The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) (3 page)

BOOK: The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy)
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When Lindsay woke the next morning, Eric was already dressed. He kept glancing at her as if bracing himself.

But today was going to be a long day for him, full of legalities and memories, so she wanted to make it easier for him. When she smiled, he brightened, and she caught a glimpse of the old Eric, a man of positive energy and charm.

After a quick breakfast at the bakery, they climbed narrow stairs in an old frame building to the attorney's office. From behind a cluttered oak desk, a stocky man with thick white hair rose and shook their hands.

“So sorry for your loss,” Mr. Mathews said once they were seated. “Miss Frida was a fine woman. I was her attorney for years. Miss Berina’s as well, before she passed on about forty years ago.”

“I just have a vague memory of Aunt Berina,” Eric told him. “She died when I was seven. That was about the second year I stayed with them.”

“Your Aunt Frida was a wonderful woman,” Mathews said. “She devoted her life to taking care of Miss Berina until the day of her death.”

“What was wrong with Berina?” Lindsay asked. “Was she the oldest?”

“The youngest,” Mathews said. “By a couple of years. And she was a beautiful woman, although she lived a secluded life. Some say she just wasted away.”

“I never knew much about her,” Eric said, “other than rumors about some kind of nervous breakdown. But no one in the family talked about it.”

“Well, that’s as it should be,” Mathews said briskly, his tone closing further discussion. “Now, as I told you on the telephone, Miss Frida will be cremated, all according to her instructions. There’s to be no service, then she wanted her ashes scattered in the lake.”

“I thought she’d want to be buried with the family,” Eric said.

“I was surprised as well.” Mathews replied. “I'd be remiss if I didn’t inform you that while scattering ashes in the lake isn't illegal at this time, it is considered a nuisance and not to be encouraged. Nevertheless, once the cremains are turned over to the family, all official responsibilities end. Do you understand?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Of course,” Mathews continued, “if you must return to California before then, I’m to take care of it.”

“We can stay a few extra days, can’t we?” Eric asked Lindsay.

“Absolutely.” Extra time away from work would be wonderful for him, she thought. Maybe he could finally relax.

“The estate has gone through probate and it’s all ready for disbursement.” Mathews cleared his throat. “Have you seen the property?”

“Just a quick look last evening,” Eric replied. “The house was locked, of course.”

“Mr. Mathews,” Lindsay began. “The strangest thing happened.” She paused and both men looked at her. “We stopped for dinner at the diner, and this old woman—”

Eric laughed. “You’re not going to tell him about
that
, are you?”

“About what, Mrs. Peterson?”

She told the attorney about their reception in the diner after the people learned who they were, finishing with the old woman’s warning. ‘“Evil lives there,’ she said. It was creepy.”

“You didn't take that seriously, did you?” Eric asked. “Even small towns have strange people wandering around jabbering nonsense.” He glanced at Mathews as if seeking corroboration.

The attorney stiffened. Lindsay detected a slight reddening in his cheeks. Why would an attorney flush?

Mathews cleared his throat. “That they do,” he said, bending down to search through files stacked on the floor. “Here we are.” He pulled out a legal-size file. “You have a couple of decisions to make.”

“Everything's in order, isn't it?” Eric asked.

“Certainly. Even after Miss Frida was moved to the nursing home ten years ago, she had periods of total lucidity. No problem there.” Mathews opened a manila envelope and extracted some papers.

“As you know, you’re the only heir, so there shouldn’t be any challenges with the deed transfer. However,” he paused, pulling off his glasses, “there's an unusual provision we have to address. Your aunt demanded that once she passed away, the house and all the associated buildings be destroyed by fire.”

“No!” Lindsay cried, surprised at how much she already loved the house.

Eric frowned. “Burn it down? Why on earth would she want to do something like that?”

“It doesn't make sense,” Lindsay said. “It's a little rundown, but the place is lovely. Or it could be with some TLC.”

Mathews nodded. “It was indeed a showplace in its time.” He paused. “You should know there’s already a question as to the enforcement of that provision. As executor and as her attorney, I owe fiduciary loyalty to Miss Frida; however, I can't go beyond the boundary of the law.”

“Meaning?” Eric asked.

