Greenwood Manor

by Shannon Leigh

  The idea was tempting. But if someone was in the closet, they'd likely come flying out of there like a bat-out-of-hell and catch her before she'd even crossed the threshold. No, she stood a better chance catching them off guard.

  Aim for the chest, she told herself. After all, three inches of metal piercing your heart would surely slow down anyone. Or at least buy her enough time to get away.

  But what if they have a gun? The possibility gnawed at her confidence. She hadn't considered that. Then I'm screwed.

  Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself to stay calm. She tightened her grip on the file, holding it above her head in preparation. Here goes...

  Giving the knob a firm yank, she threw open the door, then leaped around it, ready to stab whoever or whatever jumped out at her. When her frantic gaze met nothing more than a closet full of clothes and scattered shoes, Laura let out a long sigh of relief.

  She speared the file between a few of the hangers, just in case. But no one was in there. A sound from the hallway instantly drew her attention. Laura quietly closed the closet and started across the bedroom toward the door.

  Heart racing, she peered out into the hallway and nearly fainted. Her suitcase sat neatly outside the bedroom, patiently waiting to be packed. What the hell is going on here?

  She always kept it in the coat closet, and she knew she hadn't gotten it out. Just like she knew she'd thrown that foul-smelling postcard in the trash. She glanced back at the nightstand.

  Yet there it is.

  Laura silently slipped past the closed door and made her way to the kitchen, where she promptly deposited her puny nail file on the counter and retrieved a large butcher knife from the top drawer. Feeling a bit more adequately armed, she crept back down the hallway. If this was a game, she didn't find it very funny. Whoever hid in the closet was getting skewered like a shrimp on the barbi.

  Knife poised above her head in anticipation, she placed her hand on the knob. One ... two ... three! Snatching the door open, she sliced her weapon downward, praying nothing jumped out, while hoping she'd stab it if it did.

  When the knife merely cut through air, Laura exhaled another long sigh of relief. Once again, she slid her weapon between the layers of coats, in case someone hid in the back. But no one was there.

  Just as she closed the closet, the doorbell rang. Laura let out a startled yelp and whipped around toward the living room. Heart thumping madly, she hurried down the hall.

  Holding the knife securely behind her back, she peered through the peephole. Ms. Waterby! Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, counted to three, and tried to collect herself before opening the door.

  Feeling as composed as she was likely going to get; Laura slid the chain from the lock and unbolted the deadbolt. As she pulled the door open, she realized she still held the knife. Oh, crap!

  Quickly tossing it out of sight, she greeted her neighbor with a pasted smile. “Ms. Waterby. What can I do for you?"

  The old woman's eyes nearly bugged from her head when she took in Laura's state of undress. Her lined features wrinkled even more in disapproval as her beady gaze dropped to where the short robe left Laura exposed from the thighs down. Laura pulled the garment more securely about her waist.

  "You know, you really should get dressed before answering the door, dear. You never know who's going to be on the other side. I could have been one of those serial rapists."

  Laura grit her teeth while maintaining a tense smile. “Yes, ma'am,” she managed through tight lips. “I always check first.” She indicated the peephole in the door.

  Ms. Waterby glanced at the tiny, glass-covered hole, then nodded. Her gaze slipped to the parted material of Laura's satin robe, fastening on the exposed skin between her breasts.

  Laura grew increasingly uneasy under the old woman's careful scrutiny. Feeling self-conscious, she grasped the edges, squeezing them shut. “Did you need something?” she asked in as calm a voice as she could muster.

  "Oh, yes,” Ms. Waterby replied, an embarrassed flush creeping along her withered cheeks. “Your mail was mixed with mine again.” She produced an item from the deep pocket of her ankle-length nightdress.

  Laura reached to retrieve it. “Thanks for bring—"

  Her smile faded and it took everything she had not to jerk her arm away in horror as she looked down at the article of mail in the old woman's hand. She felt the color drain from her face. This has to be a joke.

