Deadly Inheritance: A Romantic Suspense (12 page)

Nora went to bed as early as she dared, but she couldn’t sleep. The strange bed, while firm and comfortable enough, wasn’t
her
bed. And while the decorations in her room were bad enough in daylight, at night they looked grotesque. The sheet was hot and sticky. She moved to a cooler spot and tried to relax. When she closed her eyes, she kept hearing strange, whirring, rustling noises and seeing faces watching her from the depths of the carvings and wallpaper.

Moonlight reflected oddly off the gilt and created small flashes of light as clouds—or something—obstructed the moon. Was that dark spot and sudden glint just moonlight or a peep hole with someone watching her? She turned over and buried her face in the pillow, willing herself to go to sleep. The air on her cheek and neck felt icy and damp.

She pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin. Ghosts didn’t exist. She knew it, but part of her huddled with fear of the dark, the unknown.

What was that? A shuffling, furtive noise came from the corner of the room. She held the covers up to her chest and strained to see through the shifting shadows. Nothing moved. The intensely black shape she thought she’d seen must have been her imagination.

Or the chest of drawers.

The feeling of being watched persisted, though. She hadn’t been able to shake it. And earlier, the others had looked uncomfortable, too. Mike and Kirsty appeared downright frightened before they mumbled goodnight and drifted away to their bedrooms.

Maybe she should sleep in Gabe’s room. There were no gilded carvings or heavy drapes fluttering in icy drafts in there. No one would expect her to use that room. She’d be safe.

Unless they were watching her and saw her go in there. Her breath caught in her throat.

She let it out. What was the point? Either someone was watching her so that changing rooms wouldn’t do her any good, or she wasn’t being watched and changing rooms was just stupid. The bottom line was that changing rooms didn’t make sense.

She settled under the covers and forced her body to relax. Despite her efforts, her mind raced, fretting over Gabe’s desertion. She rolled over and wrestled with the hot covers until she got her feet free. Cool air drifted over her toes. She wriggled them and closed her eyes.

A noise, rustling surreptitiously, padded near the door. She stiffened and listened. Soft little fingers ran over the door, making it gently tap the frame. Tap, tap, tap. The doorknob rattled.

The doorknob—did she remember to lock the door?

An icy chill spilled through the room. She pulled her feet under the covers again. Despite the heavy blanket, she shivered. Her body felt brittle from the cold.

“Who’s there?” Her shaky voice hardly rose above a whisper. She refused to be frightened—obviously someone was outside her door. She forced herself to sit up. “Who’s there?”

Silence.

The door bumped against the doorframe softly. Then, silence.

She counted to three, her fingers clenched around the satin edge of the blanket. “Who—”

The doorknob rattled, the sound vicious with the violence of the assault.

She cringed back against the covers, a scream trembling on her lips.

I can’t do this—I can’t!

Yes, she could. Whoever was out there couldn’t scare her like this. She wouldn’t allow it.

Grabbing the blanket, Nora got out of bed. She threw the cover around her shoulders and padded over to the door. The key was still in the lock. She took a deep breath, twisted the brass doorknob with stiff fingers, and flung the door open.

The hallway was empty. She glanced to her right and left. No movements or doors closing, nothing disturbed the quiet.

She was about to close her door when the darkness seemed to shift and lighten. A curling wave of pale gray mist billowed toward her, curling over the floor. Aware of a deep chill, she rubbed one foot over the instep of the other. Then she stopped, too frightened to move. Something seemed to be forming in the mist, growing taller as she stared.

All along the hallway, the doors shook within their frames. The brass doorknobs rattled, as if an angry, invisible hand twisted them back and forth.

Something’s coming—something I don’t want to see.
Nora squeezed her eyes shut, shaking, too terrified to move.
It’ll see me if I move. It’ll catch me here, out in the open.

This can’t be happening—I don’t believe in ghosts—there are no ghosts.

A woman’s shriek echoed down the hallway. The sound rattled through Nora’s head. It was killing someone.

She couldn’t stand it. “Stop!”

Despite her own terror, Nora ran down the corridor, her bare feet disappearing into the icy mist. She had to find whoever was screaming—to stop them—to stop
it
. Two doors down, she stopped, breathless.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she knocked and tried the doorknob.

