Four hours and two pots of coffee later the house has cleared out except for Gavin. He’d called a sketch artist to come over and draw the man Vincent saw at the house. How Gavin got her out in the middle of the night is beyond me, but, like Roy, he has contacts.
I haven’t slept, and I need to be at Mangler in another hour. I’m wired from coffee and sugar and watching the unfolding public relations disaster of Jason on social media. Since the story hit a few hours ago, a couple of other women have come forward. Gavin assures me there will be more, most with legitimate stories and others, like vultures, seeking a few moments of the limelight.
Vincent left a half hour ago. His description helped the artist do a rendering of the tattooed man.
“Let me know when you’re ready.”
Since I’ve had no sleep, he’s insisted on driving me to work. “Do you think he’s still around? The tattooed man. How did he escape?”
“We’ll find him.”
“Was she…” I can’t bring myself to ask.
Gavin’s eyes are hard. “Aye, they toyed with the poor girl.”
“Did you know about her…before?” I didn’t want to ask in front of Vincent. Didn’t want to think it possible that they’d let Jason hurt a young woman to entrap him.
“After the raid. That’s when we found her.”
I snap the band on my wrist, hard. Jason will probably get off. And who knows where the other guy is. “They should suffer.”
There’s controlled fury in his eyes. “I promise ye, Roy and I will see to it.” He nods toward the front door and goes out to wait on the porch.
I was raised to forgive, but Jason’s a pestilence and eradication is the only cure. And now I understand why Roy insisted on having someone watch over me. He’s known men like Jason before and knew what he was capable of. I let out a long sigh, thinking of Roy. The loss of him has hit me acutely. Each day I hope to hear from him, and each night I don’t, I pray he’s safe.
“Girl.” Gavin taps on the front-room window. “Are ye ready?”
I shake myself out of my thoughts, grab my purse, and make sure the back door is locked. I meet him on the porch.
“Ye should be staying home today and getting some rest.”
I should, but I’m not.
Gavin holds the car door open for me and goes around to slide behind the wheel.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” I ask.
“I was in the military. Sleep was a luxury.”
Unfortunately, a good eight hours’ sleep is a necessity for me. My head is buzzing like a swarm of angry bees is trapped inside. If I drink another cup of coffee, I might jump out of my skin. Perhaps I can kick off early or skip a few deliveries and take a nap.
Maybe Gavin’s tired, too, because he misses the turn toward Middleburg. “I need to drive by the house and see how the fence is coming along.”
“You mean the prison enclosure.” I sure hope the landscaping camouflages it. “You know, Mr. Stanwyck will cause trouble for Roy.”
He lets out an uncharitable snort. “That’s a given.” He slows the car to take in the fence-line along the road. “If we’re lucky, this will cause a stroke.”
It might. The black iron fencing looks foreign where five-board fencing is the norm. “You should have put those spiky things on top of each post. The intruders would impale themselves, and you could leave them there as a warning to future trespassers.”
“Aye.” He smiles. “And a moat.”
Gavin is definitely growing on me. “I’ll talk some reason into Roy about the hunt. I don’t like Mr. Stanwyck, but he could make it hard for Roy to fit in.”
He cuts me an exasperated look. “Roy’s not seeking to fit in anywhere. You think he gives a fig about the locals?”
“I’m a local. Isn’t he going to live here?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I don’t think he realizes what a small place Middleburg is.”
“I’ve told the boy. Does he listen to me?”
I almost laugh when he calls Roy a boy. It’s like calling Godzilla a tiny lizard. “You don’t like it here?”
“You want the truth?”
When someone asks that question, it means they’re going to tell you something you won’t like. “Of course.”
“He’s idealized this place into something it’s not.”
“Or he likes it here.”
“Or that.” He pulls into an empty space in front of Mangler. “I’ll be waiting for ye at four o’clock.”
“Yes, sir.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and give him a smile before exiting. I’m turning to close the door when I almost bump into Stella.
“Go on,” she tells me. “Mae’s got everything organized for you.”
To my surprise, Gavin gets out of the vehicle and meets her on the sidewalk. “Mrs. Aldridge, what can I do for ye?”
She’s in her seventies, but when she squares her shoulders and gets a determined look in her eyes, you had better be careful. Having seen this look on numerous occasions, I do as I’m told and go inside to stand behind the counter with Mae.
“What’s going on?”
Mae laughs. “Oh, she’s thanking him for putting old man Stanwyck in his place.”
Was it the farm manager, the housekeeper, or one of the workmen in the house who gave my aunts a call?
“He hates me.”
“No.” Mae pats my hand. “Mr. Stanwyck hates himself.”
“He said I was cursed.”
Stella stands in the doorway. “Who says you’re cursed?”
“Mr. Stanwyck,” Mae answers.
“Oh.” Stella’s brow softens, and she sighs before going to the coffee machine. “The man’s soul is tortured; best steer clear of him.”
Like I wasn’t? “He came over to Roy’s home.”
Mae goes back to folding some hand-embroidered placemats. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” It’s like he’s been gone months instead of days. “What’s on the schedule?” Friday and Monday are always the busiest.
