beautiful. My entire apartment in Denver could fit into one of these rooms. And there were so many of them. She wondered why a family of—what had she read—oh yes, four—needed such a large home.
Leaving the bedrooms, she descended the grand staircase and entered the kitchen. She gasped as she observed the spacious cooking and dining areas. Somehow the architect had been able to capture the past with wood trim, floors and moldings, antique lighting, and etched glass cabinetry, then combined them with top-of-the-line, modern appliances to create a fabulous kitchen.
She suddenly wished she weren’t the only designer on the job.
Maggie needed to hear about this house. She reached for her cell phone. As she began dialing, her phone beeped at her. Oh man! No bars. Apparently, cell phone service wasn’t the greatest out here. She frowned at the thought of no phone conversations with Maggie during her breaks. Another thought forced its way into her mind: I’m in a house in the middle of nowhere, by myself—alone with no phone service.
Continuing her tour, she moved to the study. The Somers had already begun moving in their belongings. In fact, on the floor in the middle of the room lay a beautiful Persian rug. Whoa, a Tabriz. Maggie would never believe this. Ari had only seen these in catalogs. Entering the room to take a closer look, she let out a deep sigh. The Somers certainly spared no expense on their home or their furnishings. She scanned the room, taking it all in. The walls were adorned with several beautiful art pieces, as if someone had already occupied it—well, except for the lack of a desk. She wondered why the Somers hadn’t waited for her professional opinion on placement before hanging the art. She shrugged. Perhaps she’d rearrange them later.
Originals? No way; they couldn’t be. She narrowed her eyes at one. Digging deep into her memory, she recalled learning in Art History that there had been a heist. The details were foggy. Oh yeah, it was back in 1990 in Boston. She tapped her head. The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. A few Rembrandts, a Degas and a Manet were taken, if she remembered correctly. She cocked her head examining the painting more closely. It sure looked like Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee. But that was ridiculous, right? A chill ran down her spine.
Besides the beautiful rug, art and a few pieces of small furniture, Arianna noticed a boxful of miscellaneous items. On top was a leather book. An avid reader, and curious by nature, she picked it up to scan. First, she breathed in the aroma of the leather cover. This isn’t a book. She fanned the pages. This is a journal. A very old-style journal at that—positively antique, yet in perfect condition. She knew to keep out of other people’s belongings—especially journals—but her curiosity piqued, getting the best of her, and she had to read at least one page. It couldn’t be anyone’s current diary—it was just too old.
One page turned into twenty before Arianna realized she’d broken her own just-one-page rule. But this was fantastic reading. The first half had been written in the most elegant cursive. It appeared to be from an actual quill pen. Then, the latter half had been written in similar handwriting, but by an obviously modern pen—perhaps ballpoint.
This journal had definitely been written by two different people, although, the handwriting was similar.
Arianna perused the book, searching for the page where the quill pen writing ended and the ballpoint began. Strange. It continued as if it were the same person. Even stranger were the phrases that jumped out at her.
Father is a drunk. He forced us to move to this horrid land and will not let us out of his sight. Even Mother is afraid of him.
Ari shivered. She wondered who this poor soul was. She kept reading.
Father brought a television home last night. I’ve seen nothing like it. Colorful moving pictures are both frightening and mesmerizing.
Ari shook her head at the absurdity of what she read. It couldn’t possibly be real. TVs had been around for decades.
She flipped a few pages and continued.
My brother and I received clothing from the mail coach today, although, I believe it’s no longer called a coach. I can see it from my window. It has black wheels and is very loud. I do not know wh
ere we are, but there are no horses here. Father lets us choose whatever clothing we want from a picture book. He said we have enough money to buy the entire catalog of gowns—however, dresses are scarce in the book. Instead, the ladies in the pictures wear trousers. My friends in London would think I’d gone mad if they could see my wardrobe now. So unladylike. I wish to go home.
Ari wondered where home for this girl was. Most people considered Colorado quite beautiful. But then, nothing she’d read made much sense.
She skipped ahead several pages.
