Deadly Inheritance: A Romantic Suspense (6 page)

“Is Mr. James the only one who saw the spirits?” He accepted the key and unlocked the door. When he opened it, the disturbed air, smelling musty and dry, brushed past him like a living entity.

“No. That handyman, Mr. Bain, he won’t come in the house, but he won’t say why. But Mr. James’ visitors used to say they saw things when they had to stay here. Overnight.”

“But you never saw anything?”

She shrugged again, staring at the worn, wooden floor at her feet.

So she didn’t believe in the spirit world, but didn’t want to lose her position by appearing to disagree with the prevailing wisdom of the James family.

Smart woman.

And it probably made her job easier if folks didn’t want to spend the night at Autumn Hill because they were afraid.

Even smarter.

“Why did you say the accident at the bridge was caused by ghosts if you don’t believe they exist?” He pocketed the key and faced her.

“I never claimed they don’t exist. I just said they never bothered me. And what else could it’ve been? Who’d want to hurt that girl? She’s never even been here before.” Her face hardened. “She’s not one of them cousins who hung around Mr. James, waiting to see what they could get out of him before—or after—he died. Vultures.”

“Did his other relatives do that?” Had one of Nora’s greedy cousins set a trap for her? It was possible, and certainly more reasonable than believing that a ghost had tried to prevent her from entering Autumn Hill.

Or tried to murder her. He could still hear the clanking, sliding sound of the chain rattling into the water.

That heavy chain falling behind her could have cracked her skull like an egg. While he might have accepted that the rotten boards in the drawbridge had finally given way, he couldn’t accept both decayed boards and a loose chain failing at the same time.

He rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t done a damn thing to protect her except stand there with his mouth hanging open. Despite his best efforts, she’d saved herself. And she’d done it before he could even get his shoes off to dive in and rescue her. Or drown both of them with his ineptitude.

His frustration tasted as dry and dusty in his mouth as the stale air in the unused room behind him.

“Some hung around Mr. James, some didn’t.” Sarah shrugged, clearly regretting her previous comments about her employer’s family. “I have to fetch that bleach.”

He glanced at the lumpy, hard-looking bed. “And sheets?”

“And the sheets. I’ll change your bed when I’m done and give the room a good dusting. Open the windows. Fresh air will help.” She left abruptly, her heels once more clattering over the wooden floors in a staccato rhythm he was starting to recognize as her brisk, no-nonsense walk.

The room wasn’t too bad when he looked around.

At least there was a bed, a double bed, in fact. And in the corner on his right was a small wooden desk and chair, the kind you used to see in old-fashioned elementary schools. The desk had a narrow cavity under the top where paper, pens, and books could be stashed, although at the moment, the dark hole looked uncomfortably like some wild animal’s den. He kept expecting a snake or something to poke its head out and stare at him. Finally, he walked over and stuck his hand inside the opening. Nothing but a few scraps of yellowing paper and a half-chewed pencil.

The other corner embraced a three-drawer bureau. All its drawers were empty and relatively free of dust. He unzipped one of his bags and filled the drawers with his clothes, noting the lack of a closet.

Not exactly luxurious, but he’d survive.

He’d just lifted his gadget bag and placed it on the top of the bureau when the bathroom door opened. A hot, thick cloud of chlorine bleach-scented steam billowed into the room. Nora stepped out of the mist, coughing into a fisted hand. She was wearing a pair of gray fleece sweat pants and a blue long-sleeved tee shirt. His gaze dropped to her feet.

She wore fake-fur-lined booties with rubber soles.

Above the ensemble, her long, brown hair hung down her back in wet strands, and he would have sworn that it was several shades lighter than the milk chocolate brown it was earlier that morning, even considering it was wet. Her face was as red and shiny as a polished ruby.

“Couldn’t Miss Lennox find you another room?” Nora glanced around, a puzzled frown growing on her face.

