Deadly Inheritance: A Romantic Suspense (5 page)

Despite spitting out the water, she could taste the putrid liquid in her mouth and smell it on her breath. She stuck a finger in her throat and forced herself to vomit for fear of what she may have swallowed.

“We’re going,” Gabe said when she straightened again.

“No, we’re staying. And don’t you dare try to drag me back to your car.” Now that push had come to shove, her native stubbornness awoke, flashing with anger. She didn’t scare that easily. She looked around for a plank of wood, anything big enough to bridge that hole.

“Don’t be a fool—”

She stared at Gabe, daring him to argue. “I’m going inside, I’m going to take a hot shower, and then we’ll discuss it.”

He studied her and nodded abruptly before digging into his pocket. “Fine. I have a few things in my vehicle we can use.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth. “We won’t fall into the moat again, trust me. In the back of my truck is a ramp. It should be long enough to bridge the gap. If you’re sure you want to stay.”

Before she agreed, he strode back to his truck. Her heart choked her, but she spit out another foul mouthful and followed him, not wanting to be left alone by the moat. The water in her boots squelched and sloshed out onto the gray, sandy dirt, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind her.

The well-oiled hinges of the truck’s back panels opened easily at Gabe’s touch. She peered over his shoulder. Despite a densely packed and awe-inspiring array of tools and odd-and-ends, he didn’t hesitate. He yanked out a telescoping metal ramp that had been leaning against one side of the vehicle. Puffballs of hair—dog hair?—followed the ramp and cascaded gently to the ground. Chattering teeth and general miserableness made her stand back instead of offering to help. She watched silently as Gabe dragged it over to the moat and let it plunk down on the few remaining planks of the drawbridge.

“I’m just going to slide it over the gap.” Gabe studied her. “Wait there. You don’t have to do anything.”

She eyed him and rubbed her upper arms. “Did I offer to do anything?”

He had the grace to look startled. In fact, the tips of his ears turned the lovely shade of homegrown, sun-ripened tomato red. As if to cover his embarrassment, he knelt at the edge of the drawbridge and manipulated the ramp into position.

The device just barely bridged the chasm.

She caught Gabe’s gaze and shrugged. “Do you want me to go first?”

“Well,” his flush deepened, “you’re lighter. I’ll steady it for you.”

“Fine.” She eased across the remaining planks, grabbed her recalcitrant bag by the handle, and walked as quickly as possible. The metal rattled and bowed underneath her feet when she neared the center. She moved more quickly and nearly ran across the last few feet of the remaining drawbridge planks.

She stopped at the door and leaned against it, breathing rapidly. She’d made it.

Moving lightly, Gabe grabbed his bags and crossed quickly. He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze when he halted next to her. Then he beat a short tattoo on the door’s simple brass knocker.

When the door opened, she thrust her way inside without bothering to see who had opened it. A shadowy grand hall stretched out before her, and she looked around, relieved to have firm ground—actually, a very elegant white marble—beneath her squelching hiking boots. Behind her, she heard the clanking of the metal ramp as Gabe carefully pulled it up and collapsed it, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the drawbridge. The gray-haired woman who had opened the door stared at her, one hand still holding the doorknob.

Gabe barely gave the gray-haired woman a glance. Instead, he focused on Nora, his dark brows furrowed in a scowl.

He was angry with her for not listening to him, for going first across the bridge. If she’d done as he’d asked, he’d have been the one to get dunked in that bacteria soup. A hot flush washed up her throat and over her cheeks, ashamed at her sudden wish that she’d complied with his request, even if she had proven that she could take care of herself by climbing out on her own. Her skin crawled with slime under her saturated clothes as if to contradict the thought.

Maybe she’d apologize to him later. Right now, she desperately wanted a shower. She cast a long look over her shoulder. Her eyes focused on the ragged hole in the drawbridge. A little bit more of her self-confidence trickled away.

There was no escape now.

They had arrived at Autumn Hill.

