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“Yes, and don’t get smart with me, missy,” he snapped.
“That certainly wasn’t my intention, sir,” she replied.
The fiftyish man looked her up and down, from her damp blond hair to the red slingbacks she’d picked to go with her navy slacks and beige knit top. “You don’t look much like a teacher,” he said.
She spread her hands and drawled, “I’m hoping you’ll find me satisfactory. I came all the way from Baltimore to teach Dinah. She’s such a lovely little girl, and I’m sure we’re going to get along famously.”
“How do you know she’s lovely? You just got here,” Abner pointed out. “I’m betting you change your opinion after you’ve been here a little while. She drove the last teacher away, and she’ll drive you away, too.”
“No, I didn’t,” Dinah protested.
“That’s enough out of you.”
The child cringed, and Bree wanted to spring across the space separating her from Abner Sterling and belt him. But she stayed where she was, since she didn’t want to get tossed out the door.
“So let’s go find my room,” she said to Dinah.
The girl nodded solemnly, putting on a burst of speed as she crossed in front of the Sterlings.
What must it be like to live with these people? Bree wondered. Nola was cold, brittle and hostile. Abner was belligerent and probably stupid, although she knew it would be dangerous to underestimate him.
As the girl started up the stairs, Bree picked up her bag and followed, her heels clicking smartly on the marble.
Glancing back at the Sterlings, she said, “Well, good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I assume you don’t have breakfast too early for Dinah.”
She caught up with the child at the top of the steps and they started down a wide, dimly lit hall. For the first fifty feet the paint and carpet looked new and expensive. After turning a corner, they were suddenly walking on worn boards, between gray, dingy walls.
Several paces along the uncarpeted hallway, they turned another corner. Behind her, Bree heard a floor-board creak, and the skin on the back of her neck tingled.
Was Abner Sterling behind her ready to attack? Stopping, she whirled, only to confront a tall, gaunt man who glared at her. His face was lined with vertical wrinkles, but he stood with shoulders squared. His clothing was scruffy—a dark wool jacket, a dirty shirt, blotched pants.
Feeling a sudden pressure against her side, Bree looked down to see that Dinah had also turned and was squeezed very close to her, her free arm still clutching the stuffed kitten. Obviously she, too, was alarmed by the newcomer.
The man ignored the child, his deadly gaze fixed on Bree.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low and raspy.
The questions were starting to get tiresome, she thought. “Dinah’s new teacher,” she answered. “Who are you?”
“Foster Graves.” He kept his gaze steady, his stance rigid.
“You work here?”
“I take care of some things, yeah” was his cryptic reply.
Beside her, Dinah stirred.
Bree bent to the child. “Are you all right?” she questioned.
“I don’t want to stay here,” the little girl whispered.
“We won’t.”
The child made a small sound, her eyes going wide. Bree turned again, following her gaze, and discovered that Graves had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
She took several steps down the hall, trying to figure out how he’d managed such a quick escape. Like the man outside in the driveway!
Only now they were inside. Which probably meant he’d stepped into one of the secret passages built into the house—passages that the London children had discovered when they were kids.
She was just reaching for a curtain covering the wall, when Dinah’s fingers closed around the fabric of her slacks. “Don’t go look for him,” she begged. “He’s scary. Come see your room.”
Although Bree wanted to find out exactly how the man had disappeared so quickly, the child was more important.
“Okay,” she agreed, and heard Dinah’s small sigh of relief.
The girl led her down another hallway that turned off to the right. Bree was thinking that perhaps she should have left a trail of bread crumbs so she could find her way back downstairs when Dinah stopped in front of a closed door. “This was Miss Carpenter’s room. I guess you’re supposed to sleep here.”
“That sounds right.”
Bree turned the knob and pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked on worn hinges. Fumbling along the wall for the light switch, she found it and flipped the toggle, turning on an elaborate, old-fashioned metal-and-glass ceiling fixture.
The rest of the room looked as though it had been redecorated with a combination of new fabrics, gleaming white woodwork and beautifully restored antiques. Under a flowered Oriental rug, the wood floor was newly refinished. And the small green-and-white checks on the bedspread matched the gracefully flowing draperies. The dresser and high chest were polished oak.
“It’s nice,” she murmured, then crossed the room and laid her suitcase on the double bed.
Dinah gave her a small smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Did Miss Carpenter like it?” Bree asked.
The girl considered the question. “She did at first, then she said it was spooky.”
“Oh.”
“I think that’s why she left. It didn’t have anything to do with me,” she added quickly.
