by Debra Webb
Another of those shivers raced over her skin, settling like a damp winter storm in her bones. Murder. Dear God. How could she go on knowing that if she hadn’t come to Lost Angel Inn, Beverly would still be alive? If Livvy had picked some other place instead of stirring up this big old house’s murky past, none of this would have happened.
She looked around the enormous hall, the staircase that flowed up to the second floor cutting a circular path that was at once inviting and architecturally pleasing to the eye. Maybe she should have believed in ghosts.
Though a few of her guests had claimed to, she’d never heard any weeping…never experienced any of the strange sights and sounds that legend associated with this beautiful old place.
Like her, Lost Angel Inn had its secrets. Maybe too many. Maybe that’s what had drawn her here. She’d always loved history and literature. And love stories—even those that ended in tragedy—always captured her imagination. Oddly, at that moment, standing in that big hall with Chase Fraley, she felt once more as if she and this house truly belonged together. Two entities of this planet whose time for love and prosperity had come and gone.
But she refused to accept such a cruel fate. God had not allowed her to survive an almost-fatal fall down that staircase in Santa Barbara for nothing. She had a future. And so did this house.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said to Chase. “This case has all of us upset.”
He nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. She hadn’t ever really looked at his lips. Now that she did, she couldn’t help noticing that they were very nicely formed. Not thin, but not too full. The slight crinkling around his mouth told her he smiled a lot. Another likable trait.
“Ms. Hamilton!”
The chief’s bellow made her tremble, as much from impatience as from fear.
“It’s all right,” Chase offered again as he touched her arm reassuringly. “He probably has a question for you.”
A pleasant jolt went through her at his touch. She tried not to react, to focus on his words, but the sensation was so unexpected she couldn’t stop the blush from spreading to her cheeks.
He pulled his strong hand away instantly as if sensing her unease. “Let’s go see what’s got him riled.”
Livvy nodded, not certain she trusted her voice.
She led the way to the courtyard, struggling to regain her composure.
“Ms. Hamilton, I thought I made it clear that no one was to touch anything in this area.” The chief stood in the center of the courtyard, near the big old tree whose leaves would soon be flaming with those gorgeous New England fall colors. His hands were planted on his broad hips, framing his bulging belly and screaming loudly of his irritation.
“I haven’t touched a thing.” She looked around the courtyard. It looked just as it had this morning. Yellow crime-scene tape cordoned off the area around the fountain and the doorway leading to the east wing where Beverly had been found. One end of the tape flapped in the wind like the tail of a downed kite.
Closer to the house, everything also looked normal. Tables and chairs sat around the big tree. The angel atop the fountain stood like a sentry. Mature shrubbery lined the stone pathways, lending a softness to the hard surfaces. Beyond that, the flagstones had been removed, making room for the digging necessary to repair the fountain. The master stonemason Christopher had contacted to restore it had ordered new water and electrical lines to be run from the house, not to mention some additional foundation work beneath the massive structure. Once the work was finished, the courtyard would again be the magnificent outdoor entertainment area intended by the original builder. It was imperative that the masonry work be completed before the first freeze.
“I can assure you, Chief,” she insisted, “that no one has even been out here.” The stonemason hadn’t appreciated being ordered to stop his work before he finished, but all involved understood the importance of this investigation.
“Is that so?” He pointed to several intricately detailed clay and concrete pots. “Then why are there new flowers in those pots?”
Livvy winced. Ralph. She hadn’t considered that he would change the flowers in the courtyard, as well. Obviously she should have.
“I apologize, Chief. I’m sure Ralph didn’t think it would be a problem since he didn’t venture into the cordoned-off area.” In spite of last night’s tragedy, work had to go on. It was necessary as well as therapeutic. Livvy had thought it best as the morning dragged on that she and Ralph go about their routine. She’d scarcely slowed and when she had, gloom and depression had all but overtaken her.
The chief pointed to the fountain. “I don’t want anybody going near that, do you hear?”
Livvy nodded. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“I’ve got more forensics techs coming out to inspect the area.”
Maybe it was the way Chase looked at his uncle when he made that last statement, but for an instant Livvy had the distinct impression that the chief wasn’t telling her everything.
Could he already know who had committed this heinous act? His investigation had barely gotten under way. Did he believe it was Livvy? One thing was certain, if she was accused and convicted of murder, she sure wouldn’t be reopening the inn.
And just maybe that was the whole point.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS ONLY A DREAM.
Livvy told herself again and again not to be afraid. But the fear wrapped around her throat like long bony fingers prepared to drain the life from her. Night had come to Lost Angel Inn and she had walked the floors for hours in an attempt to exhaust herself physically. She desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Sleep had come…but it was far from good. The dream had descended, dragging her into the cold, relentless embrace of fear.
In the dream she ran along the edge of the cliffs, her bare feet slipping and sliding as she frantically fought for purchase in the loose soil near the hazardous precipice. Her lungs burned with the need to take in more oxygen. Her heart pounded savagely against her sternum. Still he gained on her. Grew closer with every thump of her flailing heart.