An odd feeling came over Gabe as he adjusted the ramp to lean against the wall. They were under observation, and not just by the gray-haired woman holding the door open. The fine hair on his forearms tickled as if an unseen spider had crept under his sleeve. He glanced around but didn’t see anyone staring at them.

Was someone disappointed that Nora had survived her fall? There was malignance in that stare—hatred—he could feel it. His gut tightened. He should force her to leave now. It wasn’t safe here, especially for a woman like Nora. They’d just arrived, and she’d already suffered what could have been a fatal accident, due in part to her independence.

If she wasn’t going to listen to him—he crushed the angry thought. It was his job to protect her, regardless of excuses and obstacles, even if the biggest obstacle was her own obstinacy. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper. That would only lead to more mistakes.

His hand went to his cell phone of its own volition before he had second thoughts. Notifying the police would be useless. They’d claim it was an accident. The planks forming the drawbridge were old. The remaining boards showed signs of dampness and rot along the edges. Large splinters jutted out, ready to flake off at the slightest pressure. Time had clearly eaten away the wood’s integrity. And the chain could have come loose from its moorings if the neglect evident in the decaying wood held true for the controlling mechanism as well.

He glanced up at saw a skinny guy lope around the house from the left, on the opposite side of the moat. He came to a standstill near Gabe’s truck and stared at it. When he glanced at the house, he smiled and flapped a hand at them.

Gabe nodded thoughtfully.

The lanky guy had a goofy, bright-but helpless air about him, and he appeared fascinated by Gabe’s vehicle. He strolled around it nodding and bending down to look at the undercarriage, all the while grinning madly.

The gray-haired woman caught the direction of Gabe’s glance and said, “That’s Don Bain. He takes care of the outside of the house. Only been here a couple of months.”

“Doesn’t do a very good job, does he?” Nora said, gesturing at the hole in the ramp. A piece of green weed hanging from her wrist swayed. Grimacing, she plucked it off and was about to drop it when she caught the other woman’s disgusted expression.

Nora flushed and shoved the weed into her pocket.

“He only does the grounds. He doesn’t come inside the house. It’s a rule,” the woman stated in a flat voice, although her eyes hardened as she glanced again at the young man. “Besides, he won’t come too near the house. Says it’s haunted.” Apparently, she didn’t entirely approve of him, either.

Gabe looked again at the drawbridge. A thousand innocent things could have caused Nora’s accident, but the tension tightening his muscles warned him that none of those trivial explanations were true.

After another quick glance around, he leaned the metal ramp against one of the dark paneled walls in the entryway. The woman who had opened the door watched him expressionlessly as she stood with her back to the wall and one hand on the doorknob, still holding the door open as if frozen in place.

“The ghosts don’t want you here.” She gestured toward the broken bridge, the lines bracketing her mouth and wrinkling the skin between her brows deepening. She looked more worried than hostile as her gaze flickered between Gabe and Nora. “You shouldn’t stay—it’s too dangerous. None of us should be here. I warned them others, but they just laughed.”

Gabe interrupted, “I’m Gabriel O’Brien. This is Nora James.”

“I’m the housekeeper, Miss Lennox.”

“Well, Miss Lennox, I hate to ignore your advice, but we’re staying,” Nora said before Gabe could continue. “And I don’t really care what the spirits think about it.”

“Don’t say that.” Miss Lennox’s frown deepened. “They’ll murder you, just like they did Mr. James.”

“That’s nice.” Nora brushed a piece of green slime away from the corner of her mouth. “It’ll give the police something more to do.”

“You shouldn’t joke about it. This house isn’t healthy. Your uncle—” She pressed her lips together tightly as if she thought better of whatever she was going to say. “It’s your choice, of course.” The woman’s gaze moved dismissively from Nora to Gabe.

Her eyes were gray and sharp and seemed to see right through him, the way the nuns had in school when he thought he was going to get away with something. He never did then, and he had the feeling he wasn’t going to, now.

Troublemaker. You wanted trouble and now you’ve got it.
His knuckles ached with the memory of the sharp rap of the nun’s ruler.

