The kitchen was adequate, larger than she needed, but the dining room was too small for the café she’d envisioned. Her pencil moved across the page in furious strokes, slashing the wall that separated the dining room from the butler’s pantry and removing the sink and a third of the shelves. She reconfigured the area so that all three rooms were functional and had plenty of space.
Pleased with the first floor’s layout, she headed to the second. This floor took less time to design. These rooms would house the aestheticians, massage therapists, and corporate offices. All had a similar layout.
The third-floor renovation would be more challenging. This would be her personal space, and she wanted it to feel like home away from home. The rooms were bland and needed a major overhaul. This would be remedied by adding the same wainscoting, ceiling medallions, and decorative treatments used on the other two floors.
After the sketches were completed, Brianna headed toward the stairs. She stopped to eye the narrow passage leading to the attic and shuddered with the thought of enclosed spaces, rodents, and bugs. She decided not to inspect that area today. It would only be used for extra storage, and she wouldn’t have to go up there, at least not alone.
Satisfied that the drawings conveyed her ideas in minute detail, Brianna headed to the door, locking and then shaking the handle to make sure it was secure. It would be dark soon, and without electricity she couldn’t accomplish anything more today.
Once again, the view from the veranda took her breath away. She perched her elbows atop the railing and admired the scenery. She hadn’t seen mountains this lush and green since the day her family left Fairmont. The sun had reached the crest of the highest peak, laying a golden radiance across its surface. She sighed at the sheer beauty of the scene displayed before her. How wonderful it would be to watch this exquisite show of nature every day.
As the sun dipped lower, an idea began to take shape. What would Ben think about living here? No, that won’t work. I have the business to consider. But it’s not impossible.
She decided not to rule it out until she had more time to think it over.
The river below twisted in and out of sight behind the line of trees where a gnarled sycamore, towering above the others, hovered on the river’s edge.
Her face paled.
It can’t be the same tree. Can it?
Determined to find out, she left the sketchpad on the railing, and stomped down the trail to the river. She pushed through a thicket of wild blueberries and found herself at the river’s edge surrounded by maples, elms, birch trees, and the solitary sycamore.
Her hand trembled as she spied the heart engraved with Riley loves Anya. That had been his nickname for her all those years ago. A fan of the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Riley’s favorite character was Anya. He thought she was unique because she always said what was on her mind. He thought Brianna shared that quality.
The rough bark, a colorful mixture of browns, gray, and cream, tugged at her fingertips as she traced the outside edge of the heart. It had somehow withstood the passage of time much better than she had.
Memories of the man who’d carved this heart—and who’d also broken hers—came flooding in. She thought of all the weekends they’d spent beneath this tree, watching the stars and planning their future. It had been eight years, and she still didn’t know why he did it.
She glanced up to where the house should be, but from this vantage point it was hidden behind a thick layer of brush and trees. That must be why she hadn’t noticed the manor all those years ago. Or maybe it was being young, stupid, and in love.
She scanned the trunk where other hearts lay scattered throughout, some dating back to the early 1800s. The most prominent one had the year 1918 etched along with the initials S.S. and J.C. She’d seen this heart in her sophomore year and always wondered who’d carved it. Did they ever get married and raise a family? Did they grow old together, having lived a long and happy life, or had they suffered the same fate as she and Riley had? She never found out. Too much time had passed, and the unidentified couple had remained a mystery, one that would likely never be solved.
Seeing this tree brought back so many memories. Not all of them pleasant. This was her greatest fear when she’d decided to come back—facing the memories. She had to let go of the past, remain focused, and remember the reason she came back here in the first place.
With one last loving touch of the heart Riley had engraved, she retraced her steps to the manor without looking back.
Chapter 8
The last two days had been a bustle of activity. The meeting yesterday with Mr. Moretti went well. She could swear his face lit up when he reviewed her sketches. He’d licked his lips as if about to sit down to a scrumptious meal.
She’d walked beside him as he inspected the inside and outside of the house, giving the entire property a thorough examination. He stopped now and then to make a note in his steno pad. She tried to sneak a peek over his shoulder, but couldn’t read his scribbling.
Before he left, he told her he’d work up an estimate and give her a call by tomorrow. He called an hour later. The price was fair, and they agreed on a completion date. His crew would start first thing Monday to map out the timeline.
She arrived at the manor before eight on Friday morning and waited on the veranda for the utility technicians. The electric company came first, followed by the water, and lastly the gas. While they worked, she swept, dusted, and mopped the living room and bedroom in her apartment.
The furniture deliverymen arrived as the last utility vehicle left. After the bed was assembled, and the truck sped away, Brianna took a moment to relax in one of the new rocking chairs on the veranda, enjoying the unobstructed view of the river. Only the top of the old sycamore tree was visible, a blaring reminder of her youth. Even after all this time, her heart still ached.
Was it a mistake to buy this house? she wondered. How could she look at this view and not remember that painful time, not wonder what she’d done wrong or why it still hurt to think about him?
