Haunting Ellie (13 page)

In the midst of her staring, Francesca got up from the table and headed toward the ladies’ room. Jon was alone now, and his gaze darted across the room to her table. He frowned, then searched the room. His eyes found hers and stayed there—very intense, very cold.

Matt twirled her around, but she could still feel Jon’s gaze on her back, a feeling she’d known again and again since that day she drove into town. That look still took her breath; still haunted her lonely evenings.

The music slowed, the dancing stopped for now, and
Matt held her close as they returned to their table. She was laughing; she was having a good time in spite of her partner, until she saw Jon leaning back in one of their empty seats, his arms folded across his chest.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Jon?” Matt asked. “Lose her so soon?”

“Not exactly.” Jon sipped on a mug of beer. “Are you doing business with Floyd Jones again?”

Matt shrugged his shoulders, his ever-present grin not leaving his face in spite of the fact that sheer contempt was flying from Jon’s eyes. “We’re friends
 ... old friends.”

“He just got out of jail for poaching.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Poor guy’s looking for a new job now. Not too many people want to hire felons, I’m afraid.”

“What about you?”

“He knows Montana better than most hunters, and that’s the kind of man I need to lead my expeditions. You think I should hire an amateur? Put a bunch of greenhorns in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to stop a grizzly if it comes charging?”

Jon laughed. “Always have the perfect explanation, don’t you?”

“I work hard at it.”

Elizabeth could almost see the friction
firing from Jon’s eyes to Matt’s.

“I suppose you heard about the latest poaching incident out at Schoolmarm.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, taking a sip of beer and appearing totally disinterested in the subject. “Heard they missed one of the cubs.”

“I heard that, too. How much do you think the poacher missed out on? Another gallbladder, four more paws? Worth a pretty penny, huh?”

Matt laughed. “How would I know? My business is on the up-and-up, and this asinine suspicion you have is wearing on my nerves. I’ve been investigated ad nauseam, and no one’s found a thing.”

“That’s something that’s always bothered me,” Jon said, shaking his head.

“Don’t lose any sleep over it, cousin. There are more important things to worry about in this world than a few dead animals. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my eyes out for poachers and for little lost bear cubs, and if I find anything, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

“Keeping your eyes open would be a wise decision, Matt. You never know who might be watching.”

Elizabeth hadn’t taken her eyes off Jon, wondering when his calm would ignite, but he seemed totally in control. She found herself breathing hard, caught as she was in the middle of the fray, and the cold look Jon bore when he looked into her eyes did little for her composure. Was he angry, disappointed, or what? It was impossible to tell, but her insides quivered and a lump formed in her throat.

This definitely hadn’t been a good night for him to catch her with Matt.

It hadn’t been a good night for her to see him with Francesca, either.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening. I’m sure you two have plenty to talk about,” Jon said, as Francesca walked up to the table. He tipped his hat. “See you in the morning, Elizabeth.”

“Nice meeting you, Francesca,” she said. It was a lie, but a polite one. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“So now you know a little bit more about my cousin,” Matt said, after Jon and Francesca left the restaurant. “Lover of animals. Protector of the environment. That kind of nonsense doesn’t set too well with most folks around here.”

Matt’s sense of humor was disappearing rapidly. He gave his watch a quick glance, then shoved out of his chair. “It’s late, Liz,” he said, grabbing his coat and tossing her parka into her hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

Elizabeth shivered when she stepped outside into the below freezing temperature, and
Matt’s arm around her shoulders did nothing to alleviate the icy chill that permeated her body. Even adjusting the temperature in the Explorer to “hot” appeared useless. She couldn’t warm up, not the way she could when Jon came near.

“Why is there so much animosity between you and Jon?” she asked, as Matt maneuvered the turns at breakneck speed.

“Animosity? I think you’re reading something into our disagreement.”

“There’s a lot of sarcasm in those words you just uttered. Tell me the truth, Matt.”

He laughed. “What can I say? There’s been a feud going on between Jon’s side of the family and mine since the turn of the century, and Jon won’t let it rest.” Matt grasped the wheel with his left hand and stretched his right arm across the back of her seat to play with the wispy hairs that had slipped out of her braid. She felt no warmth in his touch, nothing tender or gentle, not like she had with Jon. He did it by rote, mechanically, without much thought. If there’d been more room in the car, she might have moved away. She was trapped, though, and she hated the feeling.

“Only two Winchesters left now—Jon and me,” Matt continued, “and he’s bound and determined to make me regret we’re related. The guy doesn’t have much tolerance for outfitters or hunters, and he’s going out of his way to prove I’ve been part of the poaching.” Matt laughed. “It seems as if I did something wrong in my past and he’s sworn to get revenge.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Matt shrugged. “He doesn’t care too much for my real estate practices, either. But what the hell?”

It was the longest, most uncomfortable drive she could remember. Matt drove even faster than he had on the way to dinner. They hit ice a time or two, and one time came close to sliding into a ditch. Matt didn’t seem to care. Elizabeth did, and she swore she’d never get into a car with him again.

oOo

The vehicle slid to a stop in front of the hotel, and Elizabeth gave a quick prayer of thanks for having gotten home safely. “Thanks for dinner,
Matt,” she said, wishing she could get out of the car and inside the hotel before he made a move, but she wasn’t that lucky. He’d rounded the Explorer and had hold of her arm before she closed the door.