“This
is
another room. It’s my room. You went through the wrong door.”

“Oh.” She nodded and smiled in relief. As she talked, astringent, mint-scented puffs of air fluttered through her lips.

He could smell the mint two yards away.

Then she turned around and went back into the antiseptic fog. He followed her through a white bathroom, largely hidden by the thick clouds of steam still rising from the sink and bathtub, and through the connecting door into her room.

Rococo. Extreme Rococo
. He stared around in shock.

If he’d thought the grand staircase was a brilliant testament to bad taste, this room was the perpetrator’s ultimate achievement. More fat-cheeked cherubs stared down from the corners of the room, gracing (if he could apply that term to anything in the room) crown molding that had been carved from some dark wood into twining, snakelike ivy. Some fool had taken gold leaf, or gilt, and touched just the edges of the ivy leaves, making them glitter damply in the pale streams of daylight that managed to elude the heavy curtains.

The gilded ivy molding also crawled along the baseboards and over the top edge of the almost-black wood used for the wainscoting. More hideous crimson roses slunk through more ivy on the wallpaper, and the bed in the center of the room was a monstrosity of carved wood and blood red draperies hanging down from the bed posts and capping frame.

A white bureau, a dressing table with a mirror, and a chair stood against the far wall. The furniture was elaborately carved and enameled white, with gold highlighting the grooves and edges of the furniture. The pieces looked feminine and out of place against the dark richness of the ornate bed and wainscoting.

An oriental rug in shades of blood red covered the middle of the wooden floor.

His room seemed positively cheerful in comparison to the suffocating ornateness of this chamber. James was obviously no fan of Danish modern.

Nora looked around and gave a half-hearted laugh. “Well. It is, uh,
luxurious
, isn’t it?”

He nodded. A sense of unease grew in him as he studied the room in more detail. The elaborate furnishings could hide anything, any kind of booby trap. He glanced at the heavy draperies surrounding the bed and the wooden canopy frame. An old ghost story about an inn with a bed with a canopy like that rose to mind. Those who slept in the deadly bed were suffocated when the canopy descended during the night, operated by the thieving owners of the guesthouse.

“I don’t like it. You were almost killed once already—there’s no telling what little surprises might be planted in here,” he said. She’d be better off—safer—in his room.

“You want to change rooms?” Nora asked, as if reading his mind.

Wary of triggering her stubbornness, he said, “Not really.” Besides, one night in here and he’d be a raving lunatic and no good to her at all. “But if you get frightened, my bed is a double. We can both stay in there.”

“Yeah, well, there’s also the floor in your room. I’m sure you’d be comfortable enough there if it becomes necessary,” she replied in a dry voice. She kicked at the edge of the red area rug with a slippered toe. “The rug’s certainly thick enough.”

He chuckled and leaned closer to give her shoulder a squeeze. She was so easy to be around when she wasn’t arguing with him. His grin widened. Much as she might hate the comparison, she was like an old, comfortable jacket, the kind that would see you through any kind of weather and slough off any accidents.

“I need some vodka,” she said out of nowhere. She looked at him with a speculative gleam in her eyes, as if she thought he might carry a bottle around with him.

Please, dear God, don’t let her be one of those who drank almost constantly to “settle her nerves.”

“Do you think that’s really a good idea? Now?” He didn’t point out that she’d emptied her stomach after her plunge into the moat.

“Yes. I think it’s a
great
idea. Though it’s probably too late,” she added bitterly. “I’m sure I’m already seething with microorganisms, despite that shower.” She glanced around unhappily and then fixed her gaze on him. “Do you think I should take a prophylactic course of antibiotics, anyway? Not that they’d really help for most of the parasites swimming around in that nasty water. I knew I should have brought some drugs with me, I just knew it.”

So she was a germ-a-phobe. He should have guessed it the minute she stuck her finger in her mouth after the accident. He sighed. So much for his idea that Nora was easy to be around.

