Christmas Awakening

by Ann Voss Peterson

  As they approached the car, Josef opened the back door. Marie climbed inside. The chauffeur circled the car and opened the opposite door for Brandon. When it came to his job, Josef was precise and efficient. Could he be as precise and efficient when it came to killing someone? Especially if a young redhead, beautiful beyond his dreams, seduced him into it?

  Brandon lowered himself into the car and waited for Josef to take his place behind the wheel. “Josef?”

  “Yes, sir?” His accent was thick and warm and tinged with respect. Just the right tone.

  “Take us back to Drake House. Then you can have the rest of the day off. And the night. We’ll see you again tomorrow morning.”

  “Sir? May I ask why?”

  “I’ve been asking a lot of you the past few days.” He paused for dramatic effect…he hoped. “And we’ve learned something very disturbing about Isabella Faust. I’d like to handle it myself. If we need to go anywhere, we’ll use Ms. Leonard’s rental car.”

  Josef nodded and pulled away, leaving The Manor at Drake Acres behind. “Very good, sir.”

  SITTING IN A CRAMPED RENTAL CAR with a leg injury was not a good idea. Too bad Brandon hadn’t realized that before he and Marie had jumped in her car in a damn fool attempt to follow Isabella’s little yellow sports car when she’d returned from her day with Cliff. The trap he’d set for Josef turned out to be nothing. Nothing at all. The chauffeur had made no move to warn Isabella of their suspicions. He hadn’t gone anywhere, and a call to the phone company had proved he hadn’t made any phone calls.

  Brandon shifted his leg into a more comfortable position. “I feel like an idiot spying on my employees. Especially since they don’t seem to be doing a damn thing out of the ordinary.”

  Eyes on the road and the yellow car in front of them, Marie let out a sigh. The lights from the dash cast her face in a green glow, a color that would make anyone look like death warmed over. But not Marie. She looked as vibrant and determined as ever.

  God help him.

  “What is it?” he asked her.

  “Nothing, really. I’m relieved Josef isn’t tangled up with Isabella, but his life seems kind of sad.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. Just what Shelley told me. Moving to a country where he doesn’t know anyone. Losing his fiancée. He seems so alone.”

  Brandon nodded. Widowed. Alone. As Brandon himself had been before Marie had returned. As he would be again after she left.

  He shook his head. If only he could forget all that, accept it. But it was impossible with her sitting only inches away. The scent of her, warm and spicy, wrapped around him, and he longed to feel the softness of her skin again.

  Riding around with Marie in this cramped little car wasn’t one of his best ideas.

  He gripped his cane in both hands and remembered the bruising hidden under the high collar of her coat. He couldn’t have Marie. He couldn’t even let himself want her. But he could protect her. He could keep her safe.

  “I finally got a hold of Lexie.” Marie kept her focus on the road. “She said her records show Phil Cardon was working with her on a garden in Easton when Charlotte died. She said they were on the job site until sunset every night. There’s no way he could have driven all the way to Drake House before the time of Charlotte’s accident.”

  Another name off the list. “Doug is stopping by Drake House for a chat tomorrow. But I can’t imagine he has anything to do with this.”

  Marie piloted the car down Main Street and into the heart of town. Shops and cafés lined the street, festooned with wreaths and lights and tinsel.

  Christmas.

  An ache settled into Brandon’s gut. From the time he could remember, Christmas had been centered on the ball and charity auction. He remembered his mother presiding over the decoration. Then Edwin and, to a lesser extent, Charlotte. When he’d lost all of them, there had seemed no point to go on. He hadn’t even felt bad about letting the tradition die. Or maybe he’d felt so bad about everything else that he hadn’t noticed.

  But now?

  The time Marie had been here had been filled with turmoil and pain. Still, by comparison, he felt more alive than he had in years. And for the first time, the thought of Jenkins Cove going through a Christmas season without the charity ball felt…not right.