She mentally scolded herself. Stop it! Buying this place was the right decision. It’s perfect for the spa. You can’t let him ruin this too. It was fate that Monroe Manor became available the same day I called Connie. It’s a sign that I needed to move on, put the past behind me once and for all, where it belongs.
She tipped her face toward the azure sky and let the sun’s rays bake her skin to a rosy hue. She took a deep, cleansing breath of the crisp, fresh air full of the unique fragrances of the variety of trees that grew in the area—sweet, savory, bitter. Not unlike her youth.
A refreshing breeze blew off the river, whipping tendrils of hair around her face. The damp smell, mixed with the earthiness of old fallen leaves, had a calming effect. She felt at peace here. The horror of the past weeks seemed to melt away.
White, fluffy clouds drifted by, reminding her of the sweet days of her childhood when she’d spend long, lazy days with her father. One of her fondest memories was the day her father brought home a rope hammock. He’d rushed outside to hang it between two sturdy trees in their backyard. Every Sunday after church, they’d lie under the trees, looking up at a similar sky, and read her favorite fairy tales, stories of knights, princesses, and mythical creatures in faraway lands.
We were so close then. He was my hero, and I looked up to him. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. Was it winning the lottery that made him change? But then I’ve changed too.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she brushed them away. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore. What’s done is done. I can’t go back and change what happened. I have to learn to live with it.
Brianna sighed and headed inside, determined to leave the bittersweet memories behind. She opened all the windows, hoping the fresh spring air would alleviate some of the mustiness that accompanied a house that sat empty for over fifteen years.
The men installing the alarm were huddled around the front door, arguing about where to pu
t the main box, when she trudged past on her way to the laundry room. She still had chores to do before she could leave for the day and meet her friends for dinner.
She pulled the fresh, laundered sheets from the dryer and went upstairs to make the bed. The new comforter in autumn colors of rust, gold, and brown made the room feel warm and toasty. It also matched the copper-colored tiles surrounding the fireplace.
She could envision the room once the walls were painted a pale peach with a faux finish of ivory and a splash of gold glazing to soften the colors. The palette would blend well with the dark mahogany wood trim.
The bed looked inviting. She wished she could sink into its softness and take a nap, but she didn’t have time to dawdle. The bathroom needed cleaning. This was her least favorite chore, albeit a necessary one.
She hung a new shower curtain on the circular rod surrounding the antique claw-foot tub, which was in excellent condition. Connie had told her one of the previous owners had the enamel refinished.
She sprayed glass cleaner on the ornate mirror over the sink and used a coffee filter to swipe away years of grime. Delighted by the nearly flawless condition of the glass, she took one last swipe and was momentarily startled by the reflection of someone streaking by in the hallway beyond the bathroom.
“I’m in here!” she shouted, assuming one of the security system installers had come upstairs to attach sensors to the windows. “Do you need something?”
No one answered.
She checked down the hallway. It was empty.
She walked over to the stair rail and leaned over. No one was there.
She inspected every room on the third floor. Nothing.
Confused, she returned to the first floor where the installers were fiddling with wires in the main box. She tapped the man, who looked like he was in charge, on the shoulder. “Did you need me?”
“No miss,” he said, shaking his head.
“I saw someone upstairs. I thought you might have sent one of your men to get me.”
He looked over his shoulder at the men working on the system. “My men are all here and have been for the past thirty minutes. Must’ve been someone else you saw.” He addressed one of his men. “Larry, will you give the office a call and make sure the system is connected and live.”
Larry whipped out his cell phone, conversing back and forth with whoever was on the other end, checking the wiring as they spoke. When he hung up, he whispered something in his supervisor’s ear.
The man nodded and handed Brianna a folder with the company’s logo on the cover. He explained it contained instructions for operating the system and phone numbers to call with any issues. The men left, and she headed upstairs, questioning her sanity.
What’s going on around here? First I see shadows in the window, and now someone walking down the hallway. Are the locals right? Is this house haunted? Have my parents followed me here? Nonsense. I haven’t been sleeping well, and working on two projects is stressful. That’s a more logical explanation. It’s either that or I’m going crazy.
She returned to the bathroom to collect the cleaning supplies. Now that the men had gone, the house was eerily quiet, unnerving. She decided it was time to head back to the hotel to shower and change for dinner.
Tonight could be her first night in the house, if she decided to stay. The alarm worked. There wasn’t any reason not to, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling she wouldn’t be staying here alone. This house held secrets, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to uncover them.
Her most pressing issue would be facing her friends. It had been almost two-and-a-half years since she’d seen them. A lot can happen in that amount of time. People change; she knew she had.
Chapter 9
Lieutenant Holcomb barged through the door of the San Luis Obispo’s autopsy suite with Deputy Gray on his heels. The room—stark, sterile, and only sixty-five degrees—gave him the chills, no matter how many times he entered it.
The coroner was examining a deceased man whose brightly colored tattoo, snaking up his left arm and around his neck, identified him as a member of a local gang. Three bullet holes circled the upper left chest. A blue hospital bracelet and white paper toe tag were the only other identifying markers.