As she examined him, Miss Lennox’s thin face expressed neither approval nor disapproval. His inability to read her only strengthened his feeling that he was an inexperienced kid again, unsure of himself and waiting for the adults to pronounce judgment. The fact that her short gray hair, dark gray pants, jacket, and white shirt perfectly captured the appearance of the drab-embracing nuns of his youth didn’t help, either.

A few steps ahead of him, Nora set her bag down with the snap of finality. Decision made. They were here and here they’d stay.

She shrugged, pinching the front of her jacket and shirt and holding them away from her body. Her brown hair hung straight down her back in lank, green strands, slowly dripping onto the marble floor.

The putrid smell of decay wafting around her made him back up a step. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning when Miss Lennox’s nose wrinkled and she eyed the puddle on the floor with distaste.

“I spoke to you on the phone, didn’t I, Ms. Lennox?” Nora asked.

The woman shut the door and, despite the fact that without the drawbridge, no one was likely to walk in, she locked it. The click of the metal tumblers sliding into place echoed in the hallway, with the chilling tone of a funeral bell tolling.

She shoved the key into her pocket and faced Nora. “
Miss
Lennox. Or Sarah, if you wish. Your uncle always called me Sarah. I don’t see no reason why you shouldn’t.”

“Like Gabe said, I’m Nora.” She flapped a hand toward Gabe, caught sight of a patch of wet, brown sludge on her wrist, and blushed furiously. “Sorry about the mess. Do you have any chlorine bleach? Disinfectant? Anything like that?”

“I’ll fetch the bleach after I’ve done shown you and your husband up to your room. You can change into clean clothes there.” Stiff-backed, Sarah brushed past Nora and walked briskly across the hallway, her low-heeled leather shoes clacking against the marble floor.

“Can I get the bleach now? Any disinfectant will do. Whatever you have,” Nora asked, wavering and looking first at Gabe and then at Sarah Lennox’s rigid back.

“I’ll fetch it after I’ve done shown you to your room.” Sarah had made a decision and apparently, that was that.

Red-cheeked, Nora flicked him an embarrassed glance. “Ah, we’re not married—we’re just friends. I hoped we could have two rooms. Two separate rooms? Now?” She shifted stiffly, her hiking boots squirting out another trickle of water, her elbows held out stiffly as if she were afraid of touching anything, including herself.

Her hair, hidden behind its veil of fibrous green algae, dripped with slow, monotonous insistence, the droplets bouncing off her shoulders and contributing to streams running along her arms to her wrists and down her back to the sagging hem of her jacket. The small rivulets merged and splashed down into the spreading pool forming around her shoes.

She looked unhappy and desperately uncomfortable. And the rank odor made him want to keep as far away from her as possible.

“I only made up the one room. There are already four of you. No one else brought her husband. Or his wife.” Sarah clearly only believed in two possible states: married or single. Take your pick.

Her attitude made him wonder if her unmarried status was her choice or if events had conspired to deny her love. There was something about her thin face and the delicacy of her chin and cheekbones that made him think she might once have been a pretty woman. Maybe she just didn’t like people very much. He certainly found it difficult to like her.

Worse, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just tried to kill Nora. Maybe Sarah Lennox wanted Autumn Hill all to herself.

“If there’s another room near mine,” Nora’s voice rose in increasing desperation, “or wherever, Gabe can use that. I need that bleach and a shower. Right now. I’ll clean up the hallway after I’ve changed, but I need to get cleaned up first.”

“I need a room near Nora,” he said. Nora might be independent, but he wasn’t going to let her waltz off into another dangerous situation. She needed protection, not from the ephemeral spirit realm, but from an agency much closer and much more human.

Sarah’s gaze dwelt on the fetid puddle seeping under and around Nora’s shoes for several seconds before she nodded. “You’re on the second floor with the others.”