  As Ms. Waterby placed the all-too-familiar postcard within her palm, Laura concentrated on not passing out. Finally finding her voice, “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  "Is that where you're going?” the old woman asked, oblivious to Laura's sudden unease.

  Laura glowered at the card in her hand. She swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer. “Yes,” she squeaked out. “If you'll excuse me, I have to pack.” Before Ms. Waterby could protest, Laura retreated into the sanctuary of her house and shut the door.

  On wobbly legs, she started for the bedroom. Even before she arrived, she knew what she would find. So it was no surprise when the dresser drawer beside the bed was closed, and even less of one when she opened it to find the card gone.

  Laura sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked down at the one in her hand. Greenwood Manor. GRAND OPENING. They were one and the same.

  But there was no way Ms. Waterby could have snuck in her house, taken the card out of the trash, stashed it in the dresser, removed her suitcase from the hall closet, taken the card back out of the drawer, then sneaked out the front door. Not without Laura seeing her. It was simply impossible.

  The front door had been dead-bolted and chained. From the inside! Yet, the alternative was even less appealing. Something wanted her to go to Greenwood Manor.

  A violent shudder wracked her frame. Something...

  Laura flipped the card over. This time, the words were crystal clear; she had no difficulty reading the phone number printed on the bottom. She lifted it to her nose. No smell.

  Her brow furrowed with confusion as her mind sought to come up with a plausible explanation. But no matter how hard she tried, there was none. Not knowing what else to do, she reached for the phone on the bedside table.

  Greenwood Manor, here I come.

  CHAPTER 4

  "You're sure this is where you want to be dropped off?” the cab driver asked for what seemed like the hundredth time as they pulled up to the wrought iron gates protecting Greenwood Manor.

  Laura stared in awe at the massive, Greek revival-themed mansion. The postcard's depiction seemed lame in comparison. “Positive,” she replied, wondering why he didn't believe her the first time.

  "Alrighty, then. I'll just get your bags."

  Hitting a button on the dash, the driver popped the trunk, then jumped out of the front seat and walked around to the back of the car. When he finished unloading her luggage, he opened her door and waited for her to exit the cab.

  Laura paid her fare, then stepped aside. Clearly in a hurry to depart, the driver jumped back in the front seat and threw the gearshift into drive. Tires ground against the dirt paved road and dust swirled through the air as he sped away without so much as a backward glance.

  She watched with mixed feelings of relief and dread as the cab disappeared from sight. “Well, this is it,” she declared to the curling green vines adorning the gate. “No going back now."

  Picking up her suitcase and duffel bag, she started for the call box located on one of the stone pillars housing the gates. She punched a small black button beneath the speaker with her thumb. Several moments passed before someone answered.

  "May I help you?” a scratchy male voice broadcasted from the box.

  "Laura Flannery. I have a reservation."

  Silence followed. Wondering if perhaps he hadn't heard her, she reached for the button once again. The sound of a latch sliding free drew her attention. Amid a lot of groaning and complain
ing, the wrought iron gates slowly swung outward, granting her access to the narrow, stone-paved road leading up to the mansion's front door.

  A long walkway interrupted only by a small bridge bordered by waist-high brick walls on either side allowed safe passage over the winding creek traversing the front lawn. Laura visually followed the waterway to where it disappeared around the left corner of the house. It likely led to the river, which wasn't far away.

  Dense forestry surrounded the estate on all sides, sheltering it from the rest of the outside world. Once the cab had turned off the main highway and started along the dirt road, she hadn't spotted any other houses. Several miles separated the mansion and all its inhabitants from anyone else. The realization disturbed her.

  As she crossed over the bridge, Laura spotted a bronzed plaque embedded within one of the brick walls. She stopped to read it. Greenwood Manor, 1840. Nearly one hundred and seventy years had passed since the mansion's completion.

  Laura whistled with astonishment as her gaze swept across the front of the manor from one corner to the other. She wondered if it had looked like this when first built or if remodeling had brought it to its current state of splendor. Who had been the original owner? Did descendants of the family still live here? A plethora of questions assailed her, but she only had two days to discover the answers.

