“Okay, you little blessing. Time to hang out in the bathroom until I get back.”
Hopefully, she would return soon with information leading her closer to the truth about her mother’s death.
Jill slipped into the morning room. The phone on the desk only connected with the gatehouse and was powered by a generator. No good for her purposes.
Setting Clay’s sweater on the spindle-legged desk, she opened a side drawer and removed this year’s edition of the phone book. She found the sheriff’s and the coroner’s numbers and jotted them on a piece of Windtop’s ivory note paper.
The temptation to use her cell phone nearly won, but the island’s formation made communication spotty at best. Besides, she couldn’t chance being overheard.
She tucked the phone numbers into her purse and picked up Clay’s sweater. If she hurried, she might make the calls from the public phone at Williams Landing, stop for a brief visit at the cemetery, and return before the Bradwells came down for breakfast.
A flow of low conversation in the entrance hall arrested her. “I’ll see to it,” Clay said to Lenore, then glanced in her direction and jerked.
“See to what?” Jill asked.
Lenore startled as well, then glided toward Jill. “You’re up early. Perfect. We need to talk.”
The last thing Jill wanted. Likely her aunt had been watching her last night. “I was just leaving.”
“So soon?” Her aunt flashed a coy smile.
The woman wearied her. “Not from the island.” She stepped past her aunt to speak to Clay. “See to what?”
When he didn’t respond, her heart plummeted, and she held out his sweater. “I forgot to return this to you last night. Thank you for its use.”
“You’re welcome.” He reached out to take it, his intense gaze locked with hers.
She scrunched her eyebrows together. Well, really. As if last night had never happened, this morning he shut her out. He wasn’t going to tell her anything. Maggie was right. She couldn’t trust anyone at Windtop, not even Clay. If that’s the way he wanted it, she could live with it. It’s not as if they meant anything to one another. “I’m visiting my mother’s grave this morning. Is Windtop’s Jeep available?”
“I’ll see to it,” he said, quick to leave.
Lenore looped her arm through Jill’s, pressing her back toward the morning room. “In the meantime, you do have a moment after all.”
Jill extricated her arm. “What do you want, Lenore?”
“Let’s get comfortable first, shall we?” She gestured toward the morning room and preceded Jill, glancing back. After seating herself behind the desk, Lenore indicated the two pink upholstered chairs facing it. “Please.”
Jill chose the one nearest the door while her aunt laced her fingers together and rested her elbows on the desk. “Yesterday, you said I could use this house as I had planned. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
Yesterday … eons ago. If she could snatch the invitation back, she would, but she couldn’t afford stirring up trouble with her aunt. Not before she knew the truth about her mother’s death.
She shook her head.
Lenore smiled. “We planned to celebrate Tia’s sixteenth birthday at Windtop.”
She could celebrate a family birthday. “I don’t see a problem.”
“Excellent! We mailed the invitations months ago.”
Jill blinked and swallowed. Invitations? This was to be one of her aunt’s lavish parties? At one of them, Lenore had humiliated Jill’s mother so deeply that her mother had been ill for weeks and withdrew from everyone except her daughter and Maggie.
An excited flush highlighted Lenore’s cheeks as she rushed on. “It will be the social event of Tia’s young life, a tradition celebrated by my side of the family for generations.”
Wait a minute. Hadn’t her aunt been an orphan? “I don’t understand.”
The woman’s gaze darkened. “Don’t be difficult, Jill. The party is only two weeks away, and changing arrangements this late is next to impossible. Not to mention costly.”
Jill settled back into the chair and crossed her legs. Lenore hosting a party at Windtop was the last thing she wanted with the cause of her mother’s death so uncertain.
Lenore tapped her ring finger on the desktop as she waited.
Jill studied her aunt. Actually, the party might work to her advantage, keeping the Bradwells distracted and less likely to notice her search. Agreeing to it now would end this interview.
She stood. “I have no objection.”
“Wonderful! But wait,” Lenore rushed on. “To complete preparations, we must finish Windtop’s restoration.”
Jill moved toward the door. “Whatever you need to do.”
“Then I have your permission to bring in its historic furnishings? Drew felt you might object to replacing Susannah’s things.”
Jill stopped and stiffened. “Remove my mother’s things?”
“I’m sorry, but your mother’s furniture looks completely out of place. Of course, a few pieces belonged to the original house. They will remain.”
“And the others?” She wasn’t yet ready to part with reminders of her mother simply to please Lenore.
Her aunt moistened her lips. “We’ll store some in the attic and the rest in town.”
Jill released the tense breath she had been holding. As long as her mother’s belongings wouldn’t disappear, she could live with that. This disruption of the house so soon after her return would be hard to bear. Being surrounded by her mother’s things, able to touch them and recall the little details of life they had shared, comforted her. Yet the transition Lenore had in mind would keep the Bradwells’ attention focused away from Jill.
“All right. Do what you think is necessary.”
Lenore’s dark eyes widened.
“But don’t get rid of Mother’s things. I want every one of them.” What Jill would do with them, she wasn’t sure, but she should be the one to decide. “Is there anything else?”
