Haunting Ellie (24 page)

His thoughts returned to Elizabeth, slumbering peacefully while he waited out the night. In the morning he would tell her about the deeds. He’d tell her that he was the rightful owner of Dalton House, of the town of Sapphire, and of most all the property a person could see when they stood in the turret room of the mansion. He’d persuade her to find those old records and when she did, he’d ask her to take them to the authorities and have all the Winchesters evicted from the town. It was his right as owner. It was his right as a man who’d been wronged. It was his revenge—and
, he thought, it might be the only way he could end his cursed existence and once again lie in Amanda’s arms.

Elizabeth tossed and turned, finally burrowing deep into the feathered pillow, but she couldn’t return to sleep. Thoughts of Jon came to her, and thoughts of Alex, all too vivid and real and jumbled together to give her any peace.

How could Alex go on, year after year, tortured by his past, his memories
? She wanted so much to help him, to think of a way to get him out of the bonds that held him within the hotel. But if those bonds could be broken only by wreaking vengeance on the Winchesters, one very big hurdle stood in the way—Jon.

She touched her lips, remembering the kisses they’d shared. She wanted more, and more after that. She thought about Libby’s bet and laughed that someone would be foolish enough to wager money on the date when two people who had never even mentioned the word “love” to each other would marry. What had Libby said? April? That wasn’t the least bit plausible.

She wasn’t in love.

Or was she?

When she couldn’t sleep any longer, she went to
the kitchen at four
A.M.
and baked up a frenzy while drinking cup after cup of strong coffee—anything to keep her going.

Alex kept her company, watching her bake two of her
“best this side of New York” cheesecakes—one for Libby, one for Jon. A dozen and a half huckleberry muffins found their way into plastic bags, some for the cafe, some for her freezer. Jon would like them with his mug of strong morning coffee.

She cracked eggs, whipped up an omelet for breakfast, and kneaded dough for fresh warm bread to take with her to Jon’s. And while she fussed around the kitchen, Alex told her the rest of his tales about the day Jedediah Dalton had taken him in, the day he met Amanda, and all the things in between.

At eight she filled the clawfoot tub upstairs with hot water and bubbles, gave Alex explicit orders to stay out, and soaked for nearly an hour. She thought of last night’s kisses, the dancing, and Jon pulling her hips close to his. He’d wanted her, of that she’d had no doubt.

She’d wanted him, too, but her promise to Alex had been in their way. At four o’clock, though, nothing would keep them apart.

At nine she was lacing her combat boots over Levi’s when she heard the knock downstairs.

“It’s that big lug,” Alex informed her, as he zipped into her room. “You want me to get rid of him? It’s not four o’clock yet.”

Elizabeth grinned. “No, Alex. I don’t want you to get rid of him, and I don’t want you doing anything to hurt, maim, or annoy him.”

“There’s no fun in that.”

Shaking her head, Elizabeth brushed past Alex and ran down the stairs.

She threw open the door. “Good morning.”

“I couldn’t wait till four,” Jon pronounced, his lopsided smile warm and wonderful and the best thing she’d seen all morning. “Keep me company today.”

“But you said you have business to take care of.”

“Won’t take more than a couple of hours. I’ll drop you off at the mall in Helena, if you’d like, then we can have a late lunch.”

Well, Elizabeth thought, riding in a pickup over icy roads sounded a whole lot better than sitting inside a haunted hotel waiting for four o’clock to arrive. “Think we could hit a few antique shops, too?” she asked, slipping into her parka and grabbing her purse.

“I take it your answer’s yes?”

She stood on tiptoe and quickly kissed his lips. “Would you have settled for any other answer?”

He shook his head slowly. “One no from you in a twenty-four-hour period is enough. Anything more and I might get angry.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and closed the door behind them as they headed for his truck.

While Jon drove they talked about her brother, his new wife, and about a few of Eric’s entrepreneurial disasters. He tried everything, and succeeded at little, but he had a good heart and he’d been a loving brother. Of course, he had a bad habit of disappearing for weeks at a time, which he never explained and which annoyed and worried his sister. Eric always laughed it off when Elizabeth
expressed her concerns, saying not to worry, he could take care of himself.

They talked about Jon’s parents, Thomas Jr. and Joanna, about their environmentalist activities, which had come to such a screeching halt, and about Thomas—Jon’s grandfather—and how Luke Winchester had deserted him when he was sixteen.

“Luke married a French actress not too long after Amanda died,” Jon told her. “She didn’t care much for her stepson or the mansion they lived in. My grandfather said she used to flounce around in feathers and flimsy silk and make demand after demand on the servants. She had a poodle she adored, and nine months to the day after she married Luke she had a brand new son to devote all her attention to. Living with her and Luke was absolute hell, my grandfather used to say.”

If only you knew the entire story about your great grandfather, Elizabeth wanted to say. But she’d promised Alex not to divulge his presence or any of his secrets until they could prove his innocence and hopefully find the records.

“I don’t know how long they were married before Luke had Winchester Place built,” Jon continued, “but Thomas was sixteen when they moved out of Dalton House. He wasn’t invited to go along, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind. That big old mansion I live in was deeded over to my grandfather along with a hundred acres of land and enough money so he could live comfortably.”

“The more I hear about Luke Winchester, the more I despise him.”