“Maybe Miss Lennox has some vodka,” he suggested reluctantly.

“Any good alcohol will do, but vodka would be best.” She stepped towards the door.

He stopped her with an outstretched arm. “Your accident—that chain could have killed you.”

“The
chain
? The chain was window-dressing. Once it hit the water, it was almost weightless.” She rubbed the back of one leg, her actions belying her words. “It’s the water that was deadly. I may not have drown, but the ghosts will be happy to learn that I may still join them thanks to the long term effects of the parasites in that pit. I’ll be lucky if I’m not dead in a year from some kind of organ failure.” She pushed a lock of damp hair off her face. “Shoot—I wish I’d brought some antibiotics or sulfa drugs. Or fenbendazole. Then I could at least avoid giardiasis.”

His anger and frustration at his failure, and her blindness to the effects of her stubbornness, flashed in him like the explosive incandescence of a gasoline fire. “I should have—” He swallowed the words he was going to say, before continuing calmly, “Why didn’t you listen to me when I called your name? I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Jump in to rescue me? What good would that have done? Then we’d both be infected and stuck in that pitfall of a moat. I got out, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” He grabbed her arm when she turned back to the door. The air between them vibrated, and for tense moment, his deep awareness of her pushed his thoughts away. He took a deep breath before he managed to grind out, “Someone tried to kill you. It’s not a joking matter. You shouldn’t stay. Let me investigate—for your own safety.”

“I’ll be careful, and I’m staying. And I think what happened to me pretty well proves that my uncle was murdered. I want to talk to the police and see what they think. I’m sure they’ll be around since they haven’t finished their original investigation. And if they’re here enough, it’ll make whoever did it a little more cautious, right? We’ll be fine. I want—no, I
need
—to do this to get my shelter off the ground. Is that really too much to ask?” She twisted the hem of her shirt as she studied him with troubled, brown eyes.

“It’s crazy to stay.” He grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. Why couldn’t she see that she was in serious danger? Why couldn’t she understand the situation? “Particularly in this room—it’s impossible to search effectively. Is an animal shelter worth your life?”

“It’s worth staying.” Her mouth tightened, and she blinked rapidly. His chest tightened with guilt when he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes before she looked away. “You don’t understand—do you have any idea how many animals I have to put down in a year? Abandoned, abused, injured—” Her words broke in her throat. She stopped, swallowing repeatedly and shifted to turn away. “They trust me, even lick my hand. They think I’m helping them. And each time, it feels like betrayal, and my soul shrinks just a little bit more. It’s bad enough when they’re old or in pain and dying, but what about the healthy ones? The ones no one wants and have run out of time—what about them?”

“You can’t save them all—” He looked away, unable to meet her gaze as the trite words came out of his mouth.

“No kidding. But I don’t have to put down so many, either. With a little more land, a little more cash, I can save a few more. It’s worth it.” Her chin tilted up, and she rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s important to me. I’m staying.”

“There are other avenues, other ways to get funding.” He struggled to sound reasonable. There
had
to be other ways—alternatives that wouldn’t require her to remain in such a dangerous situation. “Risking your own life is crazy.”

“So I’m nuts. I’m not going to argue with you. Right now, I need alcohol, and lots of it.” She pressed one hand against her stomach and made a face. “I can almost feel bacteria starting to reproduce inside me.”

“We’ll find some vodka, or I’ll go get some if I have to.” When she moved toward the door, he caught her forearm again. “What I want to know before I do is, who knew when you were coming?”

“Well, I called Miss Lennox—Sarah—and told her we’d be here no later than nine-thirty this morning.” She eyed him. “Of course, we were late, but she knew approximately when we’d arrive. And then there was my godfather, Frank.”

Still aware of the crackling air between them, he released her to avoid the temptation to throw his arm around her slender shoulders, a move he was sure she’d rebuff. “They could have told anyone.”