“I didn’t think so,” Bree agreed, even as she digested the new information. Had Miss Carpenter made the decision to leave because she was afraid to stay at Ravencrest? Or had the Sterlings sent her packing?
In this unfamiliar environment, inconvenient questions were piling up like unpaid bills, and it was impossible not to feel overwhelmed. Bree was in over her head and she’d been here less than an hour.
Suddenly unsteady on her feet, she reached to brace her hand against the bedpost, her fingers closing around the carved wood. She’d set her alarm for four in the morning to get through airport security and catch her flight. Now she was jet-lagged, stressed and worn out.
Although she desperately wanted to make friends with Dinah, she was afraid that if she tried to do it in her present condition, she was going to make some crucial mistake that would set the wrong tone for their whole relationship.
Keeping her voice even, she turned toward the girl. “I’ve had a really long day and I don’t think I’m going to be very good company tonight. Would you mind very much if I just go to bed, and we start off fresh in the morning?”
Dinah looked down, dragging her foot in a small half circle over the rug.
Bree felt her heart squeeze as she watched. “I’m probably disappointing you,” she said. “I’ve just gotten here, and you want to get to know me.”
Dinah hesitated for several seconds, then gave a small nod.
“Well, I’m really eager to get to know you and Alice, too. But I’d probably fall asleep as soon as I sat down in a chair.”
“I understand,” the child answered, sounding much older than her years, and Bree had the feeling she’d learned some strategic coping skills in the past few months.
“We can see each other at breakfast. I’m looking forward to that,” Bree added, using her last store of energy to sound enthusiastic. Then another thought struck her. “That Mr. Graves—you’re not afraid he’s going to be in the hall, are you? Do you want me to walk you to your room?”
“No. He never stays up here long.”
“That’s good.”
Dinah hesitated for a moment. “You don’t have to worry about me, because my daddy takes care of me.”
Bree held back any reaction. “So your daddy’s okay? Can I talk to him?”
“Only if he wants you to.” Perhaps to forestall more questions, the child darted from the room, and Bree was left staring at the closed door.
What did Dinah’s assurance mean? Maybe Troy wasn’t a captive, after all. Maybe he was in hiding, watching out for Dinah. Or had the little girl made it all up?
Her hand closed around the door frame to keep herself from running after the girl. She wanted answers, but at the same time, this child tugged at her heartstrings. It was a little girl a lot like Dinah who had started Bonnie Brennan on the road to her new life. She’d been a timid, guarded person when she’d been teaching in Baltimore. Now she realized that teaching had been a safe place for her—where she could deal with children instead of adults. But one afternoon just as class was letting out, a man named Harvey Milner had stormed into the room and demanded that she turn his child, Cathy, over to him. Only Bonnie knew from conversations with his ex-wife that the father didn’t even have visitation rights and that he’d threatened to take the girl and flee the state.
Milner’s aggressive tactics had scared her, but she’d taken Cathy in her arms and marched down the hall to the principal’s office, the angry father trailing behind her, shouting threats.
Afterward she’d been amazed at what she’d done. It had made her see herself in a different light, made her realize that she’d been selling herself short. But still, she hadn’t figured out what she’d wanted to do with the rest of her life until she’d read about a kidnapping case in the Baltimore Sun, a kidnapping thwarted by the Light Street Detective Agency.
Excitement coursed through her as she’d read the article. And she’d known she’d wanted to work for that agency. She wanted to help other children, and adults. As soon as the school year was over, she’d contacted them. They’d needed a new secretary and were willing to hire her for that job and to start training her to be a lot more than that.
She’d learned a great deal in the past two years— enough to know that she was now way over her head.
Her mouth twisted as she crossed the room on unsteady legs to lock the door. Then she turned around to study her surroundings. Besides the entrance from the hall, there were two other doors—one on the wall opposite the bed and one at the back of the room. She tried the closer one first and found a dark, cavernous closet.
The other led to an opulent bathroom. The idea of soaking her tired muscles in the deep, claw-footed tub was suddenly very appealing. But afraid that if she lay down in hot water, she’d fall asleep, she settled for a quick shower.
After drying off, she pulled on a simple cotton nightgown. In the act of turning off the light, she stayed her hand. Although she’d never been particularly afraid of the dark, Ravencrest had spooked her from the moment she’d driven up the access road. Feeling slightly paranoid, she kept the light on in the bathroom and left the door open a crack, so that a shaft of light slanted across the floor.