  She eagerly approached the house, taking in all visible details of the structure. It consisted of two stories, each with evenly spaced rows of forest green, shuttered windows. Both levels had a central doorway—topped with a narrow fanlight and segmental arch—that opened onto an elegant, wrap-around-porch lined with a row of repeating balusters.

  With its massive Greek columns and thick banister, the heavy balustrade exerted a heady invitation for any weary traveler in need of welcome. To top off this impressive mansion, was a cross-gabled roof with four dormer windows, along with its inspiring, dome-shaped belvedere.

  Twin Garconierre forged of heavy steel proudly perched on high pedestals, one on either side of the walkway. Their finely shaped arms and smiling faces pointed toward the arched entry, beckoning Laura to go inside. Unable to resist, she eagerly stepped onto the porch.

  The tall ceiling stood nearly five feet above her head, its lengthy white expanse smooth and clean, as if just recently painted. Long cast-iron chandeliers dangled from thick chains like large teardrops, their hard, black metal forms a stark contrast against the snow colored backdrop.

  Hardened wax poured over the edge of each sconce, frozen in cascading waves. Laura's gaze dropped to the floor. Drippings marred the hardwood beneath each chandelier.

  She thought it odd the ancient fixtures weren't converted to electric. In this day and age, candles were scarcely used for anything other than mood stabilizers and aromatherapy. They just weren't practical as a source of light.

  Shrugging with indifference, she shifted her assessment to the wood benches perched beneath each window. Perhaps the owners were trying to maintain some of the mansion's original décor. It would be rather romantic to sit out here beneath a moonlit sky with only the glow of flickering candles and the sounds of wildlife breaching the darkness.

  As if seconding her thoughts, a gentle breeze kissed the back of her neck. Laura shuddered and turned her gaze to the alley of great oaks lining the lawn along the left side of the property. The perfectly formed and heroically erect trees stood, arm-in-arm, like giant leafy sentinels, offering acceptance to any who dared step into their welcoming embrace.

  In daylight, the trees seemed friendly, trustworthy. But at night, as misty fog swirled around their broad bases, would their frames take on those of gnarled old men, no longer full of life, but rather dead and ghostly? A tight knot formed in her chest, squeezing all air from her lungs. Laura decided she didn't want to know.

  She hurried across the porch, eager to get inside. Just as she reached for the pendulous loop of the brass knocker, the door swung inward. Her breath seemed to have solidified in her throat as a solid lump. Laura swallowed hard, then forced a smile at the elderly man standing just inside the threshold.

  "Welcome, Mrs. Flannery. I'm William, Greenwood Manor's butler."

  Laura recognized his voice as the one from the speaker box. It seemed to fit him well. His appearance matched her expectations perfectly, no less and no more.

  She pondered the elderly man in silence. From the top of his silvery hair to the tips of his polished black shoes, he stood near a half-foot shorter than she. Of course, his posture bent at the waist, likely reducing his otherwise small stance by an additional several inches.

  After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, William cleared his throat. “Please come in, Mrs. Flannery.” He offered a subtle bow and sweep of his hand.

  Realizing how rude she must seem, Laura hastened through the doorway, then thrust out her palm. “It's nice to meet you. And it's Ms. Flan—"

  "Shall I show you to your room?” he cut in, disregarding her outstretched arm and stepping widely to the side as though trying to avoid any contact between them.

  Had Laura not been taken aback by the manor's décor, William's behavior would have struck her as odd. But as she took in the breathtaking splendor of the foyer and adjoining parlor rooms, she temporarily forgot the frail man and his discourteous conduct.

  A sixteen arm, brass and crystal chandelier lighted with long, ivory tapers hung from a ceiling painted with blue skies, billowing clouds, and childlike cherubs. A freestanding, three-story helix staircase curled along the corresponding curvature of the adjacent wall in the far left-hand corner. And beyond that, a striking Palladian window providing a picturesque view of a fountain courtyard graced the back wall.