  As the yellow car reached the outskirts of town, it slowed and turned into a lot. Brandon glanced at Marie. “Did you see that?”

  “Yes.” Marie drove to a spot near the street where Isabella turned, and pulled to the curb. Beyond a small parking lot sat a little restaurant and bar known to the locals as the spot for soft-shell crab in season and cheap booze all year-round. The Duck Blind.

  “Does Rufus Shea still own this place?”

  “I think so.” Brandon frowned. Even though Rufus Shea had cleaned up his act and his tavern in recent years, the former town drunk wasn’t the type of man Brandon could picture Marie having anything to do with. “How do you know Rufus Shea?”

  “I knew his son.”

  Brandon nodded. He’d known Rufus’s son, Simon, too, though not well. The kid had been younger. The quintessential troublemaker from the wrong side of the tracks. Brandon had been at Harvard when he’d heard about the kid’s death. A lifetime ago. “I wonder what brings Isabella here?” He nodded out the window as the auburn-haired beauty pulled the door open and slipped inside.

  “Should we find out?” Marie took the key from the ignition and got out of the car.

  Brandon followed. They entered in time to catch Isabella stride past the counter and bar stools and turn into the restaurant. They followed. Sturdy round tables covered with red and green tablecloths dotted the modest-sized room. A good crowd of people filled the place, dining on plates of crab cakes and passing bowls of stewed tomatoes and lima beans served family style. The din of conversation bounced off paneled walls, and the sweet and tangy scent of seafood hung in the air.

  Isabella made a beeline for a table in the far corner. She slipped into a chair beside a man.

  A man Brandon recognized immediately.

  He grabbed Marie’s arm, stopping her before she was spotted. He leaned close and spoke into her ear. “Ned Perry. She’s meeting with Ned Perry.”

  Marie looked toward the table, eyes wide. “The real estate developer? Do you think this might have something to do with Drake House?”

  “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

  MARIE SNUGGLED her coat tight around her shoulders against the cool morning. Kneeling down beside Brandon’s town car, she examined the tire. The white chalk line was still there, untouched.

  She’d gotten the idea from her parking hassles in college. It was a trick the parking authority used. Mark the tire with chalk. If the chalk is still there, the car hasn’t moved. In this case, that meant Josef hadn’t moved. Not the entire night.

  At least they could cross him off the list. Cliff as well. And probably Phil Cardon. But Isabella seemed to be neck deep in whatever was going on. And Marie was betting Ned Perry was helping her.

  Marie wound through the east garden and back to the kitchen. Frost sparkled on the concrete bench, the fountain and the white shells that covered the path. Not quite like snow at Christmastime, but the extra sparkle lent Drake House a little magic of the season. Magic that was sorely lacking.

  She found Brandon in the kitchen, sitting at the stone counter where she’d eaten cookies as a child. He sipped a cup of coffee and watched Shelley sauté vegetables for one of her extravagant breakfasts. Mouthwatering aromas and thick steam wafted from the pan. Brandon looked up at Marie and arched his brows in silent question.

  She shook her head.

  He leaned back in his chair, relieved.

  One more name off the suspect list. Marie took a cup of coffee and tried to concentrate on drinking it without burning her lips and tongue.

  A knock sounded on the kitchen door.

  Marie jumped at the sound. She glanced through the mullioned glas
s. A pair of watery blue eyes stared straight at her.

  Shelley wiped her hands and scampered to open the door.

  The operations manager of Drake Enterprises stepped inside. “Brandon?”

  Brandon nodded and stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “Thanks for coming, Doug. We’ll talk in the office.” Giving Marie a glance, he led Doug Heller from the kitchen. Brandon had told her he planned to pump the manager for information about Perry. And, of course, he wanted to ask a few questions of Heller himself.

  As soon as they disappeared into the household office and closed the door behind them, Shelley made a tsking noise under her breath.

  Marie focused on the housekeeper. “What is it, Shelley?”

  “I can just imagine. Probably Ned Perry again.”