In the dim light she drifted toward the window and looked out. She’d approached the estate from the land side, where tall pines and probably redwoods had blocked her view. From this angle, she could see that the mansion was perched on the edge of a high cliff overlooking the sea. Moonlight gave her a view of waves rolling in, crashing against hidden obstructions and dark spires of rocks that poked up from the foam.
Far below she could hear the ebb and flow of the surf.
All at once the realization hit her that this was Troy’s house. He had loved this place. Maybe he’d even stood at this very window looking down at the rocky coast. Until this moment she hadn’t allowed herself to think much about what coming to his home would mean for her. But suddenly she felt close to him, closer than she had in years.
Seven years ago he’d told her about his home. He’d entranced her with his stories of exploring the cliffs and the sea caves that were accessible only at low tide and of his sailing expeditions into the wild waters offshore. She’d wanted to come here with him. She’d even secretly dreamed of living here—as his wife.
“Troy,” she breathed, wishing that he was with her in this room. She remembered him so well, remembered how her first sight of him had taken her breath away. He’d walked into the parlor to greet her and Helen, and she’d found herself facing a tall, handsome man with tanned skin and wind-tossed hair that was just a beat too long. She’d taken him in in one swift draft, then focused on his eyes. They were vibrant hazel, fringed by dark lashes. And they’d turned warm when he’d looked at her.
“I’m Troy. And you must be Helen’s friend Bonnie,” he said.
“Yes. I’ve heard so much about you.”
He smiled. “And I’ve heard about you. But I wasn’t prepared for that charming Southern accent.”
She’d blushed then, but he’d put her at ease immediately. Over the next few days they’d spent a lot of time together. Maybe too much time, as far as Helen was concerned, because she’d complained that Troy was monopolizing her friend.
One of her most vivid memories was of dancing with him, instinctively following the subtle signals of his body as he’d led her around the front porch of the London summer home.
Then there was the time he had come up behind her, turned her in his arms and shocked her by lowering his mouth to hers.
The thought made her skin tingle. Then she realized that in fact she was shivering from the cool air.
Don’t get all wound up with fantasies, she told herself. Troy may not even be here. And if he is, he’s not the same man you knew all those years ago. And you’re not the same, either. Maybe he liked you better the way you were. Or maybe not. Back then, she hadn’t had the gumption to reach out for what she wanted. She wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake again. Not if she could make things come out the way she wanted them.
Pulling the drapes firmly across the window, she quickly crossed to the bed and climbed between the sheets, tugging the covers up to her chin. For a moment she felt as though she had let Helen down. Almost everything that had happened since she’d arrived had been out of her control. But she’d change that in the morning, she vowed.
In a few minutes her own body heat began to warm her and her mind began to drift. Soon sleep claimed her.
AS HE HAD SO OFTEN in the past few weeks, he stood on the cliff. Dangerously close to the edge, yet he felt no fear. Heights had never bothered him, and the sound of breakers crashing against the shoreline had always soothed him. Those were some of the things he remembered.
Mist swirled around him as he gazed down at the water pounding against the rocks fifty feet below. He had been drawn back to this spot, again and again. Below him was the stairway that led to the landing dock.
He had climbed that stairway a few weeks ago. He remembered that much. Then…
Suddenly it seemed important to grasp on to that memory, but it flitted away, as had so many of the thoughts that drifted through his mind like autumn leaves floating on a slow-running stream.
A man and a woman had come here. He remembered that.
They had told him… What?
Done what?
He didn’t know. Perhaps he didn’t want to know. Because on some hidden level, he sensed danger in the memory. It could hurt him badly. Like the blow on the head.
He remembered the pain and the blackness that had swallowed him up.
He shoved that memory aside, too. There was a strange kind of comfort in the blank space that took its place. A cold comfort. If he didn’t know, perhaps it wasn’t true.
And then there was the guilt. It was always with him. But it didn’t choke off his breath now, because he couldn’t remember what it was he had done. He just knew it was something very bad. He could feel it trying to sneak up on him and he clenched his eyes closed, willing it not to capture his mind.
As he’d prayed it would, the wisp of a memory flitted away. He stood very still, lifting his face to the wind, welcoming the chill.
Again, by force of will, he brought his attention to the present. To the newcomer, the woman who had arrived by car.
He had seen her, touched her shoulder. And for a little space of time, the tight, cold place inside his heart had loosened.
She had told them her name was Bree Brennan. Or was it Bonnie?
That sounded more familiar. Or maybe his memory was wrong.
His damn defective memory. Sometimes it was a curse and sometimes a blessing.
