by Wendy Webb
“Well, old boy, it’s about time you introduced me to this ravishing bride of yours,” the man said, beaming at Addie.
“Darling, may I present my college roommate and current employer, Harrison Connor, and his lovely wife, Celeste,” Jess said with a flourish. “Harry, Celeste, my wife, Addie.”
“Your wife.” Addie smiled up at him. “I think I like the sound of that.”
“Get used to it, my dear,” Harry laughed. “It’s a title you’ll carry with you for a lifetime.”
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Addie said to him, taking his hand in hers. “I have heard so much about you from Jess.”
“Not too much, I trust.” Harry laughed and slapped his friend on the back. “Many of those stories are best left in the past, eh? We’re old married men now.”
“Addie, I’m looking forward to seeing you in Wharton.” Celeste smiled as she changed the subject. “My husband is building us a house there, and I understand you two will be taking up residence in that charming village as well.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Addie said, clasping Celeste’s hands. “I’ll be so glad to know someone in Wharton. The prospect of leaving home and moving to a new town where I know no one but my husband is a bit daunting.”
“We’ll do our best to make it exciting for you,” Harrison said, winking at her.
“Celeste, Addie’s never strayed too far from home,” Jess explained, pulling his wife in close to him with one arm. “I was talking with Harry about this earlier—might I prevail upon you to take Addie under your wing, so to speak, when we arrive in Wharton after our honeymoon? With my new position, I’ll have many social responsibilities, and my dear country wife needs to learn the ins and outs of throwing the perfect dinner party.”
“I’d be delighted,” Celeste said warmly, taking Addie by the arm and leading her away from the men. “They believe it’s so complicated, what we do. It’s only a matter of charm and grace, and you seem to have both of those things in spades. You’ll do just fine.”
Phil Stewart passed away in his bed, with his wife and the minister beside him, two weeks to the day after Jess and Addie were married. The young couple were just back from their honeymoon in Chicago when word reached them. Jess had taken his wife on a whirlwind shopping trip to the big city—the train ride alone had thrilled her. Shopping in the large department stores and walking along city streets seemed like a dream to this young woman who had never so much as stepped foot out of the tiny community of Great Bay. Addie marveled at Lake Michigan, so like the Great Lake where she had grown up and yet so very different. This was just a body of water like any other. Her lake back home was alive.
On the very hour of Phil Stewart’s death, boxes upon boxes had arrived on the front porch of Jess and Addie’s new home in Wharton. They were filled with dresses and linens and dishes and candlesticks purchased on their honeymoon trip—everything the young couple needed to set up their new life in style.
The father’s life ending, the son’s life beginning, at exactly the same hour. If Jess had been a man who thought deeply about things, the juxtaposition of these two events might have occurred as odd to him. But it did not. Indeed, he never knew exactly when his father’s life ended. He only knew that his was about to begin.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She was wrapped up in his arms, her lips on his neck, her legs around his waist. He told her he loved her, sweet and low, in her ear. Then the scene changed, and all Kate could see was rain outside her window. Violent thunder, lightning, shouting voices. And then all was still. Whiteness wrapped its tendrils around the house, around her. Where was the lake? Where were the houses across the street? Where was Jess? She felt a sharp pain in her belly and knew it was time. Fog will take your baby.
Startled awake, Kate found sunshine streaming through her windows and a massive dog draped across her chest.
“Morning, girl,” she said, scratching Alaska’s soft fur. Kate lay there awhile, trying to make sense of what had happened to her the night before. Her memories were hazy—had it really even happened?
She remembered her dreams—images and sounds flying by, one after the other. The woman with the violet eyes and her husband, locked in an embrace. The lake in a torrential rainstorm, enormous waves crashing into the shore. Shouts and accusations. Hissed threats. Fog.
She shook those thoughts out of her head and slid out from under the covers. After a quick shower, she pulled on her clothes and headed downstairs to find her cousin talking quietly on the phone in the library. The conversation stopped abruptly when she walked into the room.
“You’re up!” He smiled at her as he spoke into the phone, “She’s awake. I’ll call you later.” He hung up. “Let’s have breakfast!”
“Who was that?” Kate gave Simon a sidelong glance. “Were you talking about me?”
“It was Jonathan, if you must know,” Simon admitted. “And yes, of course we were talking about you. The Big Chill, as it were, has us both worried. How do you feel?”
“Okay,” she said. “None the worse for wear, really.” Kate wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered. “But that was weird last night. Wasn’t it? I mean, if it was some sort of bug that’s going around, it’s short lived. I feel fine now.”
Simon squinted at her. “Do you really? Because you look a little pale.”
“I feel okay. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
“Things seem a little out of control. First the dreams and now this.”
“I know,” he sighed. “Come on, let’s have some coffee. Everything seems out of control until you’ve had coffee.”
They settled into a table by the window that Simon had already set with a basket of croissants, a bowl of strawberries, blueberries, and melon, and a pot of French press coffee. Kate poured some into her cup, added cream, and took her first sip.