The housekeeper led the way to the broad, overly elaborate mahogany staircase that clung to the right-hand wall like a drunk in evening clothes hooking his arm around a light post for support. A leering, obese cherub stood on one-foot in mid-dance on top of the newel post, and other fat little mahogany creatures eyed them between the railings and from every available corner. Overblown red roses with nastily thorny stems and intertwining dark vines writhed over the velvet-flocked wallpaper above the time-darkened wainscoting in an oppressive design that Gabe immediately loathed. Victorian monstrosities and excesses at their worst.

He looked around with increasing disgust as he picked up his bags and strode after the women. Why did anyone—particularly a man—want to live in a place like this? Not a single clean, straight surface, or cheerful color relieved the grotesque splendor. The bright yellow and red doors of Nora’s car flashed into his mind. A smile lingered on his mouth as he followed her and the dour housekeeper up the stairs.

Sarah halted in front of the second door on the left, pulled a key out of her pocket, unlocked the door, and stood aside to let Nora enter. “There’s a bathroom behind the door on your right.”

“Great.” Nora dashed into the room, through the indicated door, and slammed it shut behind her. The squeak and rumble of water being turned on pounded through the thick wooden panels of the bathroom door.

As Gabe hesitated in the hallway, the housekeeper reached through the doorway and set the brass key she held on an ornately carved dresser nearby. “I’ll fetch the bleach.”

“Is there a connecting room?” he asked before she could stride away.

“This room is big, and there’s a king-sized bed. Should be enough.” She gazed at him with pale, expressionless eyes, her red-knuckled, work-worn hands clasping her sharp elbows.

“Nora snores so we can’t share a room. Is there one nearby?”
Sorry, Nora
. But she’d probably find an accusation of snoring preferable to sharing a bed with a stranger.

And even if he found her attractive—normally—he’d probably agree about sharing a bed if the soap and bleach couldn’t get rid of the putrid stench of the moat.

Sarah’s stare grew more intense. The back of his neck began to itch. The distinct feeling that she was weighing the truth of his words grew until another flashback filled with disapproving nuns crept over him.

What was it about her that kept reminding him of his misspent youth?

An apology rose to his lips for his claim that Nora snored.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Maybe he could sleep on the floor next to Nora’s bed if Sarah was intractable.

“I don’t—”

“I want to stay nearby.” He smiled at her. “I’m sure you understand.”

“The room on the other side of the bathroom isn’t used. It’s a Jack-and-Jill bathroom.” She frowned despite his attempt at friendliness. “We never use that second bedroom. I haven’t cleaned it.”

“That’s fine. I can clean it.”

“The bed isn’t made.”

“If you give me the sheets, I can change the bed.”

“I have to fetch the bleach for your wife.”

Gabe opened his mouth to protest again that Nora wasn’t his wife, but one look at Sarah’s hard eyes made him stop. He walked past her to the next door on the left. “Is this the room?” When he tried to turn the brass knob, it firmly resisted his grip.

“Yes. It’s locked.” She didn’t move. “No one likes to use it. Mr. James always said it was the
locus
.”

“Locus of what?”

She shrugged, her mouth tightening. He couldn’t tell if she disagreed with her deceased employer but didn’t want to contradict the dead, or if she believed him, and his words had scared her too much to discuss the matter.

Either way, Gabe didn’t care. If there was a bed in the room, he was happy.

“Can I have the key?” His patience was wearing thin, and he suspected she was enjoying her tiny moment of uncooperativeness and rebellion. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?” he asked abruptly, hoping surprise would trigger an honest response.

Her face finally betrayed an understandable, human emotion. Her gray eyes crinkled with amusement, and a slight smile curved her pale, thin lips. “They’ve never bothered me none, and I’ve lived here for over forty years. I’m only repeating what others have said. Mr. James said Autumn Hill was haunted because the moat attracted spirits and trapped them here.” She pulled a ring of keys out of her jacket pocket, selected one, slid it around the ring to release it, and handed it to him. “But I haven’t never been bothered.” Her gaze flicked up to his face. “I’m not a James, though.”