Her aunt blinked rapidly as if unable to believe her good fortune, and then shook her head.
A soft breeze swept off Murray Bay, urging Jill up the pathway to the cemetery. At her mother’s gravesite, she buried her face in the great bouquet of garden flowers she carried in her arms and breathed in the sweet fragrance of daisies, lavender, and daylilies.
How kind of Clay to leave them on the front seat of the Jeep along with a scrawled note. For your mother. Strange how one moment, he shut her out and the next, he displayed such thoughtfulness.
As she crouched to place the flowers on her mother’s grave, a hollow sadness enveloped her. Did her mother know the Lord before she died? Had she accepted his forgiveness?
A twig snapped in the forest glade. Jill glanced around catching nothing but a fleeting shadow. Was it a passing deer or someone watching her?
Touching her fingertips to her lips, she pressed them on her mother’s cold grave marker and hurried away. It was time to make those phone calls at Williams Landing.
Jill drove along the road on the island’s southern shore as fast as she dared. Even so, she caught a glimpse of the cottage on Murray Bay. Her father had stayed there the summer he met her mother, and a fresh ache of longing pressed on her heart.
Cut off from her father and never again to know the touch of her mother’s hand or hear her voice, she was surrounded by family who neither trusted nor wanted her. Did she belong anywhere?
Under a cloudless sky, she barreled toward Williams Landing and, hopefully, some of the answers she sought. At the public phone attached to a tree, she pulled the phone numbers from her purse and glanced across the channel. She had little time. A large flat barge had already begun its brief island-bound journey from Powell’s Point.
A sheriff’s deputy answered her first call. News of her return had already reached their department. On Monday, he said, she could pick up copies of the records of their investigation into her mother’s death, including the coroner�
��s report. No need to make the second call after all.
Hanging up, she pulled herself together just as the barge docked.
Thick-muscled men looped heavy mooring ropes to the pier pilings and dropped the ferry’s ramp to the shore. Released from their tethers, two big trucks cranked their motors and lumbered off. Munising Moving and Storage stretched across their sides.
So Lenore had played her again! Why had her aunt even asked permission? She obviously already knew Windtop’s historic furnishings were on their way.
Jumping into the Jeep as the trucks lumbered past, Jill turned her key in the ignition and gunned the engine to follow.
While Jill parked the Jeep outside the carriage house, the trucks pulled up in front of Windtop’s main entrance. Men in striped uniforms opened the large doors at the back of the trucks and set ramps into place. She glared at her aunt. The ungrateful woman!
“You’re back.”
Jill whipped around. Clay smiled from the carriage house’s open door, a light breeze playing with the deep waves of his dark brown hair. She pointed toward the house. “Did you know about this?”
“That they were coming today? Sure.” His smile faded, and his gray eyes lit with understanding. “No one told you.”
“I … well, yes. Lenore said something before I left this morning, but she didn’t say a thing until the trucks were on their way.”
Opening the door to the Jeep, Clay stepped aside. “How about taking a walk? I pulled together the information about Windtop your uncle asked me to go over with you.”
She’d rather give Lenore a piece of her mind, but some down time might be a good idea. It would give her a chance to gain control of herself before confronting her aunt. “Lead the way.”
“My clipboard is in the gazebo. Let’s drop off this hammer where it’ll be handy when we finish.”
Jill fell into step beside him. They skirted the house and entered the brick walkway dividing a maze of flowerbeds surrounding Windtop’s gazebo. The same flowerbeds, it appeared, had provided the beautiful blossoms now lying on her mother’s grave.
Sunlight glistened like precious gold in Jill’s hair as she bent her head, not looking his way. “Thank you for the flowers. Mother would have loved them.”
A glimmer of light pierced the wall of his heart. “My pleasure.”
“And I owe you some money.” She dug in her purse.
“No, you don’t.”
“For Button’s supplies.” She opened her wallet. “Is this enough?”
The amount she thrust into his hand more than covered what he had spent. He returned some and held up the rest. “This will do.”
He set the hammer inside the gazebo and grabbed a clipboard from the top step. “Ready?”
Walking her through the gardens and around the grounds, he pointed out various features of the landscaping and the exterior of the house. He answered her questions and explained in detail what he had done and the cost of each renovation. Together, they sat on the back porch, going over his records and examining the photos he had taken of the progress with both the interior and exterior of the house.
Her sweet breath brushed his cheek. Their heads almost touched, and his pulse quickened. Annoyed with himself, he pulled away, forcing himself to focus on the final details of his report. “I planned to begin work on the carriage house Monday. It’s in pretty good shape, so it shouldn’t take long. Sam will help me rebuild the stone wall next to it. It needs a lot of work. Then, restoring the kitchen garden and the flower beds at the base of the house’s wraparound porch and repairing the gazebo should about do it.”
Just as before while they had walked around the house, she listened with rapt attention. He’d forgotten how good that felt. Regretfully, one of life’s pleasures he would soon learn to do without. Once she knew the truth about him, she’d never see him in the same way again.
Wishing otherwise was pointless. Sometimes, a man had to do what was right for those he loved, no matter what it cost him.