I celebrated my nineteenth birthday yesterday. As Mother puts it, Father was in his cups, so we did nothing but sing a few songs. I miss my friends in London. Mother tutors us here, so I haven’t met a soul in nearly four years.
Four years? She sounded like a prisoner.
The last entry made Arianna squirm.
Father hit Mother last night, then, to make up for his cruelty, promised to build her a home worthy of a son of an earl. Ha! I think he’s become daft. Perhaps he was reared by an earl, but his actions would alarm my dear grandfather. I don’t know how much more of Father’s abuse this family can take.
Worst of all was the phrase,
I broke a glass last night and plunged it into my chest. I am obviously as weak in body as I am in spirit, as the razor-sharp glass only served to make a bloody mess. If only…
The entry ended there.
“She attempted suicide.” Ari shivered. “If only what?”
She flipped back to the beginning, where the mood had been completely different. There, this girl from the past spoke of young men she liked, gowns being designed for her, and practicing the pianoforte. Gradually her writings became dark and depressing. Ari’s flesh crawled. What had happened to her? Maybe her abusive father had caught her with a boy, or something. She gazed up at the ceiling. What am I thinking? It absolutely cannot be the same person.
A door slammed shut, and Ari jumped, her heart thudding. Someone must be upstairs. Chills prickled her skin. But that couldn’t be; she’d just been up there and had seen no one. Perhaps it had come from the garage. Willing herself to move, she forced herself to search the house. Surely, she was alone. Before she’d reached the second floor, another door closed with a bang. Warm air hit her face. The heat registers. Even though the spring days were pleasant, evenings in Colorado were chilly. Air shooting from the vents must have changed the pressure, forcing the doors shut. She took a calming breath and glanced at her watch. Nearly midnight. Where did the time go?
Weariness made her eyelids droop, and she still needed to drive back to Pueblo and locate her new apartment. She snapped a few pictures so she could start sketching ideas—the sooner the better. She also wanted to text some photos to Maggie. After all, she’d promised to call every day and give her more details about this mysterious family.
Thinking about Maggie made her homesick. Her friend had been in tears when Arianna had said her goodbyes, until Ari had promised she wouldn’t miss her baby shower. Initially Ari had been the party planner, but things changed once she’d received the Pueblo assignment. Tasha Tate, Mr. Johnson’s partner and wife, took up the shower planning reins. Ari swallowed down a lump growing in her throat. All those ideas for games, finger-foods and invitations had been filed away for another time. Maggie understands.
Maggie was the closest thing to family she had left in this world.
Ari soon left and found her furnished apartment in Pueblo without any problem. It was older construction, but in a good part of town and, best of all, clean. Pleased she now had cell phone service, she texted a few pictures to Maggie, then retrieved her notepad to scribble down some mental notes she’d taken while in the house. Without internet service at the project, the notepad was going to get a lot of use.
She’d brought a few boxes of necessary items from home, along with a cooler so she would have something to eat in her devoid-of-food apartment, not knowing how soon she’d get to a market. She dug out a TV dinner, which left much to be desired; but did the job. All the excitement of the day settled hard, making her extra sleepy. She climbed into bed, appreciating the soft pillow and mattress that came with the place, then gave in to the drowsiness.
****
The sun peeked through the blinds early the following morning, waking Arianna. The fragrant smell of lilacs and the cool breeze wisped through the window she’d left cracked open the night before. Clearing the cobwebs from her head, she smiled as she recalled the reason she had awakened in a strange bed, in a strange room.
She dressed quickly to get on the road. Thankfully, she found a drive-through restaurant nearby where she could grab a bite to eat. Note to self: leave the job earlier tonight to pick up some groceries. TV dinners and fast food will not do. She wasn’t a health-food nut, but did steer clear of fatty foods. She’d not return to Denver all lumpy with fast-food bulges. She shuddered at the thought.
Arriving at the house just after eight o’clock, she stood outside for a few moments to take it all in again. Once more she felt its majestic beauty. A perfect rose growing in a dustbowl. She shoved the key into the lock and turned the knob. Before she cracked open the door, sirens began to sound.
