The Haunting of Alcott Manor, page 12
part #1 of Alcott Manor Series
She marveled over this generosity. "It was certainly a different time."
Henry ran his hand over his chest absently and studied her. She thought she knew which question was coming next. "That it was,” he said. "Do you have children?”
That question. Sadness ached in her chest. "Ah, no. Unfortunately, not. Or fortunately not, I guess, since my marriage didn't work out. I think he would have been a very difficult person to share a child with—while divorced, that is. Maybe while married, too, now that I know a different side of him.”
Curiosity shadowed his expression for just a wink of a moment, and she wished she hadn’t said so much about her newly minted ex. Now there would be questions.
Workers could be heard out front, talking, gathering their equipment, and making their way toward the house.
"Well, then. Sometimes things do work out for the best. How did you meet your former husband?” They walked across the room, and Henry's work boots made a muted clunking sound on the hardwood floors.
“Oh." She reached beneath her hair and pressed her fingers against the tension that gathered on the back of her neck. She peered out the front window to see what was taking the workers so long. “We um, it started as a business relationship."
“He was a client?"
With her back to Henry, she squeezed her eyes shut and winced. "Sort of. He was a partner in his dad's company, and his dad's hotels are clients of mine." She felt her skin warm. She dearly hoped he didn't think that she slept with all her clients.
"The two of you grew apart?"
She scoffed. "After I found out he was sleeping with one of his grad students, yes. We grew apart. I knew he shouldn't have taken that teaching job."
“Men like that usually find opportunity no matter where they work." His features hardened into a scowl, as though he had a bone to pick with her ex. His protectiveness warmed her inside and out, but it also made her realize he was right. Preston would have pounced on opportunity wherever it offered itself.
“I think what has had me really burned about the whole thing, aside from the obvious, was that I knew better—ahead of time, that is. I guess we all have decisions we wish we’d made differently. My mother said I needed to get back to trusting my instincts. Sometimes, I think I can still hear her voice reminding me. Anyway, she said if I did that then I would—” She gestured her hand forward, suddenly nervous that she was once again revealing too much too soon. It wasn't her style to share personal information with someone she didn't know all that well. “See the right one for me.”
“Wise woman, your mother.” Henry put his hands in his front pockets when he walked past her, and she thought she saw a cat-that-caught-the-canary grin on his face. “I always liked her.”
She caught up to him, and they walked together for a few steps. “I was thinking. You don’t suppose the manor had anything to do with her death, do you?”
“No,” he said quickly. “If she had died on the anniversary of Anna’s death, I would be suspicious. But as it was, no, I don’t.”
She nodded, and a bit of tension left her chest that she hadn’t realized was tied to that worry. Her mother had died of a heart attack. Stress-related, she guessed. The house had probably contributed, but maybe not in the way it, or Benjamin, had to the other deaths.
He was probably right. “Well, anyway. With my ex, she knew I hadn’t paid enough attention to those nit-picky doubts ahead of time. She turned out to be right about that.”
“Ah, yes. Those little voices of wisdom that never seem to speak loud enough when we need them to.”
“You’re familiar with them, I see.”
“My life would have turned out quite differently if I had listened to them. There was a feeling that I now know was more of a warning.” He shook his head. "Well. It's all water over the dam, as they say.”
His words held a shimmer of regret, and she recognized it from her own experience. “You were married?”
He nodded. “Yes, she’s passed now.”
“Oh, I'm sorry."
“It's okay.” He sighed and ran his hand over his face as though the memory made him tired. "But I do understand about honoring that voice ahead of time. Just as in your situation, I did not. I should have.”
She wanted to say something eloquent and compassionate. Her tongue was tangled in a knot full of conflict, and she couldn't find either of those things. Despite what they had shared, they really didn't know each other well enough for her to offer a friendly response. As usual, she felt herself shifting into a business gear for the comfort and the insulation it brought. She tried to relax that tendency in favor of what they might be building together.
“If I had a glass of wine”—she held her hand up in a pretend toast—“I’d toast to trusting our instincts.”
He raised his mock glass and met her toast. “To trusting our instincts.”
Their fingers held together for a moment longer than was necessary, and the tenderness they’d shared the night before threaded between them.
The contractors laid their materials on the front porch in a clatter. They would walk through the door at any moment. But Gemma couldn't take her eyes off Henry's. His index finger glided along hers, and work suddenly felt like an intrusion in her day. She would rather have spent the day with Henry, enjoying long walks on the beach, picnics, and learning everything there was to know about him.
The group of noisy contractors burst through the door, and she waved them into the house. “Come on in, guys. Let’s get started.” She glanced at Henry one last time. They held a gaze over the frenetic group, a look that said there was more to come.
Chapter 15
The next few weeks brought Gemma everything she had ever hoped for, as well as what she had never expected. Her days with Henry were filled with hard work and extraordinary progress. The restoration team was tireless and the results were exquisite. And thanks, she knew, to the endless clearing work she did when no one was around, Benjamin had not destroyed their work en masse.
