The Fool Dies Last, page 18
‘We–we hardly know each other,’ she reminded him. ‘And there’s Gram and your dad to consider. And Tom …’
The last words were a whisper. A guilty, confused whisper. Hope knew what Megan would have told her, because Megan had told her it before: As much as she had loved him, Tom was gone. She needed to move forward. She couldn’t live in the past. And in theory, Hope knew that it was true. But no amount of truth could stop the wretched feeling that she had just betrayed the man she had lost.
‘That’s quite a list of reasons,’ Dylan said.
He didn’t dispute any of them, nor did he give any indication of being troubled by them. Hope would have pressed her point, except she was having difficulty concentrating with Dylan so close to her. It was as though his touch had a hypnotic quality. She could think clearly for a moment – about Tom, or Megan, or Morris and Gram – until Dylan’s fingertips glided over her skin. Then all reasonable thought evaporated, and she was left with an overwhelming desire to have his lips on hers again.
As though reading her mind, Dylan ran his hand slowly down her cheek, lingering at the curve of her mouth. He was no longer smiling. His gaze was dark and intense, drawing her toward him. Hope could feel herself relenting, forgetting every objection, wanting almost desperately to take what he offered.
‘Hope …’ Dylan’s voice was husky, imploring.
She didn’t speak, not trusting her tongue. She didn’t trust the rest of her body, either, and with supreme effort, she extricated herself from his arms and took a step backward.
‘Hope—’
He was interrupted by a loud shout, followed by a series of thumps. For a moment, neither one of them reacted, each still focused on the other.
‘If I’m not mistaken,’ Dylan said at last, clearing his throat, ‘that sounded like somebody falling down a set of stairs.’
‘Summer!’ Hope cried in alarm.
Without a second of further delay, she whirled around and dashed toward the patio door. Throwing it open, Hope sprinted inside. Was Summer all right? A person could be seriously injured from a fall down the stairs. Morris continually worried about Gram slipping and breaking a hip, or even worse. Hope raced through the kitchen, past the library, and along the hallway. Turning the corner toward the main staircase, she expected to find Summer lying on the floor, battered and bruised, but to Hope’s immense relief, the foot of the stairs was bare.
‘Hope!’ Summer came tearing around the corner from the opposite direction. ‘I heard that noise and thought something terrible had happened. Thank goodness you’re OK!’
‘You’re OK, too!’ Hope exclaimed, gratefully reciprocating her sister’s bear hug.
‘She’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine,’ Dylan said, amusement in his tone.
Both Hope and Summer looked at him in surprise. Hope hadn’t noticed that he had followed her into the brownstone, and Summer hadn’t expected to see him at all.
‘Well, hello,’ Summer greeted Dylan. ‘I wasn’t aware that we had company this evening.’
‘Hope and I were outside on the patio, enjoying the night air.’
On the face of it, that seemed like a simple response, but there was something about the way that Dylan emphasized the second part of the sentence that gave it a sensual undertone.
Summer raised a curious eyebrow. ‘On the patio? How interesting … Wait a minute—’ She cut herself off abruptly. ‘If you two were outside, and I was in my room, then where did that noise come from?’
In unison, they all turned toward the staircase. It was empty and quiet. There was no visible sign of a disturbance.
Hope was perplexed. ‘I was sure that somebody shouted.’
‘Me, too,’ Summer concurred. ‘And there were those thumps.’
‘It couldn’t have been Gram. She’s at Morris’s.’
‘What’s your basement like?’ Dylan asked. ‘Could something have fallen off a shelf or the wall, and it echoed as it hit the ground?’
‘No. We don’t have a basement,’ Hope told him, ‘only a dirt crawl space. It’s hard to access, so we don’t hang or store anything down …’ The sentence trailed away as she realized that Dylan had the right idea but the wrong location. ‘Uh-oh.’
‘Uh-oh?’
Hope gave her sister a meaningful look. There was a short pause, then Summer drew a sharp breath, understanding.