She could feel the tight possessiveness of his grip through the sleeve of her coat, and when they reached the door he pressed his cold, leather-gloved hands to her cheeks and kissed her, hard and swift, and his lips were just as cold as the cowhide. “It was a nice evening, Liz. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

All she did was smile and put her key in the door. “Thank you again, Matt,” she said, praying he wouldn’t ask to come inside.

And her prayer was answered in an instant. Matt blew her a kiss and walked away.

She twisted the key and stepped inside. Solitude had never been so welcome.

The foyer chandelier was swinging full force, and Elizabeth wondered if the firm Montana ground had decided to shimmy and shake like southern California dirt.

And then she heard it.

Spitooey!

She didn’t want to hear it, though.

She closed the door gently, leaned against it, and listened.

And listened some more.

Impossible, she decided, and tried to convince herself that she’d heard nothing more than the tinkle of swaying crystals. She’d imagined the noise, but heavens, it had sounded as if someone had spit something nasty off their tongue. She imagined it
was the same thing Jon would have done if he’d been peeking through the glass in the door and caught sight of Matt kissing her goodnight.

There was nothing to worry about, though. Matt’s kiss had been as dry and tasteless as recycled cardboard, and she hadn’t felt anything but a lump of foreboding in her stomach.

Quite similar to the foreboding she felt right now, thinking about that sound, and watching the chandelier sway when she’d felt no draft at all.

Sometime in the middle of the night the storm subsided. The shrill screams of wind that had blown through the loosened windows quieted, and the long, bony fingers of the naked poplar outside the hotel ceased their incessant scratching on the glass and shingles. Yet the soft moaning in the attic continued, and Elizabeth lay awake, listening to what sounded like a sad, tearful man.

It’s only the house, she told herself again and again. The floorboards. The windows. The ancient furnace.

Amanda
...

Elizabeth’s muscles tensed as stark, cold fear raced through her body. She shivered, pulling the blankets tightly under her chin for warmth and what little protection they could provide from the unknown. She focused her eyes on the darkened ceiling, waiting for another sound, for movement, for something that would explain that noise.

She listened more intently, slowing her own breathing so she wouldn’t miss a sound, a heartbeat, a misplaced step across the floor.

Amanda
...

No, floorboards and windows didn’t resonate at all like that. They didn’t echo through the rooms, or make the tiniest hairs on her arms prickle. She’d listened to floorboards and windows before. She’d listened to rafters and wall studs. She’d lain beneath them and listened to them groan and whine, stretch and crackle, but they hadn’t cried, and they’d never sounded like a tormented phantom, or a lonely, sorrow-filled man.

Amanda
...

And her house had never called out the name of a woman. Not once had anyone called Elizabeth.

She’d known loneliness. And that’s what she heard now. As much as she wanted to deny the fact, at the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder—could it be a ghost, some troubled spirit haunting this forlorn and desolate hotel? She continued to listen, but the lamenting had stopped just as the storm had ceased, and she found the quiet even more disturbing.

And even more lonely.

She rolled over in bed and hugged the fluffy down pillow, pretending for just one moment a lover rested beside her, someone with strong, caring arms. Someone to ease her loneliness and fears. She looked at the pillow and envisioned a face with a lopsided grin and sapphire eyes, and a slow, tender smile tilted her lips. She hugged the pillow tightly and sighed. Jon had such a unique way of warming her insides, making her tremble when he touched her.

But how could she think about him now? He’d ditched her tonight for some pretty, petite redhead.
She punched her fist into the pillow and twisted over in bed.

A lonely cry broke through her frustration and reverie, pushing thoughts of Jonathan completely from her mind. The desolate weeping was louder this time, stronger... an echo of her own inner thoughts. She needed to seek out the sound, needed to know why it came in the night. Was it only the wind howling through windows, or a lost, hopeless soul?

She climbed out of bed and crept up the stairs. The crying deepened as she neared the attic, but she added no sound of her own, her sock-covered feet quiet on the hard, dusty oak floorboards.

A thin stream of light sneaked under the partially open door and around the edge. Elizab
eth rested her fingers on the dingy white wood and pushed gently. The moon shone through a far window, and just as she entered, the curtains dropped and fluttered as if someone had been holding them back to peer out. Listening intently, she heard no sound of footsteps. Searching the room, she saw nothing moving, no one hiding in a darkened corner. Nothing inhabited the room; not a soul occupied the large, empty space. And then she realized—the crying had ceased.

Slowly she crossed the room, stopped before the window, and pulled back the curtains and looked out. A deep blanket of snow covered the ground and settled thickly on tree branches and roofs. A lone set of tire tracks marred the road, and at the end of town, picture perfect with the big, fat moon shining overhead, sat the illuminated mansion of Jonathan Winchester.

It didn’t look imposing or frightening. It looked immense and strong, a stone fortress that could withstand earth, wind, and fire—and probably earthquakes.

A trail of smoke rose from a chimney, and yellow light gleamed through the long, narrow windows that circled the top of one rounded turret. Did Jonathan sleep behind those windows? Did he read in bed till all hours of the night? Could that be the reason for the lights? Did he find it difficult sleeping? Did strange noises keep him awake? Or did he hold a pillow tightly, just as she did, and pretend he was holding someone in his arms?