“Any dreams last night?” Simon asked.
She nodded. “I didn’t really understand them, though. They were just images, one after the other.”
“More scenes from the life of our mystery woman?”
She nodded, remembering. “I think I’ll head up to the third floor and go through some trunks today,” she said, tearing off a bit of her croissant and popping it into her mouth. “I like your idea about looking for a diary or datebook.”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s dusty up there and considering what happened last night—”
“I’m fine, Simon. Really.”
He scowled at her. “At least take the day off,” he said. “Relax. De-stress. Will you do that for me?”
Kate smiled. “I will. You worry too much, though.”
Kate took another sip of her coffee. “The thing is, I’m a little worried, too. I mean, last night might have been nothing more than a weird flu bug going around. But I’m not sure about that. It really felt linked to all of this.”
“I know,” Simon said.
“Dreaming about this woman is one thing, but last night was no dream,” Kate said. “I know this sounds crazy, Simon, but it felt like I was experiencing what she experienced in that cold, dark water.”
“And considering the fact that our fair lady ended up murdered . . .” Simon said, remembering Kate’s pre-nup.
“Exactly. I’m thinking the sooner I find out what’s behind it all—”
He finished her thought. “The sooner it will go away.”
“That’s my plan,” Kate said, tearing into her flaky croissant and taking a big swallow of coffee. “But I really think I should do something before I climb up to the third floor.”
He squinted at her. “What’s that?”
“I’ll let you know when I’ve done it,” Kate said, pushing her chair back from the table. “I’m going to make a phone call, and I don’t want you to talk me out of it.”
Before Simon could protest, she hurried out of the room and into the library and picked up the phone, fishing a business card
out of her pocket. She dialed.
“Stone.”
“Hi!” she said, her words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she had intended. “Detective Stone! This is Kate Granger.”
“Hello, Kate Granger,” he said. “Queenie missed Alaska on the lakeshore this morning.”
Kate smiled into the phone. “She’s out in the backyard. I haven’t walked her yet.”
“At this hour? That’s just lazy dog ownership, if you ask me,” he teased her.
“Oh, believe me, she’s already voiced her grievances.” Kate chuckled. “But I told her to give me a break. I had a rather rough night.”
“Oh?” he said, the chuckle evaporating from his words. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
Why had she blurted that out? She hadn’t intended anything of the kind. “No, no,” she said, backpedaling. “It’s really nothing. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“So, then, what can I do for you?”
Kate took a deep breath. “This is going to sound like an odd question, but I’ll just say it. Have you actually seen the body of our woman who washed up on the beach?”
“Why?”
“I’m just wondering. Humor me.”
“I have seen it, yes,” he said. “I told you the truth, now it’s your turn to do the same. Why do you ask?”
“How about meeting for lunch today? I have something to show you that I stumbled across, and . . . I’m not sure. I’m not sure at all. But it might be useful in this case, and I really think you should see it.”
Again, silence. He certainly wasn’t a man who talked too much, Kate thought.
“I can’t do lunch, but what about this afternoon?” he offered. “Say three o’clock?”
“Meet me at Harrison’s House?”
“I’ll see you there at three.”
And then he hung up, leaving Kate with just a dial tone, wondering if she had done the right thing.
She returned to Simon pouring her a fresh cup of coffee. “What was all that about?”
Kate sat down, hard. “I did something that might have not been the smartest of all things.”
Simon scowled. “Did you call Kevin?”
She shook her head. “I called that detective. Nick Stone.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “And why did we contact the delightful Mr. Stone?”
“I wanted to show him the photo we found,” she admitted. All at once, Kate’s reason for calling Nick Stone seemed rather silly.
Simon narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you really think that’s a smart thing to do? I mean, what’s he going to do with a photo taken more than one hundred years ago?”
“I don’t know,” Kate said. “But I know it’s her in the photo, and I felt I owed it to him to tell him.”
“But, why?” Simon wanted to know. “Kate, you don’t owe him anything. He’s investigating a murder in the here and now and thinks you might be a part of it.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t, not anymore. And don’t forget, he actually took me seriously when I told him about the dreams. I looked at mug shots for hours!”
“She does protest too much,” Simon said, raising his eyebrows. “So when and where are you seeing the good detective? I’d love to be a fly on the wall.”
“This afternoon,” she said. “And you don’t have to be a fly on the wall. You can be the fly in the ointment that you are because he’s coming here.”
Simon cackled. “And just like that, the day got a lot more interesting.”
Kate reached across the table and pinched his arm. “And I’m going to spend most of it going through trunks on the third floor,” she said. “After I walk Alaska.”
“That dog didn’t leave your side last night, I’ll have you know,” Simon told her. “She was on the bed watching you every time I checked on you. Which was often. I’d poke my head into your room, and she’d stare at me with this look on her face like I’ve got this.”