‘I was up there all afternoon,’ Hope said. ‘I moved a lot of stuff around.’
Summer nodded. ‘And in the process, there was a lot of disturbance. Did you accidentally put something too close to the door? Something that – with a little nudge – could have tumbled down the steps?’
‘Definitely not. I was very careful when I left, as I always am. Nothing sitting on the windowsills. No teetering towers in the middle of the room. And the doorway and stairs were completely clear.’
‘Are you talking about the attic?’ Dylan said.
‘Of course we’re talking about the attic!’ Summer responded impatiently. She turned back to Hope. ‘Maybe it was more than a nudge. That hasn’t happened in a while, but if you were digging around in something that somebody didn’t like …’
‘And they were sharing their unhappiness …’ Hope was thoughtful. ‘Except that doesn’t explain the shout. We never get any shouts.’
‘Plenty of other sounds, but no shouts,’ Summer agreed.
‘Which means there must be more going on.’
‘Probably nothing good.’
They frowned at each other, both knowing what had to be done and neither one wanting to do it.
‘Well’ – Hope heaved a sigh – ‘I’d better bite the bullet and take a look. Before it becomes a fire, flood, insect infestation, or other calamity.’
Summer was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry that it has to be you. But I can’t go up there. You know what happened the last time.’
Hope shuddered. ‘That was bad.’
‘What was bad?’ Dylan demanded. ‘One of you can go up to the attic, but the other one can’t? Why?’
There was a mixture of confusion and frustration in his voice. Hope didn’t blame him for being exasperated. She and Summer were engaged in a conversation that he wasn’t a part of and didn’t understand. The problem was that if she tried to explain it to him, he probably still wouldn’t understand – and considering his previous skeptical remarks about the mystical world, in all likelihood he wouldn’t believe her. Hope didn’t mind, and she knew that Summer didn’t mind, either. In their line of work, they dealt with plenty of cynics. But she didn’t want Dylan to take the issue up with Morris, thereby causing difficulties for Gram. It seemed to her that the best solution for everyone involved was to encourage an exit now, before Dylan saw or heard anything even more inexplicable.
‘Thank you for coming over,’ Hope said to him politely.
She took several deliberate steps away from the staircase. Summer caught her sister’s hint immediately. All the Baileys had been obliged on occasion over the years to hurry guests out of the brownstone. It was not a new phenomenon.
‘It was nice to see you,’ Summer added with matching courteousness, also turning away from the staircase.
‘Feel free to drop by any time.’ Hope motioned in the direction of the boutique. ‘No appointment necessary.’
Summer began to move toward the front door. ‘We’ll show you out.’
‘Seriously?’ Dylan’s tone was sharp. And he didn’t budge an inch. ‘You’re seriously trying to get rid of me?’
Hope and Summer exchanged a glance.
‘It’s getting late.’ Summer pointed at the hall clock. ‘Don’t you have patients to see in the morning?’
‘I do have patients,’ Dylan acknowledged, ‘but I certainly wouldn’t consider this to be late.’
‘It’s late enough,’ Hope remarked. ‘It’s after dark.’
‘At least it’s not after midnight,’ Summer said to her sister.
She gave a weary little smile. ‘Thank heaven for small favors.’
Dylan was not amused. ‘You aren’t honestly suggesting that you have a curfew?’
Hope looked at him, and after a brief hesitation, she shrugged, more to herself than to Dylan. ‘It’s an attic curfew. We avoid the witching hour if at all possible.’
‘Hope!’ Summer exclaimed, not expecting the admission.
‘I know, I know.’ She nodded. ‘The smartest thing would be for us not to tell him anything about it. Once we do, he’ll no doubt think we’re a few apples short of a bushel. But he probably already thinks that.’ Hope shrugged again. ‘In any event, Dylan has no intention of leaving. You can see it from the way that he’s set his jaw—’
‘Damn right I have no intention of leaving!’ Dylan snapped. ‘What sort of a man do you take me for? I heard that noise, too. If there’s an intruder in here, I’m not going to wish you a good night and walk merrily out of the door while that person is roaming about the house!’