Chapter Five
Oh, no! The house wasn’t supposed to be armed until next week. Fumbling around in her purse, she realized she’d left the alarm code in her car. After retrieving the papers from the front seat, she sprinted back to the house and pushed the appropriate buttons to silence the shrieking noise. She sank down on the Persian rug, grateful there weren’t any neighbors in the vicinity.
It wasn’t ten minutes later when she heard banging on the front door. Startled, she froze for a second. The door burst open, and there stood a tall man a few years her senior, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She stared, struck by his good looks.
The puzzled expression on his face made her wonder if he had expected to find someone else inside the home. “Who are you?” she finally choked out, scanning the room for any sort of weapon. Gorgeous or not, she didn’t trust someone who burst through the door without warning.
He held up his hand to show her his badge. “I’m Officer Flemming. Sorry to frighten you. The police department gets dispatched when the security alarm on this house is triggered. Is everything okay?”
His British accent caught her off-guard. “Of course. Your uniform.” She motioned to his attire. “I didn’t know the alarm was set until it scared me senseless.” She laughed until she realized he wasn’t smiling. “The owners told me it would be a week or two before it would be armed. Would you like to step in?”
He shook his head. “Why are you here?” Officer Flemming asked, a little too curtly, almost as if he were put off by her presence in the home.
Wow, she hoped all Puebloans, or whatever they called themselves, weren’t this frosty. “I’ve been hired to decorate this house. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He looked around and gave a slight nod. “Where are the others?”
“What others?” Arianna wrinkled her forehead in confusion.
“Surely there’s more than one decorator for this,” he waved his hand, “monstrosity of a house.” He grimaced as if the house itself put a bad taste in his mouth.
Even wearing a scowl he was handsome, but Ari could do without the attitude. “Nope, just me. I’m working solo, which will take much longer than if I had a partner, but I was the only designer available to relocate to Pueblo for the job.” Nervous rambling took over where good sense once resided. “It’s okay, though; the owners aren’t in any hurry to move in. They’re all about quality—not speed.”
“Four years. I’ve waited four years,” he mumbled under his breath.
“What?” Arianna had heard him but wondered why he’d say such a thing. His cold demeanor made her uneasy. She clutched the door frame, grateful he’d declined her invitation to step in.
“Oh”—he cleared his throat— “it’s nothing, Miss—”
“Miller. Arianna Miller. My fr
iends call me Ari. My mother named me after a character from one of her favorite books.” Which was probably more than he wanted to know, but he made her edgy.
Edgy or not, she kept talking. “Are you from England?”
“Yes, originally. But that was a long time ago.” He shifted his weight, rocking back on the porch.
“The owners of this house are also from England. Your accent is a lot like theirs.”
“Miss Miller, you really shouldn’t be out here working alone. It is not safe.”
Arianna frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Why isn’t it safe? I’m fine. There aren’t any neighbors nearby, and it’s quite peaceful working out here on my own.” Last night’s fears about being alone reared their ugly heads. She ignored them.
“Precisely. You are alone. Should something happen, I don’t believe there is even cell phone service out this far.” Officer Flemming’s brows lowered, making him appear put out and frustrated—or maybe he was worried. Her heart flipped, thinking he might care. Ridiculous. He wouldn’t care. They’d just met.
“Yes, I noticed that the phone service is sketchy out here. But”—Ari raised her hands—“what’s going to happen way out in the middle of nowhere? I’m sure I’ll be safe.” Her voice wobbled a little. “Plus, there’ll be workers coming and going once my project is in full-swing.”
“Well, as a police officer, this area is part of my route, so I hope you won’t mind if I stop in now and then to check on you.” His face softened.
“Of course not. That’s fine.”
“But, really, Miss Miller—”
“Arianna. Please, you’re making me feel old.”
“Very well. Arianna.” She loved the way he said her name. It sounded so beautiful in that British accent—or maybe it was prettier coming out of his perfect mouth.
She shook her head, irritated with herself. She didn’t know why she’d have such an attraction to the man. He wasn’t very friendly.
Time Twist Page 3