“While I'm obligated to adhere to the terms of the will, I cannot do anything illegal.” Mathews leaned back and folded his hands over his ample stomach. “That will was drafted thirty years ago, and laws have changed. We now have a fire ordinance prohibiting burning in the city’s immediate area—especially a home and its contents. Toxic air pollutants, you understand, from lead, plastics, and other household materials. Ordinarily, we'd find some other way to destroy the property, which is technically going against the demand, so already we have a tort—a breach of contract of sorts. Before I decide how to proceed, I’d like to know your intentions regarding the house.”

“We’re thinking of using it as a vacation home,” Eric told him. “I grew up here before my mother and I moved to California.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. I’m sure, as the descendant of one of Crosby’s founding citizens, visiting here must bring back a lot of memories. However—”

“Founding citizens?” Lindsay broke in. While Eric had talked about his grandparents and some of the difficulties they’d faced while building a life in the winter’s sub-zero temperatures, he’d never mentioned they had been prominent in the area.

“Indeed they were,” Mathews said. “However, while it’s a fine old house, almost a historical landmark, I wouldn’t advise keeping it. You could raze the house and sell the land.”

Lindsay frowned. “But I like the house.” The thought of that lovely place being burned to the ground because of a whim of an old woman seemed outrageous.

Eric agreed. “Why would I want to destroy the house? I don’t understand. Sure, it needs quite a bit of work, but it’s in a prime location—far enough from the other lakefront homes to afford privacy, yet close enough to walk to town. And with the forest in back, it’s ideal.”

“I’m afraid that even though the Peterson trust held funds for maintenance, the house, as I’m sure you noticed, has fallen into some disrepair.”

Mathews seemed embarrassed, Lindsay thought. Or was it something else?

“I, uh, had difficulties keeping someone and ten years is a long time.”

“I understand,” Eric said. “We’d expect to do some remodeling. Mind you, we haven't made any final decisions, but we'd like to know our options.”

“Still, vacationing here would be quite a change from your California lifestyle,” Mathews said. “Something you should consider.”

Again he seemed flustered and Lindsay wondered why. He was obviously an experienced attorney. “Is there something you’re not telling us, some reason we shouldn’t keep the house?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I simply want you to consider what it would mean to keep the house intact.” With an abrupt change of topic, he continued. “Would you like a formal reading of the will? I can check with Helen to schedule a time.”

“That’s not necessary,” Eric told him. “If you don’t mind, just give me the details now. I’m not sure of the financial status, especially with Aunt Frida in the nursing home so many years, but were there any funds left? In case we keep the house.”

“The trust your grandparents left Crosby has helped fund many community improvements and we all get the benefit. And while there’s not a large sum of money, there’s enough, together with the bonds, to do some repairs to the property—within reason, of course. If you decide to follow through with Miss Frida’s wishes and raze the house, you could rebuild. Or even sell the land if you don’t wish to use it. Just let me know your decision as soon as you can.”

Chapter Four

Downstairs, Eric and Lindsay decided to walk the three blocks to the mortuary. Traffic on Crosby’s Main Street was sporadic, the few cars and RVs, many of them pulling boats, passing by at a slow speed. Minutes would pass before another vehicle drove by. Lindsay found the pace restful after living near an interstate in Southern California all her life.

“That old lady isn’t the only strange one here,” Lindsay said. “He didn’t come out and say it, but I got the distinct impression Mr. Mathews didn’t want us to keep the house.”

Eric shrugged. “I doubt it’s anything personal. As Aunt Frida’s attorney, even with the new burn laws, he must perform his duty to her as much as possible.”

“Miss Frida? Miss Berina? He sounded straight out of Tara, but we’re too far north for that.”

“What can I tell you? Small town, old habits. My grandfather was well-known in his day, president of the bank, and he helped build several roads around here.” Eric grinned. “Didn’t know you were so well-connected, did you?”

“Well, I’m certainly impressed. I didn’t know I’d married a celebrity.”

“Stick with me, kid,” he teased, “and I’ll show you lots of things. Important things like how to skip a rock in water, or how to dig for the best fishing worms. Bet you never knew that was an art, did ya?”

Delighted at Eric’s lighthearted mood, Lindsay slipped her arm around him and drew close. He accepted the touch for a moment, then took a short step to the side, just enough out of reach for her to drop her arm. She stopped and stared at him in bewilderment.