‘Such chivalry,’ Summer murmured drolly.
Dylan didn’t appear to hear her. ‘And what the hell is the witching hour?’
Hope and Summer exchanged another glance.
‘How detailed an explanation would you like?’ Hope asked him. Not waiting for his answer, she offered an abbreviated version. ‘Generally speaking, spiritual activity fluctuates throughout the course of the day. In the case of our attic, the energy is stronger after sundown, especially from midnight to around four a.m. That time is commonly referred to as the witching hour, because in traditional folklore, witches, ghosts, demons, and other supernatural entities are considered to have more power then.’
As Hope had predicted, Dylan stared at her as though she were a few apples short of a bushel.
‘He’s going to recommend psychiatric treatment,’ Summer muttered.
‘Better that than being burned at the stake,’ Hope replied under her breath. To Dylan, she said, ‘I’m afraid the clock is ticking. I’m not eager to go up there, but I really need to check the attic. I would greatly prefer to have it done before midnight, so if you’ll excuse me …’
Without more ado, she turned toward the staircase.
‘I’ll stay down here.’ Summer chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. ‘The farther away I am, the safer it will be for you.’
‘It will probably turn out to be nothing.’ Hope feigned more confidence than she felt. ‘We haven’t heard a peep since the original noise. Maybe it was just a bit of restlessness, and it’s already calmed down.’
Summer chewed harder on her lip and gave her sister an encouraging squeeze of the hand as she passed by and started up the stairs.
‘Wait …’ Dylan called after her.
Hope glanced back.
‘You’re not going alone,’ he said. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No,’ Summer protested. She shook her head at him, then at Hope. ‘That’s not a good idea.’
‘It’s not a good idea,’ Hope agreed.
Undeterred, Dylan headed toward the stairs.
‘You really can’t.’ Summer moved in front of him to block his path. ‘He really can’t,’ she said to Hope. ‘You remember what happened to the electrician when he went up there? He had to take early retirement afterward.’
Dylan stepped around her. ‘Your electrician, plumber, dentist, and veterinarian may all be afraid of spooks and specters. I am not.’
They weren’t going to stop him. That was clear to Hope. Dylan’s jaw was set the same way as when he had announced his intention of not leaving the brownstone. All they could do was warn him and hope for the best.
‘All right,’ Hope acceded. ‘If you’re determined to see the attic, then be my guest.’ She turned back around and started up the stairs once more. ‘But don’t complain later on that we didn’t explain the risks. We assume no liability for events beyond our control.’
Dylan chuckled. ‘Nice disclaimer. You do realize that it’s not legally binding?’
Despite the circumstances, his flippancy made Hope laugh. ‘Go ahead. Try suing a ghost. I dare you.’
‘Don’t joke,’ Summer admonished her. ‘And don’t let him go up the attic steps first, in case – well, you know.’
‘In case what?’ Dylan asked Hope, as they climbed the main staircase together.
‘In case one of those spooks and specters that you’re not afraid of decides they don’t like you and hurls a pair of old snowshoes at your head.’
From out of the corner of her eye she saw him frown, but he didn’t otherwise respond. When they reached the second-floor landing, Dylan’s attention shifted to the architecture.
‘Wow! This place is fantastic,’ he said in admiration. ‘The craftsmanship and attention to detail. Look at that woodwork! It’s even more impressive than I thought it would be. How much do you know about the history of the house?’
‘We know a portion of it,’ she answered vaguely.
Dylan marveled at the design of the building, the preservation of the antique fixtures, and the imposing stained-glass window at the end of the hall.
‘What direction does the window face?’ he asked.
‘East.’
‘So early light would be the best. The glass must be stunning when it’s fully illuminated.’ Dylan turned to her, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘I would greatly enjoy seeing it in the morning.’
The words might have been innocent, but the smile definitely wasn’t.