  Marie nodded vaguely, not wanting to let on that Shelley’s guess was right on the nose. “Does this Mr. Perry stop by often?”

  “No. He hasn’t for a while. He doesn’t have the nerve. But then he doesn’t have to when he has someone already in the house lobbying for him.”

  “Someone in the house? Who?”

  “Isabella.”

  Marie’s pulse launched into double time. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of asking Shelley about this sooner. The woman seemed to know everyone’s business. And she had no qualms about spreading the news around. “Why would Isabella lobby for Ned Perry?”

  “They have a deal.”

  “A deal?” This was getting better all the time.

  “She says she’s buying one of the condos down by the yacht club. But I think she wants a piece of Drake House. She’s always wanted Drake House, you know. Although I don’t know how she thinks Ned Perry is going to get his hands on it.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Marie that Isabella wanted Drake House, not until her performance yesterday. What other secrets could Shelley tell her? “Why do you think Isabella wants Drake House?”

  “Just ask her.” Shelley pulled a knife from the block and started dicing shallots with more gusto than called for. The knife made a sharp snap each time it hit the cutting board. “When she first came to work here, she told me that one day she’d be lady of the house. ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ she’d say. Hogwash. Mr. Brandon saw nothing in her. He only saw his Charlotte.”

  Shelley shook her head. Scooping up the shallots with the flat of her blade, she feathered them into the sauté pan and turned up the heat. An onionlike tang flavored the air. “After Charlotte died, Isabella got more aggressive. I told her it was no use. And it wasn’t. Mr. Brandon is heartbroken. He lives only for his foundation and this house. He’ll never marry again. Charlotte was the only woman he could ever love. She was perfect. You’d do well to remember that, too.”

  “Me?” If Marie hadn’t been sitting, she would have stepped back under the assault. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I’ve seen you with him. Trying to make him smile. Trying to make him do things for you. You’d be better off leaving him alone.” Shelley gathered a handful of dirty utensils and carried them to one of the huge sinks. She pushed up the sleeves of her blouse, revealing muscled arms. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m telling you for your own good. He belongs to Charlotte. No other woman is wanted around here.”

  Marie stared at Shelley, not sure she heard the woman right. Hadn’t she joked to herself about Shelley’s resemblance to the fictional Mrs. Danvers? And now this on the heels of Isabella’s comments yesterday? “Anything between Brandon and me is in the past, Shelley. It’s over. You don’t have to feel threatened by me.”

  “I’m just telling you the way things are. You seem like a nice girl, and I always respected your father. I wouldn’t like to see you get hurt.”

  Marie nodded, not sure if Shelley’s words held more motherly concern or threat.

  Shelley thrust the utensils under running water. The scent of dishwashing soap mixed with the aroma from the stove. “While we’re on the subject, I’ve talked to a handyman who occasionally does work around here. Phil Cardon. He has some hours free later today, so I hired him to help you pack up your father’s things.”

  So Shelley was shoving her out of the house. Protecting Brandon’s honor and Charlotte’s memory, no doubt. Unless she had a more personal agenda. “I have time. I’m on personal leave from my job. There’s no hurry.”

  “Well, you aren’t the only one this affects, Marie. We have to think about Brandon. He likes his privacy. Having a guest in the house is tough on him.”

  Marie pushed herself back from the counter and picked up her coffee. She was getting a little tired of being in Shelley’s crosshairs this morning. And while Marie knew her presence wasn’t any easier on Brandon than it was on her, she wasn’t going to let the housekeeper chase her out before she got her answers. “Maybe we should ask Brandon.”

  “There are other concerns, too.” Shelley smiled, backpedaling.

  Marie should just walk out of the room, leave Shelley stewing. Unfortunately she was never one to leave a leading comment hanging in the air without asking the question that went with it. “Such as?”

  “It’s very difficult to run the house when I’m not living here.”

  Now it was becoming clear. “You want to move into my father’s quarters.”

