Strangers in the Night (11 page)

Just west of the B&B sat what looked to have once been a stunning Victorian. The house, with its gables and turrets and stained-glass windows, beckoned to Abbie, challenged her to come closer and explore the grandeur that had once been.

Farther up the road, Abbie spotted what could only be described as a mansion. It rested on a knoll, looking down on the town. From what Jake had told her, this incredible place had to be the Johansson estate. A black wrought-iron fence surrounded it. Abbie could hardly wait to get a closer look, but first, she wanted to get settled in her room.

As Abbie stepped out of the car, a woman with red hair and glasses hurried down the stairs. A wide smile rounded her face and brightened her brown eyes. She wore jeans and a red- and-white flannel plaid shirt and looked as though she'd been cleaning. “You must be Abbie.”

“I am. You're Dawn?”

“What gave me away?” She chuckled. “Here, let me get that for you.” Dawn hefted the heavy suitcase out of the trunk as if it were a pillow. “Do you have more?”

Abbie nodded. “Just one. It's in the backseat.”

Dawn insisted on carrying both bags. She deposited them in a room on the first floor at the end of a hallway. “What a beautiful room.” Abbie let her gaze wander over the Victorian furnishings and the decorative floral trim on the walls.

Dawn pushed aside the drapes, revealing a large picture window and a sliding patio door that led to an aggregate deck bordered with colorful geraniums. A white café table with two matching chairs sat in the center, and off to one side was a chaise lounge. The patio offered a stunning view of a lake. “This is really nice.”

“It's one of my favorite rooms.” Dawn opened the patio door, letting in the scent of fresh mountain air mingled with that of a forest—moldy and woodsy.

“I wasn't expecting a view.” Abbie peered outside. “Everything is so lush and green.”

Dawn laughed. “Thanks to the rain. We've had one storm after another for the past three weeks. Flooding in a lot of places. That
lake
you're looking at is actually a wetlands area. It fills with water every winter.”

“Could have fooled me.” Abbie stepped back and set her purse on the bed.

“Hey, listen, I'll leave you to unpack. When you're done, come on into the kitchen and have a cup of coffee or tea. I made some cookies this morning.”

“Yum. Tea sounds perfect.”

Abbie stepped out onto the patio and inhaled several deep breaths of the fresh air. Sunlight glistened on the wet grass and leaves. The air was nippy, but wonderful. After putting her clothes away and placing her bags out of sight in the small closet, Abbie went in search of a phone so she could call her father, as promised, to let him know she'd arrived safely.

“You were right, Pops.” Abbie stood in the entryway. “The town has a lot of possibilities if you look beyond the damage.”

“Your mother and I knew you'd feel that way. Should I call Jake and have him bring papers for you to sign?”

Abbie laughed. “Not just yet. I'd like to look around a little more. Maybe get a feel for how much it's going to cost to get it up and running.”

“Don't worry too much about that. Jake and I figured we could renovate a little at a time. Besides, we have the money.”

“I know.” Abbie had money as well—from her trust account, and the settlement from the insurance company after Nate's accident. She hadn't touched a dime of it during the time she'd been in North Dakota. She'd been afraid that any activity in the account would alert the authorities. The thought brought her up short.

She still needed to talk with the attorney. Jake had suggested they reschedule the appointment for tomorrow.

Minutes later, Abbie was sitting on a stool at the counter admiring the remodeled kitchen and biting into a chewy chocolate chip cookie. The distinct aroma of Earl Grey tea drifted from the floral English teacup. Abbie sighed. “I've died and gone to heaven.”

“I got the recipe from my friend Jeanette. You'll meet her soon.” Dawn picked up a cookie and examined it a moment before taking a bite.

They talked about the delicious scents coming out of Dawn's kitchen and about how she and her husband had taken over the place four years ago, staying rent-free and managing it for Isabelle Johansson. “The place was a mess,” Dawn told her, “but Keith is a builder so we lucked out. We did most of the work ourselves.”

Abbie noticed the strands of ivy decorating the arched entry to the dining area. “Did you paint that ivy trim?”