“Everyone has to have a black sheep in the family, I suppose.”

Luke Winchester, though, was blacker than black, and somehow she had to prove it.

“I wish there were some way I could learn more about Luke and Phoebe, even Alexander Stewart,” Elizabeth said, as they neared Helena. Her curiosity grew moment by moment. She sensed a need to know everything possible about the history of the town and a few of its earlier citizens. Whether she could help Alex once she learned more, she didn’t know.

“There’s a history museum in Helena,” Jon said. “I don’t know how much information you’ll find, but I could drop you off while I’m at my meeting, if you want to check it out.”

The thought of digging through old records excited her. She’d always been fascinated by antiques and old clothes. She’d collected tintypes and old diaries and had had a wonderful collection before everything had been destroyed. But she’d had no real connection with any of the things she’d accumulated.

She might not be a Dalton or a Winchester or a Stewart, but she was caught up in their lives. They seemed real because Alex and Jon brought them to life. And she couldn’t wait to learn more.

oOo

Elizabeth pored over old newspaper accounts, checking every reference on Luke Winchester, Alexander Stewart, Phoebe Carruthers, and Amanda Dalton. She flipped through page after page, reading article upon article, mostly short, cryptic gossip about births, weddings, and the latest fashions being sported around town.

After 1897 there were no references at all to Alexander
Stewart, but prior to that there was a full account of how he’d masterminded the devastating robbery of the Bank of Sapphire. Accounts claimed he’d had an accomplice, a mysterious man in black who’d been seen skulking around the bank earlier that morning. But no proof had ever been found. Speculation ran rampant that Alexander had gone back to Saint Louis, where, rumor had it, his mistress lived. Of course, every lead in that direction had fizzled. The only things chronicled were theories about his misdeeds ... only lies, those dreaded lies Alex hated so much. But lies or not, Alexander Stewart’s name had been slandered. And Elizabeth vowed to learn the truth.

Looking at her watch, Elizabeth realized she’d killed over an hour checking out just the references on Alex. She expected Jon in another hour, so she pushed on with her search.

Hastily she plowed through the few articles about Amanda. So little was written about the woman Alex loved. Scant mention had been made of her acquaintance with Alexander Stewart, and only a paragraph had been wedged into the society column about her marriage to Luke Winchester. The words claimed her to be the luckiest woman in Sapphire, catching the handsome and eligible bachelor. Months later she took a European tour with Luke and when they returned, Amanda stepped off the train carrying their new bundle of joy—Thomas, who’d been born in Paris in the summer of 1898.

In article after article, Elizabeth found very little that intrigued her until she read Amanda’s obituary in 1904, followed several months later by the
front page story of Luke Winchester’s marriage to stage actress Claudette, the French beauty who’d stolen the grieving widower’s heart and made him smile, something people had rarely seen since his first wife’s death.

Elizabeth carefully read each line of the article, including the guest list, but she learned nothing new. There had to be something somewhere in all the references that could help her in her search to prove Alexander’s innocence.

Finally, on the next-to-last page, she found a tongue-in-cheek article about the wedding with a caricature of Luke and Claudette in their finery with a scowling hag standing in the background. The inscription underneath read, “Did the Widow Carruthers expect to be the next woman to walk down the aisle with the dashing Luke Winchester?”

“Well, look who’s here.”

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of Matt Winchester’s voice. “Hello, Matt,” she said, tilting her head up from the ledgers. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in town getting a few sticks of dynamite to clear stumps off a piece of property. Figured I might as well stop here at the same time and check out some old land records. Of course, none of that’s nearly as interesting as bumping into you.”

He lifted the edge of the paper Elizabeth had been browsing through and frowned at what he saw. “Checking up on my family history, huh?”

“Not your family in particular. Just intriguing things about the town.”

“If you’re looking for anything special about Sapphire, maybe I can help.”

“I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” she lied.

He sat down at the table beside her and put a hand on the back of her chair, his fingers lightly brushing against her arm, a feeling she disliked intensely. “Why don’t you have lunch with me? I know a nice, quiet little place where we can have a drink or two.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Francesca and I didn’t get a chance to welcome you properly last night. Why don’t you let me welcome you now?”

“I don’t think so,” she said bluntly. “I’m here with Jon. In fact, he should be back any minute now.”

“In other words, you’d like me to leave?”

Elizabeth only smiled, surprised he’d figured that out all on his own.

“You will tell him hello for me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she lied.

Relief flooded through Elizabeth when he started to get up, but he hesitated, leaning closer to her instead. “Tell you what, Liz,” he said, putting a hand on top of hers. “If you want to know more about Sapphire and its leading citizens, I’ve got photo albums dating back to the wedding of my great-grandparents. Why don’t you come by this evening? Have dinner with me. I’ll pull out the pictures and you can browse as long as you want.”

Dinner with Matt? The idea nauseated her, especially after their last get-together. But the newspaper accounts were getting her nowhere. There were no photos, and the articles were all innuendo. Somewhere there had to be information that would
give her a clue about how to help Alex. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for dinner. Maybe you could just drop the albums by the hotel one day.”

He laughed. “Sorry, Liz. I don’t trust valuables like that out of my sight. Have a drink with me, at least. Surely you can take half an hour, maybe an hour out of your busy schedule.”