Cyndi poured out her tale. She started fourteen years ago from the day she left Jamesville and skated over her years away from town. The bulk of the narrative began a few weeks ago when she'd gotten news of her father's death and ended with her visit to Harris and Hammond yesterday. It shocked her that so little time had passed. She felt as if she'd been through so much in such a short amount of time.
Alicia said nothing while Cyndi laid it all out for her. Her eyes widened and she nodded once or twice, but that was it. When she finished speaking, Cyndi sat back, totally drained.
"I remember you.” Alicia rested her elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled her fingers together. “A lot of people envied you, but not me. You never looked happy, not really."
Cyndi gave a bitter laugh. “You're a very perceptive woman."
Alicia inclined her head. “You should know that I thought your father was a mean son of a bitch."
Cyndi rubbed her moist palms over the legs of her pants. Her stomach roiled just thinking about her father. “I thought so, too."
The other woman continued to study her and it took everything in her not to squirm. She had nothing to hide. Besides, she couldn't hold anything back, not if she wanted this woman to help her.
"You want to move your entire file from Harris and Hammond, arguably one of the best law firms in the entire state?"
Cyndi nodded.
"Why?"
Cyndi took a deep breath and blurted out the truth. “Because those men are too much like my father, and they treated me the same way he used to.” The condescension and the barely veiled ridicule had sent her reeling back into the past yesterday. She'd fought too hard to make a life for herself, and she was damned if she'd let a man like Elijah Harris have a say in it.
A slow smile formed on Alicia's lips. “They are, aren't they? They'll kick up a fuss, you know.” Cyndi didn't think that the other woman looked worried by it; rather she seemed excited about the prospect.
"They will,” she agreed.
Alicia rose gracefully from her seat. Cyndi stood more slowly, digging her fingers into the leather fabric of her purse.
"Well then, we certainly have a lot of work to do, don't we?"
The knot in her belly finally dissolved and Cyndi smiled. “You'll take me on as a client?” She wanted to be absolutely sure. “Even though you know who I am?"
Alicia looked every inch the successful lawyer as she studied Cyndi. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character. Whatever you were, whoever you are, you're nothing like your father."
Cyndi swallowed hard, shaken to her core. This was the second person in town that seemed to accept her for who she was now. Maybe she'd have a chance to set the past to rights. The first step toward that end was to get all her legal affairs shifted to this office. There were tons of business details that needed scrutinizing before Cyndi decided what she was going to do with the bulk of her father's money and assets.
"Thank you."
Alicia grinned. “No, thank you.” She rubbed her hands together. “I'm looking forward to being the thorn in the side of Harris and Hammond. Did you know that they wouldn't take me into their firm on a work term when I was starting out? Seems they only like to have men working in their office, at least as lawyers. They have no problem with a woman being a receptionist."
Cyndi followed Alicia to her desk and took a seat on the opposite side, confident she'd made the right decision. If anyone could get through the legal wrangling of Harris and Hammond, it was this woman. “They'll fight you."
Alicia peeled off her jacket and drew out a legal pad and a pen. “I'm looking forward to it."
She needed to ask one more time. “You're sure you want to do this?” She opened her satchel and dug out a large file containing all the information she had on her father's holdings.
"Absolutely. Besides—” she grinned mischievously, “—it's not all altruistic. I'm getting paid for my services."
Cyndi laughed again. She really liked Alicia Flint and was beginning to be able to read her well. Alicia was enjoying the challenge of taking on Harris and Hammond more than she was looking forward to the money, but she wasn't denying that the money was an added bonus.
There was a lot of honesty in that. The kind of honesty Cyndi was looking for in a lawyer. “Where do we start?"
Chapter Six
Buoyed by her success with her new lawyer and her subsequent foray to the grocery store, Cyndi was feeling very positive about things. It had been late afternoon before she'd finished going over all the details with Alicia. They'd ordered in lunch and worked right through. The more time Cyndi spent with her new lawyer, the more she was sure she'd made the right decision. She'd been feeling so good after they'd finished, she'd stopped at Greer's Grocery and picked up the essentials.
Now, it was finally time to face her father's study. Standing outside the door to the study, she took a deep breath, pushed up her shirtsleeves, and turned the handle. It opened smoothly. No squeaky hinges in this house. The room beyond was shrouded in darkness. Cyndi reached her hand in around the doorframe and flicked on the light switch.
The chandelier in the center of the room brightened it considerably, but it couldn't quite drive back all the shadows or the memories. Cyndi took a step inside. The room hadn't changed in fourteen years.
Oak bookcases filled two walls of the room. They were stuffed with law books and books on business, as well as with leather-bound classics that were meant to impress. She'd never seen her father read any of the books except the law ones. He had a law degree even if he'd never used it, preferring instead to go into banking and business.
Two dark, leather sofas and several chairs clustered in a seating area in front of the towering bookcases. A liquor cart sat nearby, and she knew that the decanters would be filled with the best bourbon and whisky that money could buy. Heavy, crystal glasses sat beside the bottles.