Right now, he’d finish this report and hopefully get her go-ahead. “As for the house, it’s finished except for a minor detail.” From the clipboard, he pulled out a photo of an oval crest decorating the gable end of the roof extending over Windtop’s drive. He pointed to the elaborately scrolled B. “This original feature all but disappeared.”
“It’s beautiful, but I don’t remember ever seeing it. How did you find this photo?”
Her sincere interest warmed him. She really cared about this passion of his life. “Your aunt owns an impressive collection of old documents, pictures, and information about Windtop.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Jill nodded toward the trucks. “She’s obviously been collecting an abundance of things Windtop-related.”
The hurt in her voice made him pause. He knew how difficult her aunt could be. He found the woman challenging at times, but he also had to admit she had been a great help with this project. And he had her to thank for hiring him.
Jill carefully examined the photo. “It’s sometimes difficult to find important information like this.”
“All the work your aunt had done before I arrived sure sped up this project. Before I started, she purchased copies of the original wall coverings and the paints each room required. They matched what I discovered when I removed the layers applied since the house was built.”
Jill followed him as he led the way back to the gazebo. She stopped and tilted her head to gaze up at him in a way that tempted him to let down his guard. “You really love your work, Clay, and I want you to finish this project.”
Good. He still had a cover while he worked to catch a killer. He slid a glance toward the woman at his side as they came full circle to the gazebo. If only his life weren’t so complicated.
“About the security system,” she said. “Did Mother explain why she thought it was so important?”
He shook his head. “But her housekeeper mentioned evidence of unexplained break-ins making your mother anxious.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.” Now he wished he had. “Jill?”
Her soft gaze made his gut glitch. “I tried to warn your mother, but she wouldn’t listen. Please don’t make the same mistake.”
She stepped back, her eyes wide.
“Leave as soon as you can.”
Chapter Eight
Leave as soon as you can.
The same words Maggie had used.
His gaze flicked beyond her. “We have company.”
She turned to face the house and found her aunt advancing with Tia at her heels.
“There you are!” Lenore’s sharp voice called out. “I have been waiting for you.”
Jill stood her ground. “I want to talk to you too.”
“Never mind that. Follow me!” Her aunt spun around, returning to the house without a backward glance.
Jill stared at the back of the woman who invaded her house, tricked her, and ordered her around like a servant. Why should she be surprised? She’d never known Lenore to act otherwise.
She sighed and turned back to Clay. “I’d better see what she wants, but please, let’s continue this conversation later.”
His gray eyes solemn, he nodded. “I’ll be around.”
She hurried toward the house, still troubled by his cryptic statement. Why did he think she should leave? Why as soon as possible? She shivered as she entered the house.
Dodging six workmen carting her mother’s couch and chairs from the parlor, she backed onto a small Persian rug at the foot of the stairs and refused to move one more step. “What’s the emergency?”
Lenore speared her with a dark glare. “Can’t you see? These rooms must be cleaned before the men unload the trucks.”
Tia flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulders and grinned. “It seems Mother’s temporary help didn’t show up.” She dipped her head toward a girl in a maid’s uniform who was hiding in the corner. “Elma can’
t finish nineteen rooms by herself.”
“And our housekeeper is threatening to quit,” Lenore added.
Jill gaped at her aunt. “What does this have to do with me?”
“It is your house!” her aunt asserted.
“But this”—Jill gestured to the chaos around them—“is your doing, and you didn’t tell me it would be going on this soon.”
Tia’s brown eyes danced. “Time to pack up and go home, Mom.”
“We will not!” Her aunt was never one to give up.
All right then, Jill could think of one solution, but Lenore might not like it. “We could all pitch in together and get the work done.”
Tia backed up. “Not me.”
Tapping her chin, Lenore appeared to consider the idea. “We will still need Mrs. Fenton. You two, come with me.”
Out of curiosity, Jill followed her aunt into the morning room. Tia slipped in behind her before Lenore closed the door.
A stout woman with graying hair perched stiffly on the fragile pink chair Jill had occupied earlier. The woman lumbered to her feet and addressed Lenore. “You have my check?”
Her aunt smiled sweetly. “Now, Mrs. Fenton, we’ve always been fair to you, haven’t we?”
The woman eyed Lenore with suspicion. “That’s got nothing to do with it. My mind’s made up. I ain’t working in no haunted house. I’d appreciate my pay.”
“I do have your check.” She held it up. “But first, I would like you to meet my niece. Jill, this is our housekeeper.”
Mrs. Fenton’s head jerked toward her. “You ain’t dead?”
“Exactly!” Lenore’s satisfied smile sealed her point.
The housekeeper crossed her arms. “So what? Her mother ain’t alive.”
Jill’s heart nearly buckled under the woman’s words. How little it took. This time, just the mention of her mother in such a context pierced her. How could people believe the dead haunted places? Even if it were true—which it wasn’t—who could believe her gentle mother would hurt anyone?
“Excuse me, Mrs. Fenton,” Jill said, interrupting the two, “has anyone reported my mother haunting Windtop?”
Her Deadly Inheritance Page 7
