The Haunting of Josiah Kash

by Dana Pratola

  The vast space was more museum than library. Apart from the floor-to-ceiling wall of books, furnishings of rich leather and luxurious fabrics, the walls also held artwork she had seen on television. On tables and display shelves stood more sculptures and carvings, and her pulse sped with every work she identified. Since she was alone, she took time to inspect them more closely, keeping her hands at her sides, though they itched to touch.

  Eventually Haven’s eyes traveled to the books, many of which were leather-bound, most of them classics, but she was pleasantly surprised to find Jett Cestone’s taste eclectic, including Stephen King and John Grisham among the works of Keats, Shakespeare and CS Lewis.

  Without warning, a tingle zipped along her spine and shoulders and she whirled to find…. No one. She gave herself a mental shake and returned her attention to the books.

  “You’re sensitive.”

  She spun again, slapping a hand to her thundering heart. Her eyes darted around the empty room. She did hear a man’s voice, she wasn’t crazy.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

  “Who are you?” Haven demanded. No answer. The voice did sound familiar. “Mr. Cestone?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yes.”

  Oh, this was weird. The man was spying on her. Might have been since she’d arrived.

  “You needn’t be afraid.”

  She wasn’t so sure. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a sensible decision. She wasn’t looking forward to telling her father he was right.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Jett said.

  “No problem.” Though she had to work to level her breathing. Many a rumor had its foundation in truth and if he was as peculiar and unpredictable as people said, it was best to maintain her composure so as not to set him off.

  “I, um, was admiring your books.”

  “Thank you. I enjoy them when I have the time.”

  Haven managed a polite smile, feeling once more the pauper, and wondering if that was his intention. “I brought the paintings, but I should be getting back. I didn’t realize how long the trip out here—”

  “Have a seat, Miss Silano.”

  She stood where she was, debating whether to make a break for the door.

  “Please,” he said.

  Finally, she perched on the edge of a blue wingback chair—one of two on an area rug in front of a white marble fireplace. With winter at the door, logs were stacked and ready beside it.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Haven crossed her ankles and tucked her feet under the chair, her hands tightening in her lap. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his voice came from, so didn’t know where to look as she spoke. She did note, however, that his accent wasn’t really an accent at all, but more a distinctive manner of speech.

  “Mr. Cestone, what is this?”

  “The start of negotiations, I hope. And you may call me Jett.”

  “I mean this….” She gestured helplessly. “Do you use cameras, speakers?”

  “Often.”

  “Two-way glass and hidden doors?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Haven straightened. “Yes. I’m not used to being spied on. I thought we were meeting to discuss a project. I don’t appreciate being brought here under false pretenses.” She rose.

  “And I don’t appreciate being accused of lying in my own home.”

  Haven heard the insult in his voice and was instantly ashamed.

  “I brought you here to discuss my grandmother’s birthday gift. Perhaps I was wrong to contact you. I’ll have Esposito bring your paintings and drive you home.”

  He was silent as she stood in the middle of the room, reprimanded and feeling like an idiot. She worried her bottom lip, then squared her shoulders.

  “I apologize, Mr. Cestone,” she said, unsure if he was still there. “It’s just…this isn’t what I expected when I agreed to meet you.” She licked her lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  She counted four seconds before he spoke.

  “Apology accepted. Now, I’d like to get to the matter at hand.”

  There was a knock at the door and Haven’s eyes widened. Had he decided to meet with her personally after all? The door opened and Mrs. Burke pushed in a serving cart loaded with food and drink.

  “Here’s lunch. I’ll set you up right here.” She wheeled the cart to a table under the window.

  “That will do,” Jett said. “Leave us.”

  She nodded and hurried from the room, closing the door.

  “Thank you for the thought,” Haven said. “But I’m not very hungry.”

  “Feel free to help yourself if you change your mind. I assure you it isn’t poisoned.”

  “No, of course not! I never implied—”

  He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “Now it is I who must apologize. That was uncalled for.”

  Haven lowered her head, looked around sheepishly. “It’s not fun, is it?”

  “What?”

  “Apologizing.” She thought she heard a chuckle.

  “No, but it is sometimes unavoidable.”

  She returned to her chair, twisting the braided vine ring on her finger as the silence stretched uncomfortably, until she again wondered if he’d left.

  “I don’t see many people,” Jett said at last.

  “It’s impersonal,” she told him, unsure if she was relieved to find him still there.

  “Why would I want to personalize business?” he asked.

  She had caught him off guard and was intrigued to hear bewilderment in his voice. “People prefer it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Maybe everything isn’t about you.”

  Haven slapped a palm over her mouth. To be this bold with a complete stranger was reprehensible. But then the circumstances were beyond the norm, weren’t they?

  “May I suggest your opinion of yourself is overblown?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What right have you to demand my attention?”

  Shocked, she rose again. “I didn’t demand anything.”

  “But you would prefer I sit across from you to say the same words I can say from here.”

  He was annoyed, but meeting temper with temper, she fisted her hands on her hips.