“I did.” She flashed Abbie a knowing smile. “With the help of some stencils.”

“Well, stencil or not—it's lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“I was just telling my dad I wished I'd brought my paints.”

“What do you do? Watercolors, oils, acrylics?”

“All of the above. I majored in art, so I've done it all.”

“Which is probably why your parents want you to run the artist colony.”

“You know about that?” Abbie took a sip of tea.

“Everybody in town knows about it. Barbara had been gushing about how she actually met the Grants.”

Abbie bit her lip, a mixture of pride and embarrassment warming her cheeks. Being on the farm for so long, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be the daughter of famous parents.

Dawn didn't seem to notice. Her gaze was focused on the clock. She took another tray of cookies out of the oven and after setting them aside to cool, washed her hands. “Hey, listen. I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to pick up Cassie—my daughter. She's part home schooled and part private.”

Abbie brightened. “How old is she?”

“Ten.” Dawn beamed. “She's the light of our lives. Make yourself at home. I should be back in about an hour.”

“No problem,” Abbie said as Dawn grabbed keys off a hook in what looked like a mudroom off the kitchen and opened the back door.

Abbie took advantage of the quiet and the sunshine and daylight to walk around town with a map Jake had given her so that she could determine which of the buildings were included in the Johansson property. She was excited to see that most of the buildings would be theirs as well as the dilapidated Victorian that had captured her attention earlier. Abbie walked to downtown Cold Creek. She had seen no one except Dawn since she'd arrived. The town looked abandoned except for a bike propped against the library.

The gas station and store had a closed sign in the window. The three-story building with a saloon sign hanging vertically on one corner was boarded up and looked as though it had been that way for a hundred years. Her artistic self could see the brick monstrosity restored into a restaurant and gift shop and hotel for visitors or apartment units for artists. The artists would include painters, sculptors, ceramicists, writers, quilters, and gourmet chefs. She'd bring in big names to teach classes at the retreat center. There would be a gift shop with numerous themes and art galleries where the artists could display and sell their wares, a bookstore featuring local authors, and a café with a bakery and a museum. Of course, they'd need a grocery store. Ideas flowed as the dream carried Abbie on its current.

All too quickly, her business side reminded her of the logistics of such a venture. “Do you have any idea how much money it would take to accomplish what you want to do?” She spoke aloud, frustrated with the direction her thoughts had taken.

She'd brought up the expense and the feasibility when she and her parents had talked the day she'd arrived. “We have the money, Abbie,” her father had said. “We can do this.”

Abbie lowered herself to a worn wooden bench in front of the old saloon. “Oh Pops, I wish I had as much faith in myself as you do.”

She pulled away from the negative thoughts.
You can do this, Abbie Campbell
.

A woman and a young girl stepping out of the library across the street caught her attention. “I'll see you tomorrow, Kyrstin,” the woman said. “Remember to bring your math book.”

“I will.” Kyrstin, whom Abbie judged to be around twelve, glanced in Abbie's direction, hesitated for several seconds, then jumped on her bike and pedaled away. She turned off the main road near the W
ELCOME TO
C
OLD
C
REEK
sign and disappeared into the woods.

“Hi.” The woman waved at Abbie. She looked to be in her twenties, attractive with dark brown hair held back with a barrette. “You look kind of lonely sitting out here all by yourself. I don't mean to interrupt, but—”

“You're not interrupting anything.” In fact, Abbie was glad for the distraction. She rose and walked across the street, smiled, and extended her hand. “Abbie Campbell.”

“Sam…Samantha Willis. I run the library here and”—she nodded toward the girl who'd bicycled out of sight—“I help the home-schooled kids when their parents need me to.”

“I heard about the school closing. Do you have a lot of students?”

“It varies. There are ten families who still refuse to bus their kids into Oceanside. All of them use the library on a regular basis.”

“I'm glad to see the library has remained open.”

“That's only because my mother and I own and maintain it.” She smiled. “I'm the custodian, the librarian, the teacher. You name it, I do it.”

Abbie sensed a kinship of sorts with Samantha. “Have you lived in Cold Creek long?”