“Honey …”

“Lindsay, please. Don’t start again. I’m going through something I can’t explain. Just have some patience.”

“Talk to me, Eric. Maybe I can help. That’s what married people do, you know. Discuss things and work them out.”

Eric said nothing. In silence they crossed the street in front of the small newspaper office, Eric taking her arm like the courtly gentleman he’d always been—which made his aloof behavior all the more puzzling.

Was it another woman? She knew it was possible, but in the time she’d known him, he’d never betrayed her in any way. No matter the situation, she could always rely on his strength and honesty. If he’d fallen for someone else, he’d tell her.

“Mr. Mathews said your aunt Berina wasted away,” she said, hoping to get him talking about his family, desperately wanting to recapture his former good spirits. “I bet it was over a lost love.”

“I barely remember her. I didn’t talk to her much because she always seemed so sad. She was good to me, though, and I loved her in my way.”

“He said she’d been beautiful. Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Oh, tall and slim, I think, always kept her hair in one of those bun-things. I saw it down once, right before she went to bed, and it was long and fluffy. I don’t remember if she was pretty, but she always smelled like lavender.”

“Did either of your aunts ever marry?”

“I heard rumors that Aunt Frida had been engaged once, but I don’t know what happened.”

At the mortuary, the funeral director expressed his sympathy and assured them that he’d call when the cremains were ready.

Back on Main Street, Eric took Lindsay’s arm. “You haven’t seen our version of Nessie yet.”

“Nessie?”

Eric smiled and took her arm. “You’ll see.”

They made a left and walked the two blocks to the city park that rimmed the lakefront road.

Fifty-year-old oaks and elms provided shade for the camping tents scattered on the lush green lawn. An old pickup pulling a fishing boat was backing up next to a wooden dock.

But Lindsay’s attention was drawn to a gigantic sea serpent statue reigning loftily from its concrete base set on a grassy area between the dock and swimming beach. Brightly colored in shades of yellow, red, and green, the fiberglass serpent stood at least twenty-feet high and was curled in a vertical ‘w’ about as long as it was tall.

“You said there were no poisonous snakes this far north,” Lindsay said. “The idea for that must have come from somewhere.”

“That’s Kahnah’bek,” Eric told her, grinning. “Native American legend says he lives in the lake. It’s said that on magical occasions, he appears on the surface. Just think, our own little Nessie.”

“And you expect me to vacation next to the water? No way.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, laughing, “Where’s your sporting blood?”

“Right inside my body where it belongs, thank you very much. Not splattered all over by some sea monster.”

“Don’t worry. The baddest creature you’ll find in this lake is a Northern Pike.”

Warmed by the look he gave her, Lindsay decided to put their problems aside and enjoy the day with her husband. With his work schedule, they hadn’t been able to spend much time together since their quick honeymoon in San Francisco.

At the Peterson house, they walked the grounds before unlocking the door, enjoying the fresh summer air.

“Oh, look!” Lindsay pointed to a black squirrel rushing down the trunk of a large oak, a smaller gray one in hot pursuit. The two raced across the lawn and disappeared up another tree.

“If you think that’s great,” Eric said, “just wait until evening when the deer come out to feed.”

“This place is a living zoo.”

“I wonder if the old motorboat is still here. Think I’ll check before we tour the house.” He headed for a garage-like structure on the water’s edge.

Lindsay decided the house wasn't in as bad a shape as she'd first thought. The overall structure appeared pretty straight, and the window facings seemed in good repair. Maybe all it needed were a few nails to tighten things up and a coat of paint. Even the two dormer windows in the attic looked okay. They could divide the attic into rooms. Eric could have one for his computer, and she could have one for her painting.

She had painted all her life, doodling and sketching while growing up, burying herself in paper instead of playing with other kids, and as an adult, she had shown her work in a Palm Springs gallery. When the owner decided to retire, Eric provided the backing for her to purchase the gallery. While it was successful, her own work had suffered. Mired in administrative affairs, her creative nature had faded until she no longer painted, but now, studying the attic windows overlooking the lake, she felt sure her artistic side would flourish again—if she could get her marriage back on track. If any place on earth could help, she felt that here, in the serenity of Eric’s childhood home, whatever was troubling him would surely lessen and disappear.

BOOK: The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy)
7.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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