Please, God, don’t let him catch me.
Powerful arms suddenly wrapped around her, flung her to the ground. The heavy weight of a big male body slammed down on top of her.
She was dead. She didn’t have to see the method of execution. Deep inside where no one else could see…no one else could touch, she knew she was dead. This time he was going to kill her.
Those dark, menacing eyes stared deeply into hers. “You must learn your lessons, Liv,” he whispered roughly. “Why do you insist on trying my patience?”
Then she was inside her Santa Barbara home tumbling down the stairs…pain searing through her as a rib punctured the tissue of her left lung, making it difficult to breathe. She felt the femur in her thigh shatter. Her last thought before the black of unconsciousness took her was that she would surely die before help arrived.
Livvy bolted upright in bed.
The sound of air sawing in and out of her lungs filled the heavy silence of her dark room.
A dream. Just a dream.
Her nightgown clung to her damp skin. Her thigh throbbed as if the injury she’d dreamed of had taken place only moments ago.
“Just a dream,” she murmured out loud, trying hard to reassure herself. “Not real.”
She slumped back onto the pillows and struggled to calm herself. She was safe now. James was dead. Would never hurt her again. A slightly hysterical laugh choked out of her. The most bizarre part of that whole night was the fact that she would surely have died if her husband, the beloved doctor, had not called 9-1-1 and provided emergency medical care. A broken femur could be fatal, extreme blood loss the primary threat. He could have let her die and claimed he’d done all he could. Her own clumsiness had caused her to fall, he would say. Dear Liv was always falling or running into things. Livvy felt sure his associates had felt sympathy for his plight. He’d married a mousy nobody and couldn’t train her
to be an appropriate doctor’s wife. She couldn’t even descend a staircase properly.
Livvy never looked good enough at the country club, never said the right things. Didn’t keep the house in proper order. Everything she did was wrong, stupidly wrong.
But he’d let her live that night. Because he couldn’t bear to let her go…she provided far too much of a challenge for his psychopathic ego. He didn’t love her…he loved controlling her…making her obey his every wish. Toying with her life.
And she’d known with complete certainty that next time she would die. It was the final warning. I can kill you anytime. Fail me once more and you die. He’d recognized her mounting desperation. Had known she entertained ideas of divorce. He would sooner see her dead than allow that. The humiliation would have been far too big a blow to his ego. Besides, a widower looking for a new wife to use as a puppet was much more palatable than a divorced man. Livvy’d had no choice but to take drastic measures.
The doctor in charge of her care after the fall, a woman who sensed Livvy’s predicament, had insisted that she stay a full three months in rehab where she was watched night and day. Dr. James Hamilton had been furious. During that time Livvy and two of her old friends who’d sought her out after the accident, with the help of her doctor and a sympathetic detective, had formed an escape plan.
They should never have underestimated James Hamilton. He’d known they were up to something. All that had saved Livvy from facing his final wrath was the detective’s interference. He’d waited in the hospital for James to arrive and discover that his wife was gone. The ensuing fight had ended at the bottom of a stairwell.
At the inquiry, the detective said he’d told Hamilton to back off and had tried to walk away, but the good doctor was having none of that. He wanted to know his wife’s whereabouts. He’d followed the detective into the stairwell and attacked him. Livvy had never asked any questions. It was over. The official inquiry had cleared the detective of any wrong-doing.
Livvy rubbed her hands over her face. She’d thought the nightmares were over. But Beverly’s murder had awakened all the old demons.
Livvy shivered, dragged the covers up close around her. For the first time since she’d bought the inn she felt lonely. It was ridiculous. During the off-season, like now, she was alone most every night. Ralph and Edna went to their own homes each evening. In fact by October, Edna would cut down to only three days per week. Ralph, however, would come every day if for nothing more than to clear the snow from the steps and walk. But there would be no need for round-the-clock, full-time help unless the inn was filled with guests. The month of December would be the only exception to that winter schedule.
Being alone hadn’t bothered Livvy before. It felt good to know she had no one to answer to but herself.
But that satisfying feeling had deserted her in light of recent events. Along with the peace of mind Lost Angel Inn had given her the moment she’d set eyes on the vivid images in that online real estate ad.
Evil had visited her once more.
She froze…a sound brushing across her auditory senses.
Had she left a window open? Allowing the breeze to waft through the downstairs hall?
The sound came again.
Her heart thumped hard.
She listened intently…afraid to move…scared to death of what her brain recognized as the source of the sound.
Weeping.
Soft and forlorn.
Remote and aching like the sound of the foghorn she’d grown accustomed to, scarcely noticing its presence anymore.
But this was no foghorn.
Livvy threw back the covers and rushed to the door. Not stopping long enough to think, she eased it open, holding her breath as the click of the old mechanism echoed loudly down the hall.
She eased into the pitch-black corridor. Vaguely, she wondered what time it was. Hours before dawn…three or four o’clock maybe.
Her bare feet stilled on the carpeted floor. The sobs grew fractionally louder…more desperate.
Downstairs somewhere.