“It’s me—Nora. Are you all right? Open the door!” She pounded on the door, glancing over her shoulder as the icy fog defied gravity to cascade over her thighs to her waist. “Open the door, please. Hurry!”

The shrieking lowered into frightened sobbing that drew closer to the door. Kirsty, her face distorted by terror, threw open the door and grabbed Nora. “What is it? What’s going on? What’s doing this?”

Nora pulled the trembling girl into her arms and wrapped the blanket around both of them as she edged her terrified cousin back into her room. Other doors in the hallway opened, rattling and squealing on their hinges like small, dying mice.

“What is it?” Drew called from the doorway across from Kirsty’s room. “Who screamed?”

Another sharp scream from their left made Kirsty flinch and grab Nora more tightly. Her fingers bit into Nora’s arms.

Candy, in a filmy black nightgown, stood a few yards away, her hands gripping her throat. “Wh-what is that?” She pointed at the icy curls of mist. “What is it?”

But the fog was already fading, seeping down into the floor and draining away the terrible cold.

Is it over
?

“Did you see that?” Candy pointed a shaking finger toward the end of the hallway, past the doorway where Kirsty and Nora stood. Her eyes were dark hollows in her white, lined face. Fear had aged her, making her appear haggard in the poor light. “Did you see it?”

“What?” Drew looked pale and his hair was tousled, sticking up in strange directions. He sounded calm, but confused. He glanced from Candy to Nora and raised his brows.

“Mist or something. Dampness.” Nora struggled to find a reasonable explanation, something normal, but her mind refused to cooperate. “From the moat, maybe. The temperature—oh, I don’t know—but there must be an explanation for it.”

“The ghost—it was the ghost.” Kirsty broke off with a sob. Her fingers kneaded Nora’s arm painfully. “I shouldn’t have come—I knew it. I don’t want to die.” She let Nora hug her before pushing her away with trembling hands. “An evil spirit—that must be what killed Uncle Archie. And now it’s going to kill us.” She glared at the others before pushing Nora out of her room and slamming the door shut. “Go away. Leave me alone.” The door muffled her words but couldn’t mask the shrill edge of hysteria.

A key clicked and turned in the lock.

When Nora looked at the others, they stared back at her. “Did you see anything? Hear anything?”

“Just our little Goth Girl screaming.” Drew leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and smiled. His relaxed pose might have fooled Nora if she hadn’t seen the fear in his pale face when he opened his door.

“Someone tried to break into my room. My door rattled.” Candy glanced uneasily around her. “And that mist—that wasn’t normal.”

Nora nodded, pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She still felt cold and uneasy. She pressed one frozen foot over the other. “Maybe we should go back to bed. We can talk about it in the morning. I don’t think we can solve anything right now.”

“One of you did this,” Candy exclaimed, glaring at Nora. “You’re just trying to scare us.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Nora said.

“Well, I’m locking my door, so don’t even try to get into my room.” Candy slammed her door shut and turned the key noisily in the lock.

Drew caught Nora’s gaze and raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got a bottle of bourbon if you need a glass. I know I do.”

She’d definitely like a drink, but she didn’t need it that badly. “No.” She shook her head and padded down the hallway toward her room. The last thing she needed was a glass of bourbon with Drew in the middle of the night. “I’m going to bed.”

“Don’t forget to lock your door.” He winked at her and grinned. “We don’t want to make it too easy for the ghosts, do we?”

“Oh, I plan on locking it. You don’t have to be worried about me.” She didn’t really need to warn Drew off, but if anyone was listening, they’d hear as well.

Her chest ached from tension. She let out a long breath as she closed her bedroom door behind her. As she trudged back to bed, she felt her fear slowly burn down to anger.

Something was going on here, something unpleasant, and she wasn’t going to cower in bed with her covers pulled over her head. She was going to find the truth, even if Gabe had deserted her.

Despite her decision, when she returned to her cold bed, she pulled the blanket over her shoulders and lay there, shivering. She was missing something, she just knew it, but she couldn’t figure it out.