  “Yes, I would. I’m a people person and I don’t like talking to walls or ceilings or whatever piece of architecture you’re hiding behind. It freaks me out. And I’ll remind you, Mr. Cestone, I didn’t come knocking on your door, you called me. So if this is such an inconvenience for you, let’s just forget the whole thing.”

  “Miss Silano—”

  She strode to the door and had her hand on the knob before she turned back. “The nerve of you to say my opinion of myself is overblown. This from a man who has people calling him Master!”

  “Are you finished?”

  Haven froze, suddenly on the verge of tears. She was overreacting, no question about it. There was no reason for her behavior other than she felt overwhelmed in this peculiar situation and wasn’t prepared to handle it. The man was giving her a fantastic, possibly life altering opportunity, and she was throwing it back in his face simply because she couldn’t see him.

  Slowly, she turned. “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you should go home and we’ll reschedule.”

  She took a breath. It was useless to issue another apology. “You aren’t going to call me, are you?”

  “Would you?” There was the faintest trace of mockery in his voice.

  Haven shook her head. She wouldn’t grovel if that was what he was after, but she would endure his rebuke.

  “Well, you’re not me. You have something I want and I’m willing to go to a certain point to get it.”

  She raised her eyebrows, looking around.

  “But mark me, there is a point. This offer will not be made again, Haven, so I suggest you mull it over in that pretty head of yours and if you’re willing to do things my way we can hav
e a satisfactory working relationship.” He paused and she swallowed. “If, however, you find you can’t acquiesce, then I’m afraid this is goodbye.”

  “I don’t know the particulars, what’s expected of me….”

  “Of course, you don’t. That’s what we were going to discuss today, but since my time and patience both have their limits—”

  “Mr. Cestone, I…can we try this again? I mean, let’s start over.”

  It wasn’t another apology, she told herself. That would give him too much leverage. It was a suggestion that he could accept or refuse. He took his time answering.

  “Very well. Friday. I trust I’ll find you in a better temper, as you may find me. Good day.”

  Haven felt like Dorothy being dismissed by the Wizard. She’d blown it. On the off chance he was still watching, she kept the disappointment from her face, straightened her spine and opened the door to an empty hall. She needed to find that Esposito guy. Unsure whether to call out or walk around until she saw someone, she chose the latter, turning toward the back of the house and what might be the kitchen. Mrs. Burke seemed nice, and she could probably be found there.

  The pungent fragrance of roses assailed Haven’s senses the moment she pushed through the swinging door at the end of the hall. Hundreds of flowers were grouped by color on a stainless-steel utility counter. Tulips, lilies of the valley, roses, pansies, all in varying shades of white and pink, spread out awaiting exhibit in no less than fifty vases and bowls.

  “Fetch me that vase,” Mrs. Burke instructed, as though strangers routinely wandered into the kitchen while she worked.

  Haven set the blue glass container on the counter as Mrs. Burke picked up a pair of pruning shears and snipped tulip stems mercilessly before thrusting a whole cluster of flowers into it at once.

  “I love flowers, don’t you?”

  “Yes, very much.” Haven was shocked they looked so beautiful despite their abuse. She watched Mrs. Burke choose randomly from the piles, bunch the blooms together, hack off the stems and almost accidentally arrange them into enchanting displays.

  “Will you have tea?” asked Mrs. Burke.

  “Um….”

  “You’ve missed your lunch, haven’t you?”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  Mrs. Burke moved around the room setting the kettle on, taking out cups. She glanced at Haven more than once, before putting her hands on the back of a chair and addressing her.

  “You don’t have to tell me, it’s none of my business…but Master is always a gracious host. What could have happened to make him so cross in so short a time?”

  Haven couldn’t take offense. He was arrogant and strange, but the argument was her fault and she knew it. “Just a little misinterpretation of what our meeting would entail.”

  Mrs. Burke pursed her lips, nodded. “Ah. You expected to see him in the flesh.”

  Pleased that someone understood, Haven lifted a hand, palm up. “Exactly. It was very awkward.”

  “And you’re anxious,” Mrs. Burke added, then lifted a brow. “He is a bit of an ogre.”

  “No—no, he’s…he’s fine. It’s me,” Haven rushed on. She hadn’t meant to pass the blame onto Jett. “It was bad timing, or nerves like you said, and expectations. It really wasn’t his fault. How did you know he’s cross?” How could she know already?

  Mrs. Burke chuckled. “It’s not hard to figure out.”

  A few minutes later, Haven was sitting at a long counter drinking tea and nibbling on the best ham sandwich she’d ever tasted. A fireplace, large enough to be considered a room by some, was filled to overflowing with flowering plants and herbs, unlike the one in the library. She noted the light came from three separate chandeliers. Although it was a bright, sunny day and windows lined an entire wall, the curtains framing them remained closed.

  “This room is amazing. The whole house,” Haven said.

  “You’re right about that.” Mrs. Burke studied Haven. “Your name is Silano, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would your father be Francis Michael?”