  “Those rooms are for the person who is running Drake House. They aren’t your father’s personal property.”

  Marie couldn’t argue with that, even though her father had lived in those rooms for forty years. “As soon as I finish tying up some loose ends, you can have your rooms.”

  Shelley nodded her graying head. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

  Marie gave Shelley a broad smile. “Yes. We understand each other. But I don’t need your handyman’s help. No one is to touch my father’s things but me.”

  Shelley didn’t answer.

  Marie clenched the hot mug. The moment she left the house, Shelley would probably have an army of handymen erasing her father’s presence from Drake House. She’d have to ask Brandon to make sure that didn’t happen.

  “Perhaps you’d do a favor for me now.”

  The woman was asking for a favor? After everything she’d thrown at Marie in the past few minutes?

  “I need you to move your car to the parking area next to the carriage house. I have a decorator coming in to take measurements, and your vehicle will be in the way.”

  Marie had the sneaking suspicion Shelley thought everything about her was in the way. But as much as Shelley’s grasping annoyed her, she had to admit life went on. An old and important mansion like Drake House needed a full-time caretaker, and Brandon had given the job to Shelley. With the job came the living quarters. She couldn’t deny Shelley that.

  But that didn’t mean she’d let the woman push her out before she’d exhausted every lead. Finding her father’s killer, and Charlotte’s as well, came first. “Measure all you want, Shelley, but don’t touch my father’s things. Do you understand me?”

  Shelley pursed her lips and raised her chin. “As long as you clear out the rooms in a timely manner. Now will you move your vehicle? My decorator will be here any minute.” She glanced at a clock on the wall for emphasis.

  Marie plunked her mug on the countertop, grabbed her keys and coat and gladly left the kitchen to Shelley Zachary.

  Out in the cool morning, her car started on the third try. She’d have to take it in to the rental agency. Have them replace the battery or give her a new car.

  She piloted the rental around the kitchen entrance’s circle drive and joined with the drive leading to the carriage house, curving along the edge of the water.

  Steely waves echoed the color of the sky and pounded rocks edging the shoreline. She approached the turn to the carriage house. Although the land around Drake House was fairly flat, this part of the drive dipped slightly, making her car accelerate. She pressed her foot to the brake pedal. It gripped, then softened.

  Then plunged to the floorboards.

&nbs
p; Marie tried the brakes again. Again they pushed to the floor. She didn’t have time to think. Didn’t even have time to panic. Blood rushing in her ears, she gripped the wheel and steered. The car canted to the side. Tires skidded on loose gravel.

  The car jolted over rock and plunged into water.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marie hung forward in her seat belt. The air bag softened in front of her like a limp balloon, only dregs of air left. Her ears rang. Her already sore head and neck ached. Her feet felt so very cold.

  Pushing down the air bag, she fought to clear her mind. Water sloshed over the car’s hood. It covered the pedals and crept up the floor mat, swamping her feet to the ankles.

  What a mess.

  She looked out the driver’s window. The car balanced on the gray rock that lined the shoreline, preventing erosion. Even though the nose tilted down into the water, the back end of the car was still high, if not totally dry.

  She was lucky. If she had been going faster, she’d be out in the bay right now. As it was, she might have to do a little swimming, or at least wading, but she still had time to get out.

  Trying to steady her trembling fingers, she found the buckle of her seat belt and released it. She groped the armrest, locating the controls for the power windows. She pressed the button to lower the driver’s side.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again. Damn. The water or the impact must have shorted out the car’s battery or jostled the wires free. Not that it hadn’t been half drained before she’d even gotten behind the wheel.

  There was no reason to panic. Although the water seemed to creep higher by the second, she still had time to escape. But she needed to move.

  She grasped the lock and pulled it up, releasing it manually. Fitting her fingers into the handle, she pulled it and shoved her shoulder into the door at the same time.

  The door didn’t budge.

  A sob caught in her throat. She tried again. Again, it wouldn’t open. Water bore down on the door, sealing it from the outside.