Where was Gabe? The old, well-known feelings of abandonment and betrayal eroded her anger and ate away at her confidence. Time should have hardened her and made her immune to the emotions, but the razor edge of pain felt as sharp and fresh as ever.

He’d left her when she needed him—wanted him—most.

“Oh, Gabe,” she whispered into her pillow as she rubbed the sting from her eyes.

Then, out of the darkness came a stifled scream and a thud. She sat up stiffly to listen. Silence.

Slowly, the misty chill returned, curling over the floor and up over the foot of her bed, wafting toward her as she gripped the blanket with icy fingers.

It wasn’t over for the night. It had just begun.

Gabe and Frank arrived at Autumn Hill with a truckload of lumber and bag of tools a little after ten in the morning. Frank’s taciturn assistant, Johnny Heck, had driven them, and after a moment’s consideration, parked a few yards away from a police SUV. Emergency vehicles filled the area in front of the house, including an ambulance.

A temporary metal bridge filled the gap over the moat and men and women in uniform were striding back and forth over it, their footsteps clanging over the steel. A man and a woman pushed a gurney supporting a black plastic bag shaped like a human being over the ramp.

Gabe watched it, feeling sick. They were too late. He gripped the armrest, feeling as if the air had been kicked out of his lungs.

I failed her—I should have come back last night.

“That doesn’t look good,” Frank said at last.

Gabe swung out of the truck without answering, eyes focused on the body bag. Nora—if that was Nora…

“Gabe, wait.” Frank opened his door and waved urgently at his assistant. “It would be best if I accompanied you.”

Heck, a big, muscular man with short, gray-blond hair and no discernable sense of humor, eased out and strode to the rear of the vehicle to unhook the wheelchair for Frank.

“I can handle it,” Gabe threw over his shoulder as he eyed the black bag, trying to convince himself that the body inside was too big to be Nora. The emergency workers slammed the doors of the ambulance shut, blocking his view. He stifled the urge to run over and unzip the bag—see the pale, dead face of whoever was inside. He shook his head.
Stay on track.
“If Johnny can help me unload the lumber, you can leave.”

“No. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Frank said. He gripped Heck’s wide shoulder as his assistant helped him into his wheelchair.

Despite the motor on the wheelchair, Heck gripped the two handles and turned the chair around to face Autumn Hill. Whatever he was thinking about the situation, he kept his mouth shut and his face carefully blank.

Heck turned Frank’s wheelchair toward the house. As Frank’s chair whirred up the walkway, Heck and Gabe followed. Let the lawyer handle the officials. He was likely to obtain more information than Gabe ever would.

The emergency personnel gave them odd looks as they crossed the pair of hinged metal plates that formed the bridge, but no one stopped them. It wasn’t until they had entered the hallway that a tall, thin man in a suit stepped in front of them to block their way.

“Sorry, folks, but you can’t come in here.” He studied them briefly with pale blue eyes. With his narrow bald head and gaunt appearance, he looked like a walking pool cue.

“I’m Frank Leonard, the attorney for the James family,” Frank announced. “Behind me is my assistant, Johnny Heck, and Gabriel O’Brien, a resident of Autumn Hill. May I ask what is going on?”

“You can ask all you want,” the tall man drawled. He stared at Gabe with interest, his sharp eyes taking in the bandage on Gabe’s forehead and his stiffly upright posture. “You live here?”

Gabe nodded.

“You a member of the James family?”

“I’m with Nora James. Who are you?”

“Detective Lyle Gerhardt. Were you here last night?” the detective’s attitude reminded Gabe so much of Sarah that he felt like he was talking to her
doppelgänger
.

“No. I was in the hospital. Auto accident,” Gabe replied tersely. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to say there was a death in the family.”

The bottom fell out of Gabe’s stomach. Again. “Who?”

“A Mr. Michael James. Know him?”

“I met him once, yesterday, when I arrived with Nora James.” Gabe’s response was more abrupt than he intended, but he could barely keep from smiling in relief.

“When you arrived,” Gerhardt repeated. He smiled wryly at Frank. “So you are not a resident.”