‘I bet you would,’ Hope replied dryly.
‘I remember you telling me’ – Dylan moved a step closer to her – ‘that the bedrooms are on the second floor. Am I correct in assuming that includes your bedroom?’
His smile was now a full-fledged grin.
‘You’re not getting a tour of my bedroom.’
‘Why not?’ He moved closer still. ‘There’s no time like the present.’
Although Dylan didn’t touch her, the nearness of his body made Hope’s pulse quicken.
‘What happened to your grave concern about an intruder?’ she said, trying to shift the conversation.
‘There is no intruder. I don’t know what that noise was before, but I’ve been listening carefully ever since we came inside, and it’s been perfectly quiet. Unless they’re better concealed than a mouse, no one is here. We’re all alone.’
They were not all alone; Hope could guarantee him that, but she saw no benefit in contesting the matter, particularly because the longer they stood there together, the more she began to waver about the tour of her bedroom.
Dylan cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to him. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as she met his smoky gaze.
‘I’m starting to believe in that witching hour of yours.’ Dylan’s voice was low, almost purring. ‘You’ve certainly bewitched me.’
And with the skill of a snake charmer, he was in the process of bewitching her. Hope was on the verge of melting into his arms when – somewhere above her – there was a moan.
She pulled away, keenly alert. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘That sound. Listen.’
A clock chimed. A floorboard creaked. A pipe clanked.
‘I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary, only the usual noises that houses of this age and condition make.’ Dylan tried to draw her back toward him, but it was too late. The spell was broken.
‘I know what I heard.’ Hope raised a wary eye toward the ceiling. ‘And I know where it came from.’
Turning from the second floor, she continued swiftly up the main staircase. The third-floor hall was narrower and shorter than the one below.
‘Watch your head,’ she cautioned Dylan. ‘There are a couple of low spots, and you’re tall enough that you might hit …’
She didn’t finish the sentence as she stepped on to the landing and switched on the hall light. All the doors on the third floor were closed, except for one. Halfway down the hall, on the right-hand side, the door leading up to the attic steps was ajar. There was a round, dark object on the floor protruding from the gap. Hope squinted at it, trying to identify it. She began to move forward for a closer look and halted abruptly in surprise. The object was a brown leather loafer – and it was attached to a foot.
TWENTY
Dylan saw it, too.
‘Is that a foot …?’ he began. ‘And a leg – oh, hell!’
His medical training must have instinctively kicked in, because he immediately raced down the hall toward the owner of the loafer. For a moment, Hope was too startled to follow him. She had expected to find some sort of a disturbance in relation to the attic. Groans, sighs, and whimpers were all common. Banging doors and windows also. Items were occasionally thrown across the room or pushed down the attic steps. But not a person.
Hope drew a shaky breath. There actually was an intruder in the brownstone. That explained the shout and the series of thumps. But who was it? What were they doing there? And how badly were they injured?
‘The good news,’ Dylan reported, kneeling down and completing a cursory examination of the person, ‘is that he’s alive. Only minimally conscious but alive.’
As though to prove it, the man gave a low, pitiful moan, similar to the one that Hope had heard a minute earlier from the second floor.
‘He’s lucky,’ Dylan continued. ‘It looks like cuts and contusions mainly. One of his ankles isn’t right, but my guess is that it’s no more than a bad sprain. I can only ascertain so much from this position, and I’m hesitant to move him without assistance and proper equipment. I don’t think there’s any serious damage to the neck or spinal column, but I would rather not take the chance. He should go to the hospital where they can do all the necessary tests.’
Leaning over the landing, Hope called down to her sister, telling her that an unidentified man had fallen down the attic steps and needed an ambulance. After a few stunned seconds, Summer ran to the phone. Hope headed toward Dylan and the man.
‘Normally, I would advise you to stay back,’ Dylan said, as she approached them. ‘He could be armed and dangerous. But I haven’t found any weapons on him, and in his current condition, the only hazard that he poses is to himself.’