Several mysterious destructions continued here and there, and Benjamin was still a very real threat, but, overall, they made headway. They were even a little ahead of schedule to meet the judge’s fast-approaching deadline.
Her nights with Henry in the winter garden were another world entirely. That one room had become their candlelit sanctuary. It was a magical space that gave them time to get to know one another, time to enjoy what they shared, and time to build toward what she hoped might be a future together. He had been right when he said that nothing bad would happen to her in there.
During the day, Henry often went in his own direction, and she appreciated that he gave her the space to do her job. Most homeowners, especially those with larger budgets, tended to hover and helicopter each stage of the process. But Henry didn't.
He reluctantly gave her bits of tragic history about the house when she asked for it so she could clear the negative imprints. He was simultaneously concerned that her work would stir up some negative consequence. And he didn’t think the clearing would solve the manor’s haunted problems anyway. Both opinions were okay. She knew it would work. Because it had to.
Though there was a seemingly endless amount of clearing to be done. She would have to find and clear more of the fundamental tragic imprints in the house. Hopefully, Henry would give her that specific information.
On this particular morning, the workers gathered into small, task-specific groups, she showed them some of her drawings and told them her ideas. They were a quiet bunch. Not much discussion, only some head-nodding while they stared at the things she pointed to.
When she felt confident that one group understood what to do with the next stage of the flooring and the staircase, she moved on to the next one, who would repair the walls. She flipped the pages on the legal pad and walked toward one worker—thin, balding, tall. He stood close to the stenciling that framed the doorway to the kitchen. She didn’t waste any time on niceties.
“Hi, there. I’m Gemma with Stewart Restoration. See here with this vine? I’d like you to get as close to the original colorings on these as possible. That original blue, as you can see, should be vibrant, like a peacock feather.”
The balding artist tilted his chin and focused through the bottom part of his glasses where Gemma pointed at the stenciling. He made a low mmmmm sound. Then he picked up his sketch pad and made some drawings of the stencil.
“And the gold, here, on the vine.” She moved her portfolio over and pointed with her other hand. “Notice how that gold isn’t yellow or opaque. It has texture and shading to it with bits of brown. Like real bark. Over on this side of the vine, it’s much lighter. Because, see?” She pointed to the large antebellum windows that covered the back wall. “The artist knew that the sun would be rising over here. So, when the sunlight pours in, it’s creating a shadow on this side, as if the vine were real. Got it?”
The artist was quiet, but he examined the vine closely and made notes on the different colors. Then he studied the morning light as it came in the windows. He made a deliberate shadow with his hand and played with the light as it shone against the wall.
“Interesting,” he said. “Fascinating.”
“Amazing, isn’t it? Don't embellish; recreate exactly what's there. And I'm not positive about this, but Tom has quite a few thick folders on the desk in the study. One of them may have close-up shots of this work. Worth a try.” Gemma patted him on the back and gave him a little shove in the right direction.
“If I can just have everyone’s attention, please?” She clapped her hands and the noise echoed in the vaulted room. All the workers looked in her direction. “Keep track of your plans and progress, as well as any changes you recommend. I prefer paper, please. Old-fashioned, I know, but that's the way it is. At the end of the day, I want your documentation on the desk in the office so I can review everything. I’ll make comments there. Please check your progress papers before work begins the following day, and pay special attention to my notes. If you have any questions, let me know. Otherwise, let's get back to work.”
The artist stood next to the stenciling with the photographs in hand that she had mentioned to him. He tilted his head to see her through the bottom of his glasses, then went back to work. Everyone else focused on their jobs.
With no questions left to answer, Gemma went to find Henry and Tom.
"Get out of my house, Asher Cardill!" Henry’s voice echoed through the halls. "You're violating a restraining order! You're not allowed within one hundred feet of this property!"
A dull thud sounded from the second floor, then heavy footsteps ran toward her. She backed out of the doorway and flattened herself against the other side of the wall, out of sight. The youngish man with thinning brown hair barreled through the kitchen. His faded jeans, plaid shirt, and lace-ups made him appear like any one of the other workers. His hand grabbed the doorjamb for balance when he swung around the corner and headed toward the outside.
She jogged behind him until she was sure he was a safe enough distance ahead not to hear her, then she took off in his direction. Maybe she could get his car tag number and report it.
When she turned the corner of the house, all she could hear was the quick pace of shoes pounding against the pebbled driveway in the distance. She slapped her hands to her sides.
Henry ran up to her, his face drawn tight. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, but he got away."
"Doesn't matter.” He put his arm around her back and guided her toward the house.
"You called him by name. Something Cardill?"
"Asher. Asher Cardill,” he growled.
She remembered him from the cafe and from her first day at the manor. “I’ve heard that name. Who is he?"
"He's a developer in town. Should we lose the house to the other side of the family, his company would be a very interested buyer. Then they'd mow this place down and put up condos.