The naked body was placed on one of the two metal exam tables. A rubber block under the torso pushed the chest up and out. The deep Y-shaped incision began at the man’s shoulders, meeting at the breastbone and extending to the lower point of the sternum.
The coroner didn’t look up when they arrived. Fragments of classical music leaked from the earplugs hanging from her ears as she spoke into a microphone. Green scrubs were visible under the ankle-length, long-sleeved gown. A plastic apron, a paper surgical cap, shoe covers, latex gloves, and protective head gear completed the uniform.
The overpowering scent of formaldehyde permeated the air. The lieutenant could handle dead bodies. He’d seen plenty throughout his career, but he’d never gotten used to that smell.
He pulled an earplug out of the coroner’s ear and yelled over the music, “Hey, Charlie, where’s your assistant?”
“Had to leave early. Family emergency. Thought I’d get a head start on this one,” she said, pointing to the body.
“I heard you might have my accident vics.”
The woman lifted the shield off her eyes and faced her visitors. “I do.”
Charlie, a short, pudgy woman in her midforties, whipped the cap off her head, allowing her chin-length hair to fall free. It accentuated her square, prominent jaw and full lips. She retrieved a file folder from the counter next to the refrigeration unit and handed it to Holcomb.
He slapped the folder against his hand. “What’s this?”
“My results,” she replied in her usual curt manner.
Holcomb studied her. He knew Charlie had endured constant ribbing for the last twenty years regarding her chosen field. She’d told him more than once that dead people didn’t talk back, and she liked it that way.
As Charlie lifted the sheet up and over the man’s head, Holcomb looked over at Deputy Gray, who had averted his eyes from the corpse and turned a pasty shade of green.
“Gray, you don’t look so hot,” Holcomb said. “If you want to step outside for a while, I can handle this.”
The deputy shook his head and covered his mouth with a trembling hand.
Charlie chuckled. “Bathroom’s that way,” she said, pointing across the room.
The deputy scrambled for the door.
“Rookie,” Holcomb stated.
“I remember you had a similar reaction when you saw your first corpse.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday.”
“You would. Is that a woman thing? My ex-wife never forgot anything either.”
Charlie threw her head back and laughed.
Holcomb rifled through the folder, scouring the information. “You’re positive the bodies are the Rossis’?”
“Dental records. Perfect match.”
“Great! More paperwork.”
Charlie fixed her pensive hazel eyes on the lieutenant. “You’ll have more to do than paperwork. The Rossis were murdered.”
“Shit. Are you sure?”
“It’s all in the file. The lab results showed a high amount of alcohol in their systems, along with an even higher amount of benzodiazepine.”
“How high?”
“Lethal. I wanted to verify my suspicions, so I called your evidence room. The Coast Guard found the yacht’s refrigerator with a bottle of wine inside. I asked your lab to run a test on the contents. Got it back this morning. Someone put enough benzos in that wine to kill a rhino.”
“You think someone set the fire to destroy the evidence?”
“I don’t like to make assumptions . . .”
The lieutenant grimaced and arched an eyebrow at Charlie.
“Okay, yes, that would be my guess. It would have worked too, if the victims hadn
’t been blown clear.”
Holcomb continued to flip through the folder. “I should have listened to my instincts. I knew something was fishy about that explosion. No pun intended.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“All the evidence pointed to it being an accident, and Captain Martinez wanted the case closed.” The lieutenant rubbed his chin. “If the Rossis were poisoned, that makes the accident premeditated.”
Charlie piped in. “Of course we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It could’ve been a murder-suicide.”
“No, my gut says it wasn’t. But who would want the Rossis dead?”
“You know, most of the time the vic knows their murderer,” Charlie said.
She was right. He’d start by interviewing close friends and employees at the restaurant, and then he’d check out Mrs. Rossi’s coworkers. He’d have to delve deeper into every part of the Rossis’ life. Everyone has secrets. He needed to find theirs, and a motive, and someone who had access to the yacht.
Deputy Gray shoved through the door, wiping his mouth on a paper towel, his color a bit less pasty.
Lieutenant Holcomb patted him on the shoulder. “Looks like we have ourselves a homicide, Gray.”
The deputy groaned. “Great. More work for us.”
Holcomb watched the coroner remove her gown and shoe covers. “You know, Charlie, we should go out for a drink sometime. We haven’t done that in a long time.”
“Yeah, not since you started dating that girl with the big . . . what was her name? Barbie?”
“Barbara. We aren’t together anymore. Said all I ever talked about was dead people.”
Charlie smiled. “What’s so bad about that? At least they don’t interrupt. How about now? I could use a drink after the day I’ve had.”
“Well . . . uh . . . sure. Now’s good.”
“I’ll put this guy on ice. Then we can head over to Nick’s. They have the best oysters in town.”
The deputy groaned again and headed back to the bathroom.
Still, Forever, Promise Page 7