Stella pours a generous tablespoon of Bailey’s cream into her coffee. “Did you hear about Jason King?”
“He was arrested, or something?”
Stella sips her coffee. “Was Vincent there?”
Of course, they would make the connection. Vincent’s been talking about Jason’s party nonstop since he got invited. “Yeah, he was, but he left before anything happened.”
“Good boy. Hate for him to get mixed up with this.” Stella’s not satisfied with the Bailey’s-to-coffee ratio and pours a bit more into her cup. “Bernie says Connie told him she wasn’t one bit surprised. Jason was in the bathroom with Jennie—you know, the high schooler bussing tables—up to some funny business.”
“He’ll get off with a hand-slap.” Mae sorts invoices on the big counter. “White boy, movie star, ain’t nothing going to happen to him.”
Exactly what I’m afraid of.
Mae continues, “We’ve got a big delivery for Stoke Castle.”
I groan. The place gives me the creeps. Come to think of it, the man who owns it has the same security fencing as Roy. Maybe they’re kindred spirits. “What is it this time?” His orders are never ordinary.
“Capes.” Mae goes to the back and comes out with an armload of plastic bags. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
I pull one off the stack.
“They’re made of vicuna with the most exquisite velvet lining.” Stella sips her laced coffee. “Every stitch was sewn by hand.”
The last order was ten corsets. Both Stella and Mae were convinced they were museum pieces. The one before that had been an antique wedding dress needing stitchwork. “It’s weird... he never comes into town. Do you think his castle is haunted?” I ask.
“I believe there’s more to this world than meets the eye.” Mae grabs a couple empty boxes and, inside them, places the capes wrapped in plastic. “I met him once, Mr. Barnes, he was…polite…I think. It’s the strangest thing, but I know
I met him and yet I remember so little about it.”
Mr. Barnes is the owner, whom I haven’t met and hope not to. Strange things happen around Stoke Castle. People swear they’ve seen wolves up there, which isn’t possible because they’ve long since been killed off. Old man Flueret tells of ancient rituals and sacrifices happening on the mountain. But he has a bit of a drinking problem, so no one pays him much mind. I do know I’m uncomfortable whenever I have a delivery. Usually, they take it for me at the guardhouse. The guards are extremely polite and always friendly, but I still have no desire to drive up the long lane to the massive castle. Fingers crossed it will be the same arrangement today. “Where else?”
“Two in Upperville.” Mae grabs a box, and I follow her out to the van. “It’s a slow day.”
She hovers as I settle inside the van. “Is everything alright?” I ask her.
“Did…” She uses her finger to loosen a braid at her temple. “Did Mr. Stanwyck say anything else?”
“Other than I was cursed?” For the first time, it dawns on me I’m not the only one with secrets. Stupid not to have thought of it before, but I guess when it’s one’s parents, we take everything at face value. “No, nothing new. Just every time he sees me it’s like he’s finding out anew that Charlie’s dead.”
Mae pats my hand. “He was too hard on that boy.”
I want to laugh but don’t. From my perspective, Charlie was the poster child for rich and spoiled.
“He saw his own flaws in Charles, and hated himself and his boy for it.”
Right now, I don’t have the emotional reserve to care. “Well, it was an accident. Hating me isn’t going to bring him back.”
She grimaces at my tone. “Go on with you.” She closes the door and walks back inside.
As I drive down Route 50, it strikes me that my aunts have never said a bad word about Mr. Stanwyck. They seem to have an infinite amount of patience for him and his nastiness toward us.
Chapter Sixteen
The turnoff to the Paris Inn is in my rearview mirror as I climb up the Blue Ridge Mountains to Stoke Castle. Some people call this particular stretch Weather Mountain, as the government has various installations cut into the mountain. It houses an emergency hideaway for the president and essential members of the government. I’m sure it’s why people see strange things up here, with all the secret government buildings and agencies housed in them.
I have a persistent, nagging sensation I should remember something, or maybe it’s the guilt at not pressing charges against Jason. Or maybe all of it together melds in such a way to impress upon me a sense of being watched and probably judged and found woefully wanting.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement, but when I slow, thinking it could be an animal ready to dart out in the road, there is nothing. It’s like the forest up here casts shadows that move of their own accord, not dominated by anything but their own caprice.
I’m waved through when I pull up to the guard station. I entertain the idea of stopping and asking to drop the items here, but I don’t want Mr. Barnes to complain to my aunts. Aunt Mae says he was one of the first customers from way back when her father started the business in the nineteen-twenties. Back then there was segregation, and many of the big estates wouldn’t take their laundry to a black-owned business. But slowly, because the quality of Mangler service was superior, that changed.
Don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before, but wouldn’t Mr. Barnes be dead by now? Yes, ’cause they tell stories about how Daddy—that’s what my aunts call their father—dropped off linens at the castle and didn’t come home for two days, saying he had no idea what had happened, only he distinctly remembered meeting Mr. Barnes. And when pressed about Mr. Barnes, all he could recall was a gentleman of middle age.