She moved quickly to the stairs, tamping down the fear rising in her throat. She had to know…had to see where this was coming from. Others had insisted they’d heard it but this was a first for her.
Descending the staircase with a caution born of necessity, she focused on the sound, attempting to determine where it was coming from.
She frowned as she reached the entry hall. The sounds seemed farther away now.
Her pulse fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a wind tunnel, she padded along the wood floor, trying to avoid the areas that squeaked.
The weeping drew her toward the first-floor portion of the east wing. The elegant hardwood gave way to tattered carpet. The smells of lemon oil furniture polish and the fragrant bouquet of flowers gracing the hall table surrendered to mustiness and neglect.
Her heart still thundering, Livvy stopped in front of the final door on the left…one of the rooms facing the courtyard. Yellow tape guarded the locked room.
The weeping abruptly halted, leaving utter silence in the air.
Beverly Bellamy had died in this room. Someone had lain in wait for her as she’d checked door after door. Then, when she’d arrived at this room, flipped the switch to find the overhead light out of commission, she’d taken her final steps into the dark room.
When Livvy had gotten off the phone that night and gone in search of Beverly, she had come upon the gruesome scene.
Beverly was dead.
Livvy stood stock-still…waiting for the weeping to resume.
Others, most recently Emily Carlyle, had heard the weeping. Emily had been certain the sounds had come from the maid’s chamber…the same maid who had been put to death for a murder she hadn’t committed. A woman who had lost her life in the place of another. Just as Beverly had died when it should have been Livvy entering that dark room where death waited.
Fury at the senseless loss of life prompted Livvy to rip away the yellow crime-scene tape and open the door. A blast of cool air hit her in the face and fear speared through her once more.
Her fingers groped along the wall until she felt the switch. Too late she remembered that it wasn’t working. She flipped it upward, and the room was flooded with light. She blinked more in surprise than to adjust her vision. Then it took a full five seconds for her brain to assimilate what her eyes saw.
The doors to the courtyard stood wide open.
* * *
LATER THAT MORNING Livvy waited until Ralph and Edna had arrived to begin their daily chores. Saying nothing about the predawn incident, she made her excuses and headed to town. She opted for walking, knowing the exercise and fresh air would do her good. Her leg ached a little, not a sharp pain, just that same old nagging reminder that her body, like her psyche, was damaged. However, if that was her only problem today, she could deal with it. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.
She thought again of this morning’s decidedly creepy episode. She’d found the room empty, the courtyard, as well. But someone had obviously opened the doors. The chief had insisted that the room remain locked and undisturbed until further notice.
Livvy had skirted the chalk outline of where Beverly’s body had been found and had closed and relocked the doors. By the time she’d made it back into the hall, shutting off the room from the rest of the house once more, she had been gasping for breath.
She was sure the chief had also told her that the light switch had been tampered with. Had he repaired it? The light had worked fine for her. Why would he do that when he’d insisted that nothing be touched? The forensics technicians from the mainland had checked for fingerprints and other evidence. She’d heard them vacuuming for trace evidence. She’d watched enough crime dramas on television to have a vague idea of what they’d been doing. Had one of them repaired the light switch?
She shook off the confusing thoughts. What difference did it make? Someone had left the door open. It wasn’t her—so that left only the chie
f or an intruder. She had to know which, but she did not relish the idea of facing the chief.
For the next few minutes she distracted herself with the picturesque landscape as she made her way into Cliff’s Cove. The blue of the sky and the ever-moving liquid sapphire of the sea made the perfect backdrop for the quaint village. The clean, salty smell of ocean air combined with the occasional whiff of a chimney’s smoke relaxed her as nothing else could. The cool September mornings had already prodded her into contacting the chimney sweep to prepare the fireplaces at the inn.
Preparations last year had included a good deal more than a simple cleaning. There had been mortar repairs and the like. But the roar of a fire had definitely helped to ward off the harsh, cold Maine winter.
At a few minutes past ten in the morning, the shops of Cliff’s Cove were already alive with activity. Livvy smiled and greeted several of the owners as well as early morning shoppers. Thankfully only one pair of eyes gazed at her with suspicion. Most were filled with empathy, and she greatly appreciated the gestures.
As she’d anticipated, the walk had done her good, helped to clear her head. But now anxiety mounted again as she approached city hall. Somehow Chief Fraley would turn this around, make it her fault.
Much like the rest of the businesses lining the village’s main street, city hall dated back to the island’s first settlers. Though the long, low building that also housed a couple of additional shops had been renovated numerous times in the last century or so, the original facade remained, maintaining the historic look of the area. Livvy liked that. So many towns and cities tore down the past to make way for the future. The whole island, residents and business owners alike, had worked hard to keep the past a viable part of the present.
She exhaled loudly, reminded herself she couldn’t dally out here admiring the lovely architecture forever. Bracing herself for the worst, she entered the small reception area. Like the exterior, the interior was very much in keeping with the Victorian era. Lots of lavish moldings, rich, paneled walls, even the carpeting wasn’t the usual commercial-grade stuff. Period furnishings and a couple of nice pieces of art—both landscapes—completed the decor.