“My mother grew up here.” She opened the heavy wooden door and ushered Abbie inside. The place reminded her of a used bookstore she'd frequented in Grand Forks. There were two floors and a grand staircase in what looked like oak. The hardwood floors showed their age but had been well maintained.

Near the entrance stood an ornately carved desk. A large study table occupied a back corner, the stack of papers on top testifying to recent use. Unlike more modern libraries, this one boasted all wooden shelves. Abbie took in the familiar scent of books and wood as Sam continued. “She and my dad moved to California before I was born. But I spent a lot of summers here and moved back two years ago…bad marriage and all that. Now I live with my grandmother, Isabelle Johansson.”

“Jake told me about your grandmother.”

“At one time Grandma owned the entire town and a thousand acres around it.”

Abbie lowered herself into one of the stuffed chairs in the center of the enormous room as Samantha took the other one and continued her narrative. “As you may have noticed, things are kind of dead around here. Money is in short supply, and Grandma has had to sell off land. I'm not sure selling such a large chunk was necessary, but Uncle Steven, Grandma's son, is handling all her finances. Grandma has agreed to everything. I think she'll be fine as long as he doesn't try to sell her house. It's the big monstrosity on the hill.”

Abbie nodded. “Looks like a grand place.”

“It is, but it takes a lot of money to maintain. Steven is trying to talk her into moving to a retirement home in Oceanside.” Sam grinned. “But Gran is holding firm. She loves that old house and the gardens. I think taking care of it keeps her young.”

“I'd like to meet her.”

“She'd like to meet you too. She didn't want to sell—not at first. She was afraid some developer would scoop it up and raze the town. But when your parents came around to look at it and told her about the plans for the artist colony, she changed her mind.” Sam stood. “Say, I'm getting ready to close up for the day. Would you like to head up to the house with me?”

“Sure.” Abbie could think of nothing she'd rather do. Sam and Isabelle were the perfect pair to fill her in on Cold Creek and Bear Lake.

Abbie waited for Samantha to lock up and the two of them went back the way Abbie had come, past the B&B, past the Victorian that Abbie had already claimed for herself and Emma—and hopefully Skye.

“What can you tell me about this place?” Abbie stopped in front of the old Victorian.

“It's been vacant for as long as I can remember. It used to belong to a doctor. Steven had some remodeling done on it about ten years ago—turned it into a duplex. We've never been able to rent it out. It has a reputation for being haunted.”

“Really. Good thing I don't believe in ghosts.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I'm not sure I do either, but how else do you explain the fact that everyone who's been interested in renting it backs out?”

As Abbie glanced up at the house, a curtain in the third-story window moved. At least she thought it did. She chastised herself for being so vulnerable to suggestion. Still, she shivered as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Are you okay?” Sam followed her gaze.

“Fine.” Imagination, she told herself again. Still, she stepped up her pace.

By the time they had walked the hill and climbed the steps leading to the house, Abbie had to struggle to catch her breath. She'd worked hard on the farm but wasn't used to climbing anything except stairs to the bedroom and basement three or four times a day. In Grand Forks, however, everything had been level.

Samantha led her through an ornate iron gate and around the side of the house. “We never use the front entrances,” she explained. “Gran says there's no point tracking dirt into a living room we never use.”

They found Isabelle in the garden pulling out withered tomato vines. The knees of her jeans were soaked and caked with mud. A streak of dirt ran the length of one weathered cheek. Isabelle was a tall, thin woman with a ready smile. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a serviceable cut. Sam introduced Abbie and after chatting about the gardens, the three women went into the house. Isabelle excused herself. “Samantha, would you put water on for tea while I shower and change?”

“Be happy to.” Sam filled a kettle. Turning to Abbie she asked, “Would you rather have coffee? I can make you a pot.”

“Tea's fine.”

“Gran and I have a cup whenever I get home.” She set out porcelain cups and saucers. A lazy Susan in the center of the table held sugar and small packets of creamers. The large kitchen had apparently been upgraded recently to the more modern linoleum floors, Formica countertops, and oak cupboards. “Who did the kitchen?” Abbie asked. The job looked professional, and if everything went as planned, she'd need a contractor soon.