I probably shouldn’t even be driving, the way my mind is wandering off from lack of sleep. The van struggles up the too-steep drive, and I have to downshift to make it to the top. How do they plow snow in the winter?
At the top, Stoke Castle looms over the mountain like a large bird of prey waiting to sink its talons into an unsuspecting victim. The structure was taken apart piece-by-piece, shipped from England, and resurrected here in the States. To me, it looks like a dinosaur displaced and relocated at the wrong time. I shiver, hating the way the windows watch me like they’re waiting for a show of weakness.
These random thoughts are how I almost roll into a mountain of a man standing in front of the van. I slam on the brakes and give my heart a moment to return to its regular rhythm. I assume he’s here for the delivery and rush to find the invoice so I can leave. He seems familiar, but with the baseball-style cap pulled low over his face and his shoulders hunched and me being anxious to go, I don’t give him more than a quick glance.
I roll down the window. “I’m here with the delivery from Mangler Laundry.”
Keeping his head lowered, the man walks around to the driver’s side while I reach across the bench seat to find the invoice that has managed to slide onto the floor of the passenger side. When he coughs, I call out, “A minute.”
He opens the door; I hear the door hinge squeak in protest.
“Hey!”
“Has it been so long you don’t recognize me?”
I almost tumble out of the van when I hear Roy’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” He lifts me up into his arms.
“But how did you—”
His lips are soft. His hands press me against him. Mind, body, and soul, I’m enveloped by him. When he slides me down his body to place my feet on the ground, I rest my head against his warm chest as my head swirls. “I’ve missed you.”
“A week away from you is an eternity.” He runs his hand around to the back of my neck, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
I tilt back my head to meet his green eyes and remember how I once thought they were cold and aloof but now only see the warmth of his heart. I can’t help but remember what Gavin told me about his childhood. How alone and afraid he must have felt.
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“I stopped by the shop.” He runs his hand over my arm, stops at the band around my wrist and lifts it to his lips, placing light kisses on the bruises. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” I press my nose against his chest, inhaling his scent.
“Tell me the truth.” He lifts my chin.
“You heard about the thing with Jason.”
“Come on; let’s get you out of here, and we can talk about it.”
I have no desire to speak of unpleasant things. I remain fixed as Roy tries to walk away with my hand still in his. “I have to make the delivery.”
“Nae, girl.” Gavin’s gruff tone is almost playful.
I whirl around to see him walking up behind us.
“I’ll make sure Merlin gets his capes and drive your old jalopy back to Mangler.”
“Merlin?” I turn my head to the side and catch a glimpse of someone watching us from a second-story window of the castle. Can this place get any stranger?
“Come on.” Roy laughs and pulls me along toward his black Rover.
How could I have missed his car? Because I’m creeped out by the castle.
“So you know Mr. Barnes?” I ask, buckling up as the Rover purrs to life and descends the steep lane. The guard tips his head to Roy as we drive by.
“I don’t think anyone truly knows the man.” Roy stops to check both ways before turning onto Blue Ridge Mountain Road. “But I have worked with him.”
“How old is he?” Knowing the answer he’ll give.
Roy gives me a quick glance. “Thirties, probably. Why?”
Does the man not age? Or—my rational mind joins in the conversation—he’s probably the son of the man my aunts’ father met.
“Is that why you were here five years ago?” His hand, resting on my thigh, tenses, and his smile fades into a clenched jaw. My chest tightens in fear, of what I don’t know. I hate ho
w he’s become aloof and place my hand on his, hoping my warmth will transmit into him. “How you fell in love with the area?”
“You’re cold.” He moves his hand away to increase the heat and doesn’t rest it back on my leg; instead, he grips the steering wheel.
I lean against the door like a trespasser. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not you.” He places his hand back on my thigh. “It’s something I should have told you the first day we went out for breakfast.”
My heart rate skyrockets, and I wrap my arms around me like armor.
I blurt out, “I don’t want to know.” I have the absurd desire to open the door and run and run until my legs can take me no farther and I have no energy left in my body to be apprehensive of what he should have told me.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
The hard place in my chest eases a bit. “A piece of toast.”
“Ah, Daisy, not nearly enough.”
There’s too much sadness in his voice, and I drop my head, unsure and afraid to see his expression.
“I have a plane waiting to take us to St. John. I won’t lie to you, what I have to tell you might change your mind about me.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
“Said like only an innocent can.”
“Look.” I turn in my seat to face him. “I might not be what you’re used to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my own mind.”
“We can talk now or talk on the island. It’s your choice.”
I wish he’d look at me instead of straight ahead, with a profile that looks chipped from stone.
“Do you really have a plane?”
“Fueled, staffed, and ready to take off.”
“If I have to hear bad news I want to do it someplace beautiful and far away.”
His hand covers my knee and squeezes. “Are you sure? You don’t even know what I’m going to tell you. We could go to your home or the Red Fox Inn; I still have a room there.”
“You know what he’s going to tell you, don’t you? You’ve always been a special kind of stupid.”
Charlie’s voice has a knack for kicking me when I’m down. “I don’t.” Shit, I said that out loud.
Secrets In Our Scars Page 24