An area rug in dark greens and burgundy sat in the center of the room in front of the imposing desk that dominated the room. This is where Cyrus James had sat and passed judgment on her and the rest of the world. Like some third-world dictator, he'd ruled with an iron fist and woe to the person who tried to thwart him in any way.
Cyndi realized she was shaking, her entire body trembling. A bead of sweat trickled down her back, making her shiver in dread. “The man is dead,” she assured herself. “He can't hurt you, or anyone else, ever again."
It was hard to believe the monster who stalked her dreams was truly dead. In the end, he'd proved he was truly just flesh and blood like the rest of them. How it must have galled him that he couldn't take his money and power with him.
Shaking off her melancholy memories, she took a deep breath and then another. When she felt steady again, she forced herself to walk into the room. Floor-to-ceiling drapes shut out the light, not that there was much this time of day. It was fall and the evenings were closing in quickly. She'd meant to tackle this room in the daytime, but time had slipped away. She promised herself she'd just give the place a quick look. Still, Cyndi strode to the first window and yanked back the drapes. She went from window to window until all four were unveiled.
Maybe she should have waited until morning.
No. She had to start going through his things tomorrow, deciding what to do with everything. Then there were the contents of the house itself. She had to start making a list of what she was keeping and what she was going to get rid of. If she'd already gotten over her jitters, she'd be able to work more efficiently.
The darkness outside seemed to add to the gloom inside the room. Rubbing her arms against the chill, she walked to the desk and turned on the heavy, brass lamp that sat off to one side. It illuminated the center of the desk, spotlighting the papers on top.
It looked as if it was just waiting for him to return.
The wind gusted outside and something brushed against the window. Cyndi jumped, her hand plastered to her chest as she whirled around. She almost expected to see her father standing there,
except she didn't believe in ghosts, not really. Memories definitely, but not spirits.
Maybe opening the drapes had been a mistake. She heard the sound again. It was just a branch from one of the many trees and shrubs surrounding the place, hitting the window. Nothing to be concerned about.
She crept behind her father's desk and pulled out his chair. Ever so slowly, she lowered herself down on it. She swallowed hard as she stared out over the room. This is what her father had seen when he'd sat in judgment of her so many times.
She flattened her hands on top of the desk and pushed the files that sat there to one side. This was her desk now. She could use it or sell it. Staring around the room, she gazed at the depressing artwork on the wall. Three rather large canvases peered down at her from their lofty perches. The heavy colors and subject matter reflected her father's taste, not hers.
The house creaked and groaned as the wind gusted again, sending shivers racing down her spine. This house was big and spooky with no one else around, like something out of a horror movie.
"Great,” she scolded herself. “Scare yourself even more, why don't you."
Cyndi tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, ignoring the fact her heart was pounding. “Fake it ‘til you make it,” she muttered. If she acted calm, eventually her body would follow suit. There was no one in the house but her, but it was an old house that complained when the wind blew.
Ignoring the few things on top of the desk, Cyndi began to open all the desk drawers one at a time. She rifled through papers and files, getting a general idea of what was here. There was a four-drawer, wooden file cabinet behind the desk and she knew that it was filled with business papers that would have to be gone through one at a time. All her father's business dealings and secrets were in this room.
Secrets.
Her head jerked up as she peered at the canvas directly across from her. It was a biblical scene of hell and damnation, one that had terrified her as a child. Bracing her hands on the chair arms, she levered herself up. As if an invisible cord was pulling her forward, she advanced toward the painting.
She'd seen her father move the painting only once. She'd been about seven years old at the time and wasn't supposed to be in this room. When she heard her father approaching, she hid behind a chair, shaking in terror that he'd find her. She risked a glance from around the corner of the chair and had seen her father take the painting from the wall and put it aside. Then he seemed to open the wall itself. The child hadn't understood, but the woman in her knew there was a wall safe there. She'd all but blocked the memory from her consciousness until now.
Gripping the edges of the heavy canvas, she lifted it off its hook and lowered it to the floor. Sure enough, she could see the faint outline of an opening. She smoothed her fingers over the edges until she found a slight indentation. Hooking her finger beneath it, she tugged. It opened to reveal a metal plate with a dial.
She didn't have the combination.
Cyndi thought for a moment and tried her father's birth date. Reaching out, she grasped the small handle and pushed. Nothing. She really hadn't expected it to be that easy. Perhaps he'd used numbers from one of his bank accounts. She'd check those tomorrow.
On a lark, she tried her own birth date, but that didn't work either. What would her father have used as a combination? Something he could remember without having to write it down, obviously. Her father wouldn't have trusted the staff not to snoop.
Maybe her grandparents’ birth dates, or possibly a combination of them. She had plenty of time to try to figure it out. If all else failed, she'd call in a locksmith and get them to open it for her. There was a discreet, metal tag on the base at the front that gave the company's name.
She placed her hand on the cool metal, wondering what secrets her father had hidden inside. Knowing him, they couldn't be good. Hopefully, there was nothing more than a few pieces of her mother's jewelry.
Her mother.
Taking a chance, she turned the dial again. This time she used her mother's birth date. Anticipation filled her as she gripped the handle and tugged. Disappointment filled her when it still didn't budge. She'd been so sure that she'd be right.