“He's nosed around the estate too many times while we've been trying to restore it. Tom took out a restraining order against him. He's not supposed to set foot near the property until after the judge's deadline has passed."
"I've seen him here before—when I first arrived. I only noticed him because his outfit was so unique—he wore this pink belt." She ran her hands along her waistline.
"Where did you see him?"
"Off to the side of the house. He was just standing there as the workers were coming in and out.”
"Timing their shifts, most likely. Bastard." His eyes went cold, flat, and unfeeling.
“I also saw him at this breakfast place I visited on the morning of the accident.” She stopped short at the double door entry to the study, where a hole had been smashed in the wood cornice work over the fireplace.
“Damn it!” She charged toward the damage. "This is going to be really expensive to repair."
Henry stared at the hole, his mouth slightly open. His eyes now brewed dark and angry like a storm that threatened to strike.
Tom appeared with Paisley and several other workers. He cursed and kicked the pieces of chipped wood against the wall. “This room was completely finished!”
Paisley ran her fingers through her dark hair and squeezed her head in frustration. “Must have happened last night.”
Gemma thought about the violins and the hauntings that played throughout the house. This damage could have been more of Benjamin's work.
Deep lines undulated across Tom’s forehead. “Well, I have a security consultant coming in later today—not that he can help us with this.”
“Add this to the project list,” Tom said to Paisley before he stormed out of the room.
Gemma's sixth sense kicked in. It was a farfetched idea that she would have discounted if someone else had suggested it. But she and Henry had agreed to trust their instincts. And so she would.
“Henry," she whispered. "I have an idea.”
Chapter 16
"I'm wondering about the furniture.” Gemma couldn't quite believe she was going to suggest this.
Henry looked about the study at the desk and other pieces. “This furniture?"
She pointed to the second level. "The original furniture that was inside the museum. The pieces that Paisley had installed in the upstairs bedrooms. Benjamin has ripped through this entire house and found nothing. But what if the suicide note was hidden inside a piece of that furniture somewhere? What if it exists, but it just hasn't been here in the house?"
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I suppose that's possible. One of Benjamin's enemies may have wanted to see him implicated in Anna’s death."
"I doubt anyone has searched the furniture. If we're really going to try to find this note, then I think we need to turn every stone.” She nodded to the gaping hole above the fireplace. “Benjamin certainly is.”
“I agree. Finding that note is the only way to…stop this from happening.” He turned toward the hole in the wall. “The anniversary of Anna Alcott’s death is fast approaching, as is the judge's deadline. We need to get Benjamin out of here before he has a chance to wreck things for us.”
“Before he kills again.” She whispered the words in the same way her paternal grandmother whispered words like cancer and divorce because she didn't want them to be true. Sick dread wormed its way through her chest.
And with that thought, the full effect of her suggestion dropped to her stomach and churned with the idea of heading back to the upstairs. The master bedrooms weren't too far from the guest room she’d visited once before.
Henry glanced at his watch and then down the corridor that was busy with construction workers tromping in each direction. "I should go with you, but it's only three o’clock, so you ought to be safe up there at this time of day. And I need to join Tom in the meeting with that security consultant first. We have to agree on a plan that keeps Asher off the property until after the judge's deadline.”
“Okay. Sure.” Her voice pitched a little higher than was normal for her.
“Unless you want to take the meeting with Tom for the security plan, and I can go search?”
Part of her wished he'd cancel his participation in the meeting and escort her upstairs. Though the cinnamon in his eyes held her with his gaze and she felt the heat thread between them, distance was best, she decided.
What they shared at night was their business. She couldn’t have Tom or anyone else figuring out what she and Henry had started. Besides, it would be good for her to be alone up there so she could do some more clearing.
She took in a deep breath. "You take the meeting. I'll go up now and have a look at the furniture in the two masters. I've been over most of the house today, and it's been completely normal. I won't go anywhere near the guest room with the dolls.” She flashed him a smile and stepped away.
“Gemma—”
"Oh, just to be sure. You haven't read or heard of anything disastrous happening in those two rooms, have you?” She thought of her theory about how the house wanted her. For what, she hadn't yet figured out, but she didn't want any more surprises.
Henry shook his head. "No. Not that I've read. Though let's hold off on any energy work. I wouldn't want anything…stirred up.”
Her eyes remained on him. "It usually only helps to alleviate—but, okay…” She nodded without agreeing. If she saw something negative that she knew she could fix, she would. He wouldn't have to know about it.
"Sun sets just after eight. The house will be quiet until then, or mostly so. Don’t be long up there.”
“I won’t."
She glanced at the upstairs and stifled the chill that ran through her body. "I'll be right back.”
The upstairs area was mostly complete and quiet as a result. Hammering, saws, and men's voices drifted up from the downstairs. Thankfully, Tom had taken her suggestion and double-teamed the grand staircase. At least thirty men swarmed it when she’d last checked. They would be finished constructing the forty-two wide steps and two landings in no time.