“Ms. James and Mr. O’Brien are both residents of Autumn Hill for the next two weeks, per the terms of Archibald James’ will. I believe we discussed this before, Detective, after the death of Mr. Archibald James. They are here, and they must stay here, so there is no point in arguing.”

“Autumn Hill is a crime scene.” Gerhardt eyed the lawyer coolly. “Twice over. I think it would be better for the family if they left. Safer.”

“I agree, but that doesn’t change the terms of the will. If the remaining relatives of Mr. James wish to remain, it would be a gross miscarriage of justice to force them to vacate the premises and thereby forfeit their rights to the properties and goods left by the deceased. We will, however, promise not to enter any room, or rooms, you wish to secure as part of your crime scene. That is the best accommodation we can make.” He smiled genially. “After all, if something unfortunate happens at a hotel, you don’t close the entire hotel. I suggest you treat Autumn Hill as a small, private hotel.”

“And if I object,” Gerhardt’s mouth twisted, “you’ll have a little chat with your friend, Judge Neely. Again.”

Frank laughed. “I doubt I could convince the judge to take any action that wasn’t the legal and proper one. Are we agreed, then?”

“Don’t go in the rooms sealed with yellow tape,” Gerhardt said, directing his words to Gabe.

“Where is Ms. Nora James?” Gabe asked. He had to see her, make sure she was unharmed.

“With the rest of them.” Gerhardt jerked his head to the left. Before Gabe could go, he shifted to block the door. “I’d like to talk to you about your accident, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Any time.” Gabe pushed past him, only to have the detective grab his arm.

“Now would do. In that room they call the den.”

Gabe frowned at him, his thoughts on Nora. Gerhardt said she was unharmed, but Gabe needed to see her, touch her, to know for himself.

“Perhaps I should go with you,” Frank said.

Heck edged between the lawyer and the detective as if to preempt any objection from the detective to Frank’s decision to accompany him.

“Suit yourself.” Gerhardt’s affability surprised Gabe. “You think you need a lawyer, bring him.” He grinned. “You could do worse than old Leonard.”

Old Leonard? As far as Gabe could tell, despite Leonard’s receding hairline, the lawyer was barely forty, and the detective had to be a good ten years, or more, older.

“It’s fine. I won’t need one.” Gabe caught Frank’s gaze. “But if Mr. Leonard wants to join us, I won’t object.”

Frank nodded and gestured for Heck to walk next to his wheelchair as he whirred after Gerhardt in the direction of the den.

Gabe cast a glance at the dining room and trailed after the other men. He should check on Nora. She had to be frightened, upset. He hesitated at the entrance to the den, but when Gerhardt glanced at him and arched his brows, he entered. Heck and Gerhardt followed Leonard to a long, sectional sofa near the windows. Two of them took seats while Frank faced them in his wheelchair.

“How did Michael James die?” Gabe sat on a section at right angles to Gerhardt.

“The coroner hasn’t made his report, yet,” Gerhardt hedged.

“What’s your best guess?”

“That is a police matter.” He rubbed his chin. “But as the others will tell you, he may have been shot.”

“Shot?” Frank straightened, his hands gripping the armrests of his wheelchair. “Like Archibald James?”

“The circumstances seem similar.”

“The door was locked, and no weapon was found?” Frank probed.

“I’m not here to satisfy your curiosity,” Gerhardt answered mildly. “Now, Mr. O’Brien, about this accident of yours—what exactly happened?”

“The brakes failed.”

Gerhardt stared at him. He stared back. Gerhardt smiled wryly and glanced at a small, black notepad he’d propped on his knee and flipped open. “The brake line was cut. Is that what you meant by
failed
?”

“Foot went to the floor, so yeah. That’s about it.” Someone had wanted him out of the way while he, or she, killed Mike James. Or else his absence was just an opportunity the killer couldn’t pass up.

Whoever had sabotaged his brakes couldn’t have known when Gabe would use his vehicle next, so it would be difficult to use that as part of another plan.

“How did you manage to survive unscathed?”

Gabe grinned ruefully. “It wasn’t the most brilliant move, but I swung the truck around in a circle to dump some of the momentum. If I had to crash into a tree, I wanted to crash on the passenger’s side—not head on or on the driver’s side.”