  Once past the foyer, several doublewide entryways offered access to varying parlors on either side of the house. Framed by a decorative cornice and elaborate frieze, each window and door seemed to be a separate work of art in itself. Other intricate features such as crown moldings, ornate pilasters, and ceiling medallions only added to the mansion's quality craftsmanship.

  With so much detail to absorb, Laura felt as though she'd just entered a museum. “This is ... beautiful,” she exclaimed, stepping around the old man on her way to the first door on the right.

  "The gentlemen's parlor,” William hurriedly explained, blocking her path. “The ladies’ parlor is across the way.” He indicated the appointed room with a swish of his palm. “It co-joins with the dining room."

  Undaunted by William's attempt to redirect her attentions; Laura stuck her head through the doorway. A large, cherry-wood fireplace with a deep mantle seemed to be the main focus. Two burgundy leather sofas, along with four armchairs, and a couple of marble-topped coffee tables outlined the borders of an antique rug. From the rich hardwood floors and Napoleon accents, to the overbearing windows draped in long panels of pine green velour, truly it was an area geared for the male genre.

  Her curiosity tweaked, Laura couldn't help but wonder what the ladies’ parlor looked like. Disregarding the sour-faced butler who trudged along beside her, she hurried over to the other doorway.

  Stopping at the threshold, she quickly scanned the parlor from top to bottom. Decorated with various shades of mauve and gold, the room exuded a feminine air equivalent to the masculine tone of the other. From its dainty Victorian furniture to the marvelous bouquets of faux floral arrangements, it looked strangely ... familiar.

  The sensation of déjà vu washed over her, almost as if she'd been in the room before. Like a long-forgotten memory that suddenly emerges, she found herself scrutinizing the parlor once again, this time checking to make sure things were as she'd left them.

  Laura felt the color drain from her face. How would she know where things should be? She'd never stepped foot in Greenwood Manor before today. In fact, she'd never been to New Orleans either.

  Nauseous, she backed out of the doorway. Perhaps she needed to lie down. Jet lag.

  "Are you all right, Mrs. Flannery? Shall I call for the housekeeper?"


  His words sounded distant, as though spoken from far away. Laura stared down at him, trying to focus on his concerned expression. She wanted to remind him that her title was Ms., not Mrs., but everything grew fuzzy, her surroundings surreal.

  She swayed to the side, a small whimper escaping her lips as she melted to the floor. The last things she saw hovering above her were William's matured features, as well as an equally aged woman, and a stunning gentleman with auburn hair and coppery eyes.

  CHAPTER 5

  "Laura ... It's been so long. You've finally come back to me."

  Laura awoke with a start. Momentarily confused, she stared up through a bleary gaze at the ivory satin panel hovering above her head. She blinked a few times, struggling with coherence. But as her vision finally grew clear, her bewilderment changed to awe.

  Having always had a keen appreciation for antiques and history, she'd studied furnishings from every era. And right now, she was lying on her back in the middle of a gorgeous, Victorian, half-tester bed, obviously hand carved from the finest mahogany.

  Oh, God. It's beautiful.

  Both the arched canopy top and headboard were decorated with fabulous open crests featuring a cluster of grapes in the middle. Two carved finials topped each side of the canopy, while huge, octagonal tapered columns held up the tester top along with two fancy, open-carved supports. Laura glanced down at the footboard; a lovely collection of fruit etchings decorated the center.

  Cream-colored drapes imprinted with exquisite floral designs in lush burgundy and rich wines, hung down from the sides of the canopy and disappeared beyond the edges of the bed. It was truly a majestic piece of furniture, likely valued at several thousands of dollars. Certainly much more than she'd ever be able to afford.

  "Thirty-five thousand, to be exact. But worth every penny, if it suits your taste."

  Laura screamed and bolted upright. Heart racing, blood pounding, she frantically searched the large bedchamber for a source to the sensual male voice, her darting gaze instantly taking in the rest of her stately surroundings. Her unease only grew when she found herself very much alone.