  “You know him?” His business brought him in contact with a lot of people, but she knew he’d never worked in this house.

  Mrs. Burke let out a hoot that reverberated around the room. “I knew him years ago! Not well, mind you, though not for lack of trying. He was a handsome devil!”

  Haven laughed. “Wow, it’s a small world.” She’d always hated that phrase, but it fit.

  “Yes, my family settled in Nutley when we came to America. Olivia—Master’s grandmother—hired me straightaway.” After a moment Mrs. Burke set down her tea cup with a snap. “Your mother is Sara Norris then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could have been no other.” Mrs. Burke sat back with a pleased smile. “She was a looker. Francis had eyes for no one else once he cast them on her. You look very much like I remember her. How are they?”

  Haven’s heart gave a tug and the corners of her mouth tipped downward with bittersweet memories. “My mother passed away five years ago.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. Can I ask what happened?” Haven paused and Mrs. Burke waved the question away. “Too painful, I understand.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She cleared her throat. “She was on Madison Avenue in New York City when she was hit by falling debris from a building. Freak accident.”

  “Dear, that’s terrible.” Mrs. Burke patted Haven’s hand. “I didn’t have the opportunity to know her well, either. No sooner did she come to town than your father snapped her up and kept her all to himself. They were inseparable and moved away soon after.”

  To Virginia, Haven knew. They’d started a family and the painting business before coming back and settling in Glen Ridge. Still, he’d kept her all to himself. A surge of resentment caught Haven by surprise, but she swallowed it along with her tea as she listened to Mrs. Burke—Hannah, she’d insisted, since they were practically family—describe for her the dashing “catch” as she’d known Frank at twenty.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  To keep her mind off leaving her paintings at the Cestone estate, Haven spent the trip home in the back of the limousine trying to imagine her father a young romantic. In love no less. She had no luck envisioning him sweeping Sara Norris off her feet, and even less envisioning him being swept off his own. The couple that had raised her and Marcus had rarely demonstrated their mutual affection, at least in front of their children.

  Had they really been in love? Even if she had ever thought of her parents as real people growing up, she hadn’t seen them together often enough to accurately gauge their relationship as “a couple.” Her father had been gone so much, working to put food on the table, to buy a new furnace, a new roof, to pave the driveway, etc.. “It’s life,” he was fond of saying. “You get a real job to pay for real troubles. When those are paid off you have new ones.” That was how he lived. It was sad.

  Haven swore she wouldn’t let work distract her from life. Nor would she let a man control her and keep her from being an individual, even if that meant chasing elusive, impractical dreams. It would be better never to marry than be held under the thumb of a pragmatic tyrant. When she felt the tension in her jaw, she realized she was gritting her teeth.

  The first thing Haven saw when she let herself into her house was the glaring light of the answering machine flashing, accusing, demanding. She knew only one person who could make an inanimate object act this way.

  Eight messages. She pushed the play button and went into the kitchen for a drink of water.

  Beeeeep. “You’re not back?” Click.

  Haven sat at the small square table. Her father’s voice boomed through the house two more times with the same question.

  Beeeeep. “Hey, it’s Rae. I ran into your father and he told me you met up with some strange guy. What gives?

  Call me.” Click.

  “Great,” Haven muttered. Rachel would be relentless.

  Beeeeep. “Haven, where the hell are you? Dad�
�s driving me nuts. He says if you’re dead he’s blaming me. Call him when you get in.” Click.

  “I will,” she answered her brother’s voice, only to be interrupted yet again by her father demanding to know where she was.

  “What’s the matter with you? You crazy, running off with some stranger? And for what? Some nonsense. Doodles on canvas. You could be dead for all I know. Next time tell someone where you’re going and who you’re meeting. And call your brother, he’s worried sick.”

  Haven reached for the phone on the wall. The next message was a subscription offer from the local paper, but the last had her leaving the phone and heading back into the living room.

  “Haven, this is Jett. Cestone.” Like she knew another. “As it happens, Friday is no good for me.”

  And here’s where he pulled the rug out from under her…. Her stomach was already tensed with regret for her foolish behavior.

  “I’d like you to come back tomorrow for dinner. After work, so it won’t conflict with your schedule.”

  Elated, Haven hit rewind and skipped through the messages to replay Jett’s message three more times. He was giving her another chance!

  The phone rang and Haven ran to the phone. What if it was him?

  “So, you’re home?” Frank barked.

  “Hi, Daddy. Yes, I’m home,” she confirmed, deflated.

  “It’s about damn time.”

  “I’m sorry you worried. There was no need.”

  That seemed to steal some of the wind from his sails. “Well…it’s idiotic for a young girl to go to a man’s home without telling anyone where she’s going to be. I thought I raised you smarter than that.”

  “You did—I mean I wasn’t in any danger. I’m home, safe and whole.”

  “At least now I can tell your brother to call off the search party,” her father said.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  When he didn’t reply, she realized he must have expected her to come in for the last hour of the work day. She was in no mood for a face-to-face inquisition.