“Keith Morgan and Travis Jennings.”

“Keith—as in Dawn's husband?”

“The same.” Sam opened a cookie jar and took down a plate. “He did such a good job on the B&B that Gran hired him to do her kitchen. He and Travis do a lot of jobs in Oceanside for Brent O'Brien.”

While Sam busied herself in the kitchen, Abbie took a seat at the table in the bay window and admired the view. From this hillside home, she could see most of Cold Creek. Between the B&B and the possibly haunted Victorian was a path that led into the woods, probably to Bear Lake. On the other side of the lake was Travis's mobile home. “Nice view,” Abbie said. “I love that you can see so much of the lake from here. I was over there on Saturday.”

“Travis told me you were the one who found Barbara's scarf.” Sam sighed. “I'm sorry you had to go through all that.”

Abbie nodded. “So am I. But at least we know what happened to her.”

Sam sat down and, placing her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her hands. “The lake is much bigger than it looks. We get a few fishermen out here.”

Abbie watched as someone, probably Travis, jumped out of a red pickup and went into the house. She couldn't see well enough to distinguish his features. “I'm assuming that's Travis.”

Sam had a wistful look in her eyes. “Hmm. Wonder what he's doing home so early. He and Keith were working in Oceanside today on a hotel project.”

“Are you—I mean—the way you were looking at him just now…”

“I'm not looking, but if I were, he'd be on my list. Actually, he's…was dating Barbara Nichols.”

Isabelle came back in, having changed into burgundy sweats that hung loosely on her slender frame. “Much better.”

Sam placed the cookies on the table and went to rescue the whistling teakettle. Abbie selected lavender-infused Earl Grey from the basket Sam handed her.

“So, tell us about yourself, Abbie. Jake mentioned that you were a widow and that you have a little girl.”

“Yes.” Abbie dunked her teabag, wondering how much detail to go into. Even now, two years later, thinking about Nate and the subsequent loss of her unborn baby often reduced her to tears. “Nathan, my husband, was killed in a farming accident two years ago.” She sipped at her tea, hoping that was enough of an explanation to satisfy their curiosity.

“I'm sorry.” Isabelle stirred a minuscule amount of sugar into her tea and poured in some cream. Her sky-blue gaze lingered on the tea. “I understand what you're going through. I lost my husband in a logging accident when I was about your age. All those years ago and I still miss him terribly. Leaves a hole in your heart that can never be filled. Oh, I managed to go on—I had two children to care for.”

Abbie nodded. The hole in her own heart could be likened to the Grand Canyon. She didn't want to talk about her losses, and Isabelle must have sensed her reticence, because she asked about the artist community and for Abbie to share her vision.

Abbie was more than happy to oblige.

An hour later, having eaten a wonderful afternoon tea with sandwiches and desserts, Abbie thought it might be a good idea to go back to the B&B before darkness settled in. She liked these women and hoped they'd be living in Cold Creek for a long time. By the end of the visit, Abbie counted Samantha and Isabelle as friends.

After saying good-bye, Abbie made her way down the hill and through town to the B&B. Darkness descended and along with it an eerie sense that she was being watched. She looked around but saw no one. This time when she passed the Victorian, there was no movement in the upstairs window. She shuddered anyway and pushed aside the scary thoughts she considered juvenile.

Once safe in the B&B, she relaxed a bit. “Are you okay? Abbie?” Dawn asked when Abbie came in the kitchen. “You look pale.”

Abbie released a nervous laugh. “I'm fine. Just spooked.”

“I know what you mean.” Dawn hesitated. “I used to feel safe here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I hate to think that Barbara's death is a forerunner of things to come, but… Hopefully the authorities will catch her killer and Cold Creek can go back to being like it was.”

Dawn gestured toward the stove. “I'm making stew for dinner. You're welcome to join us.”

“Thanks. But I had sandwiches and snacks with Isabelle and Sam.” Abbie headed for her room. When she stepped in, she felt a chill and noticed that the sliding patio door stood open. It was then she saw a note lying on the dresser. It read simply,
Leave while you still can
.