“Good choice. It obviously worked.” Gerhardt stared at the notepad, his pen poised in his right hand, but Gabe had the sneaking suspicion that the page was blank, and the detective was just using the gesture as a way to gain time and organize his thoughts. “Did anything happen before you got into your vehicle? Any arguments?”

“No. We got here—”

“We?”

“I drove Nora James here,” Gabe explained, already tired of Gerhardt’s questions. “We ate lunch, and I left on some errands. Nora wanted pizza, and I wanted some wood or metal plates to fix the drawbridge.”

“Tell me about the drawbridge.”

“It collapsed when Nora tried to cross it.” Gabe frowned, feeling his anger rise at the memory. “It was sabotaged. You can see for yourself if you look.”

Gerhardt nodded. “We do occasionally do our jobs. Did you have any suspicions about who might have tried to harm Ms. James?”

“Harm her? He tried to kill her!” Gabe’s muscles tensed, and he fisted his hands. He knew that Gerhardt was being deliberately nonchalant, but the detective’s unconcern still annoyed him. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen Nora disappear beneath the surface of that foul, green water.

“He?”

“Or she—whoever did it.”

“Nasty. Ms. James was lucky you were there to pull her out.”

“She climbed out,” Gabe said between clenched teeth. “On her own. Using the chain.”

“Oh?” Gerhardt glanced at him with raised brows.

“Yes.”

“Resourceful woman,” Gerhardt said.

“I don’t know how much more I can tell you. I was in the hospital last night, and I don’t know the rest of the family very well. I met them during lunch before I left. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see Nora.”

“Just one or two more questions, if your lawyer doesn’t object.”

Frank grinned and waved for him to continue.

“You met the rest of the family during lunch. What was your impression of them?”

Gabe shrugged. “None of them struck me as murderers, if that’s why you mean.” He frowned. “There is a handyman, Don Bain.”

“Bain? We questioned him.” Gerhardt grimaced. “Not the most mechanically minded. Doesn’t even have a driver’s license. Can barely keep what little lawn there is cut.”

“You’ve checked him out?”

Gerhardt studied him.

“Fine.” Gabe waved off the question. “So you’ve looked into his background already.”

“Were there any arguments?” Gerhardt asked. “Did Michael James argue with anyone?”

“They were a typical family. There was a little bickering, but nothing that appeared too serious. If anything, Mike seemed to take the part of the family peacemaker. He’s the last one I would have expected to be killed. Other than Nora, of course.”

“Really?” A flash of interest lit Gerhardt’s eyes. “Who would you have identified as the victim, if I hadn’t told you?”

“Andrew. Or Candace.”

“Why one of those two?”

“They were the least welcoming, and I gathered from some of the comments that Drew spent a lot of time here, trying to get Archie to lend him some money. Candy was kind of bitter. Nothing specific.” Gabe looked at the door, wanting to end the interview.

“What about Ms. Kirsty Stevens?”

“Just a kid.” Gabe shrugged. “Confused. Shy.”

“She’s twenty-five, not exactly a child,” Gerhardt said.

“She seems a lot younger,” Gabe replied coolly, refusing to let Gerhardt manipulate him. He stood slowly and brushed his hands off on his jeans. “I’m sorry, but I want to talk to Nora. Where is she?”

“We asked them to remain in the kitchen,” Gerhardt said. A frown crimped his brows as he watched him. “There are a few more points—”

“I’ll be around if you have any other questions for me.”

“I’m sure we’ll talk again.” Gerhardt stood and handed Gabe a business card with a smile. “You’re about the only uninvolved witness with a solid alibi. If you see or remember anything, give me a call.”

Gabe thrust the card into his back pocket and strode out of the den, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. Then he paused. Where was the kitchen? Near the dining room. He walked in that direction and had just passed the large, oval dining room table when Nora came into the room through the opposite doorway.

“Gabe!” She stumbled mid-stride and caught the back of one of the chairs. “Where have you been? What happened to you?”

Her face was pale, and there were circles around her soft brown eyes. She looked tired and worried, but when she smiled at him, her face lit up.