Kate smiled and pushed her chair away from the table, feeling lucky to have two pairs of such watchful eyes on her.
An hour later, after a good walk in the chilly air, Kate was sitting on the floor of the ballroom in front of an open trunk, sifting through its contents with Alaska by her side.
“You’re really determined to do this, aren’t you, my dear?”
Kate didn’t hear the words of Harrison Connor, nor did she see him sitting next to her as she went through the trunks that contained many more mysteries and secrets about life at Harrison’s House than Kate could possibly decipher.
She moved from one trunk to another, sifting through memories and mementos.
He rose to his feet and walked to the wall of windows, scratching Alaska behind the ears as he passed. “Such disrepair,” he sighed, running one finger down the dusty shutters. “I’m so glad you and Simon are tending to it.”
Kate didn’t hear these things, but her bodyguard did. Alaska’s ears had been on high alert, and now she was staring at the windows with great interest. Not suspicion, just interest. As though she knew the ghost of Harrison Connor meant no harm.
“If you must know, darling, the datebooks are in this one,” Harrison said, moving to a trunk in the corner and tapping its lid. It sprung open, the lid hitting the wall behind it with a thud.
Kate looked up with a start. She glanced from the trunk to Alaska and then back again.
“That’s weird,” she said, under her breath.
Kate pushed herself to her feet and crossed the room, toward the trunk.
“They’re on the bottom, under the linens,” Harrison said, into her ear. “Dig a little.”
As though it was her idea, Kate began to pull the old, delicate tablecloths from the trunk, noticing how the lace had yellowed with age. She put each of them on the floor, one after the other, carefully smoothing any wrinkles. When she had come to the last of them, she peered down into the trunk. What she saw sent a shiver up her spine. A stack of small leather books. She drew one of them from the trunk and turned it over to look at its cover.
It read “Engagements.”
This was it! A datebook! She had actually found one! She looked back into the trunk—she had found many, actually.
Kate opened the book’s cover to the first page—“Engagements, 1904.” So they were sorted by year. A quick scan of the pages told her it was a listing of dinner parties, galas, and other events hosted at Harrison’s House—who attended, the menu, and the occasion.
She was just about to grab the entire stack when Alaska began growling, deep and low in her throat.
“Oh, good Christ,” Harrison murmured. “Not this again.”
“I want her out of this house,” a woman said.
“That’s not really up to you,” Harrison said, louder this time. “You get out. This house is mine.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Kate wheeled around—she knew that Alaska’s breed rarely, if ever, growled. She saw that her dog was staring into the corner of the room, head lowered, eyes fixed, teeth bared. Kate’s mouth fell open. She had never seen the gentle Alaska bare her teeth at anyone. Or anything.
“What is it, girl?” she whispered. “What do you see?”
A coldness washed over her, as though the temperature in the room had dropped drastically. It didn’t feel like what had happened the night before—she wasn’t cold in her core. It was the room itself that had suddenly gone into the deep freeze.
Now Alaska was looking in her direction, staring with those yellow eyes, not exactly at Kate, but just beyond her.
Kate turned her head, following Alaska’s stare, and saw a dark figure, its shape shifting and moving, not distinct like a shadow, but as though it was roiling and undulating inside, like a cloudy sky just before a hailstorm.
Kate wanted to run, to tear down the stairs like she had done as a child, but she couldn’t move.
And then, hands were touching her throat, scratching at her neck, constricting, choking. Kate tried to cry out but could not
find her voice. She tried to grasp the hands around her neck but it was like grasping thin air.
“Get off me!” Kate shouted, with as much breath as she could muster, attempting to push away whatever it was that had set upon her.
And then Alaska leaped on her, knocking Kate onto her back and barking savagely with terrible, guttural sounds—a wolf taking down its prey. But the dog wasn’t directing the aggression at Kate. Alaska was barking at Kate’s invisible attacker, snapping her jaws and thrusting her head forward into the air as though she were trying to take a bite out of something, or someone, Kate couldn’t see.
And then, all of a sudden, it was over. Kate lay there with her hands covering her face until Alaska stopped snarling. She peered out from between her fingers and saw the dog standing over her, calm now but alert, panting.
Kate sat up, threw her arms around the animal’s neck, and buried her face in the soft fur. Alaska broke free of Kate’s embrace and began pacing, settling at the door to the stairs. A couple of yowls told Kate all she needed to know.
“I’m right behind you, girl,” she said, scrambling to her feet. She looked around the room and rubbed her arms with her opposite hands. She reached into the trunk, pulled out the entire stack of datebooks, and hurried down the stairs, Alaska following close at her heels.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kate was pounding so quickly down the stairs that, when she reached the bottom, she ran into the opposite wall with a thud. She stood there for a moment, resting her forehead against it, filling her lungs with deep breaths, trying to quiet her racing heart. Kate felt just like she had when she was a little girl and she and Simon would scare themselves on the third floor on purpose. Was something more up there than just a child’s overactive imagination?