By all accounts, her father had loved her mother to distraction. But Jennifer James had died when Cyndi was just four. She barely remembered her mother. She was more of a shadowy memory—a beautiful, smiling woman who always smelled of rose perfume. Her father had never looked at another woman after her mother's death. He'd had a mistress instead—money. And she was a demanding bitch.
Her mother's death.
Surely he wouldn't have. But Cyndi was even more sure than before. This time when she turned the dial, she put in the date of her mother's death. The tumblers of the lock clicked and when she turned the handle, it gave easily.
Cyndi held her breath, the creaks and groans of the house receding into the background as she pulled the small, metal door open and peered inside. There were quite a few velvet cases, some papers, and some leather-bound journals. It was obviously going to take some time for her to go through all of this.
Unable to resist, she reached in, her fingers wrapping around a blue velvet case. She pulled it out and rubbed her hand over the soft fabric. Whatever was inside had belonged to her mother. With shaking hands, she pried the lid open. A necklace unlike anything she'd ever seen rested inside on a bed of pale blue velvet. A large sapphire drop was the pendant and the necklace itself was a series of smaller sapphires interspersed with gleaming white diamonds. Cyndi was no expert, but this necklace was worth an awful lot of money.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she reached out and placed her fingers against the large gemstone. This stone had touched her mother's skin. Had her mother worn it to some fancy party? Probably. Her father would have wanted to show off the fact he could give such trinkets to his wife.
A tear trickled down her cheek and she turned her head into her shoulder, swiping it away. Her mother had been dead for decades, but somehow it felt fresh. Cyndi had never really known a mother's caring, not until she'd run from Jamesville fourteen years ago and ended up in the loving arms of her mother's sister, Verna. It was from Verna that she'd learned about her mother. Her father had never talked about her, never mentioned her name.
Closing the case, she placed it carefully back in the safe. Now that she knew she could open it, she'd deal with everything in there tomorrow. She'd had enough for tonight. Still, she was proud of herself. It was the first step in facing the demons of her past.
She slammed the safe door shut and spun the dial. When she tugged on the handle, it no longer opened. Satisfied, she picked up the painting and hung it back on the wall. “You're definitely going,” she told the canvas.
A branch outside hit the window again, startling her. She'd really had enough of this room for one night. It was making her jumpy. Ignoring the noises, she strode back to the desk.
She'd have to catalogue each piece in the house that she didn't want, which would be most of it, and call a reputable dealer. There would be antique furniture, artwork, books, dishes, and heaven only knows what else. She knew there was a large attic upstairs filled with stuff that would need to be gone through. But if she ever wanted this house to feel like hers, it had to be done.
Cyndi reached out to turn off the desk lamp. What she needed right now was a hot cup of chamomile tea and a piece of the good, dark chocolate she'd brought with her. She'd make a small tray and take it upstairs with her and indulge in a hot, bubble bath as well. Maybe she'd even start the new Lauren Dane book she'd purchased especially for the trip.
The crash came the second her hand touched the lamp. Cyndi screamed, whirling around to face the window. The second crash was even louder. Shards of glass blew inward with great force.
Cyndi spun away, covering her face and dropping to the floor. Several more crashes followed. The silence that followed was even more frightening.
Her heart pounding like a runaway train, Cyndi stared toward the windows. All four of
them were shattered. The drapes billowed inward as the wind blew through the gaping holes. Glass tinkled as it continued to fall away from the windowpanes.
Shocked, all she could do was stare at the destruction. Then common sense kicked in. Someone was out there. Someone had broken out all her windows. At this point, she wasn't sure how they'd done it, but they'd obviously known she was in here. Alone.
Reaching her hand over her head, she groped for the phone that sat on the corner of the desk and dragged it onto her lap. She lifted the receiver. The line was dead.
Her cell phone was in her purse in the kitchen.
She'd have to make a run for it. Taking a deep breath, she jumped up, flicked off the lamp, and raced to the door. Her hand brushed over the main light switch, plummeting the room into darkness. She heard a popping sound as the door slammed behind her.
Not pausing, she raced down the hallway, skidding on the floor as she entered the kitchen. Keeping her head low, she grabbed her purse off the counter and kept going, heading for the pantry. Her hand slipped on the doorknob, but then it was open and she threw herself inside, crouching on the floor.
There were no windows in this room, so she flicked on the light. She was appalled to see blood on her hand, but ignored it as she upended her purse onto the floor. Grabbing her phone, she hesitated. She knew she should dial 911. They would send someone from the sheriff's office. But she didn't have any friends in this town. Given the fact Patrick O'Rourke was now the sheriff, would an officer be dispatched right away or would they make her wait? She hated that she had doubts.
Shamus popped into her head. He'd help her. Her fingers flew to the card he'd tucked into her pocket earlier today. She hadn't remembered to take it out. She dropped it twice before finally leaving it on the floor. It took her several tries before she could dial the number without making a mistake.
It rang once, twice, and was answered on the third ring. “Hello.” The sound of his voice sank into her bones. He would help her. She could hear the television in the background. “Hello?” he said again. She hadn't realized that she hadn't spoken. “Who is this?"
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