Secrets in the Stone (13 page)

“Are you monogamous?”

“What?”

“You’re too remarkable to be unattached, so is it that you’ve promises to keep?”

“No promises.” Adrian was about to add she was unattached, that there was no one, but as foolish as it might be, she didn’t quite feel that way. Even with Melinda teasing her until she was barely rational, she couldn’t forget about Rooke. The more she thought about Rooke, the easier it was for her to breathe, to quiet the raging demands of her rebellious body. She had no idea what that meant, but she wanted—needed—to find out.

“I have no problem sharing. In fact,” Melinda said with a playful smile, “I enjoy company. I have several very beautiful friends who would love to join me in making you—”

“Stop.” Adrian pointed a finger at her. “You are not to say another word.”

Laughing, Melinda turned back to the newspapers.
I can feel your need, your power straining to be free. Give me leave and I will please you as you have never been pleased. And you will fill me as no one ever has.

“Did you say something?” Adrian thought for a second she’d heard whispering.

Melinda glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “No, darling. Not a word.”

The tension between them abated as swiftly as it had arisen, making Adrian wonder if she hadn’t exaggerated what had passed between them. Maybe six months of celibacy had left her unusually susceptible to the slightest physical contact. Putting aside the unsettling episode with Melinda, she returned to searching the subsequent issues for any more information on the accident that had claimed Grace Tyler’s life. She found no mention of the funeral or any report of further investigation into her death.

“This is interesting.” Melinda turned the newspaper spread out in front of her in Adrian’s direction and pointed to a photograph above two columns of print. “Whoever’s doing this work may be able to help us out.”

Adrian read the first few lines of the article, which described a wealthy donor who had given a sizable sum to a cemetery for the restoration of his historic family burial site. The photo depicted a square stone structure the size of a small garage sitting alone atop a knoll surrounded by huge oak trees. “Is that a crypt?”

“It’s a mausoleum. The crypts are contained inside.”

“I don’t understand. These are common, right? Especially in wealthy private cemeteries?” Adrian kept reading, but she already knew what she would find. The mausoleum was at Stillwater.

“You’re right, mausoleums aren’t that unusual,” Melinda said, pointing to a portion of the photo. “But this is.”

Adrian leaned closer and noticed the figures carved at the upper corners of the impressive mausoleum. “Are those gargoyles?”

“They are, and some of the most lifelike I’ve ever seen.”

Caught by the pensive, almost awestruck tone in Melinda’s voice, Adrian studied her. Her face and neck were subtly flushed, her widened pupils flickering, her expression distant. For the first time since she’d met her, Melinda appeared vulnerable, almost shaken. Adrian gently touched her wrist, and this time sensed nothing but soft, warm skin. “Are you all right?”

Melinda turned to her slowly, her moist lips swollen as if from invisible kisses. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“I’m not sure I see the connection,” Adrian said, withdrawing her hand before Melinda got the wrong idea.

“This article is recent—three years ago. Someone right here is doing very fine stonework, and there aren’t many places to find good stone in any given area.” Melinda traced her finger almost lovingly over the face of a crouched figure with the body of a man-lion beast, scaled wings, and a fierce head with pointed ears and a broad, snarling muzzle. “Whoever sculpted this guardian may be getting the material from the same place as the artist. It’s possible they even know each other.”

“Guardian?” Adrian asked, her pulse suddenly racing.

“This is a guardian gargoyle. He’s a watcher, a protector of the spirit. Quite powerful. Some believe magical.”

Adrian remembered Dominic’s words from that morning.
If it’s stone, Rooke does it…markers, crypts, statues.
This was Rooke’s work. It had to be. And Melinda was completely enchanted by it. Adrian had no doubt Melinda would be completely enchanted by Rooke, as well.

“Stillwater Cemetery,” Melinda murmured and glanced at her watch. “It’s probably too late today, but there’s always someone around at a cemetery, even on Sunday. Tomorrow, I’ll have to pay a visit.”

“I’ll drive you,” Adrian said quickly before she had a chance to consider how Melinda might view the offer.

“Then tomorrow promises to be a doubly pleasant day.”

“It’s getting late.” Adrian returned the newspapers to their box. She didn’t want to examine too closely her reasons for volunteering to accompany Melinda the next day. All she knew was that she didn’t want Melinda going off alone in search of Rooke.

A new storm greeted them when they walked outside. Darkness had fallen, and snow swirled in wild eddies beneath the curved iron streetlights. The sidewalks were already covered with several inches of new fall over the old, making them treacherously slippery.

Melinda wrapped her arm around Adrian’s waist as they carefully trekked back to the hotel. “I didn’t believe them when they said we were getting five days of snow.”

“I’m going to have to pass on dinner,” Adrian said when they made it to the shelter of the Heritage House front porch. “Plowing the roads out around my grandmother’s isn’t a priority.”

“I’d argue, but I want you to be safe. Besides, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, so I’ll have another chance to invite you.”

“I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll set a time.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it all evening.” Melinda kissed her cheek and touched her face with a gloved hand. “Sleep well.”

Adrian hurried to the Jeep, quickly brushed the windshield clear of snow with her sleeve, and jumped in. When she started the engine and looked back toward the hotel, Melinda was framed in the doorway with the soft yellow light of the lobby highlighting her dark, blade-like form. For an instant, Adrian remembered the candlelit bedroom and the woman moving demandingly upon her. Only it wasn’t Melinda bending close to claim her. It was Rooke.

After reining in the chaos that had nearly overtaken her, Rooke spent a long time in the shower. She didn’t need the heat, because she wasn’t aware of being cold. She needed the steady drum of the water beating over her skin to drown out the last whispers of Adrian’s touch, fearing the slightest memory would be more than she could resist again.

When she walked into her grandfather’s kitchen and shook the snow from her hair, she said, “Sorry. Hope I didn’t ruin dinner.”

Her grandfather filled two bowls from a large pot on the stove and carried them to the table. He pulled out a red vinyl-covered chair with aluminum legs that matched the aluminum trim on the Formica table and sat down. He gestured to the other chair.

“Can’t ruin stew.” Pops shot her a glance. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want some rolls? I picked up those kind you like from the store this morning.” Pops pushed a green plastic dish lined with a napkin and filled with buttermilk biscuits toward her.

“Thanks.”

“I got an e-mail. Some of those books you been waiting for came out. You want to look at the list later?”

“I’m okay for now. I’ve still got half a dozen on the iPod.”

“Let me know when you’re ready, then.”

They ate in silence beneath the buzzing rectangular fluorescent light in the center of the ceiling. The small room was warm from the heat of the oven, and after a few minutes Rooke removed her flannel shirt and draped it over the back of her chair. Beneath it, she wore a clean navy blue T-shirt with her jeans and work boots. She’d covered the gash on the top of her hand with several Band-Aids.

“How things look at the Winchester place?” Pops finally asked.

“I got the tarp up. It won’t hold for long, not with the wind that’s coming up. I’ll check it tomorrow.” Rooke carried her bowl to the sink, rinsed it, and set it in the dishpan. “We’ll need to order slate.”

“That’s going to be a few weeks before it comes in.”

“That’s what I told Adrian.” She cleared her grandfather’s dishes and leaned against the counter, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “The chimney needs rebuilding. I can start on that as soon as the storm lets up.”

“Going to be pretty cold for the mortar. You think it’ll set okay?”

Rooke shrugged. “I’ll rig up a heater. As long as I can layer it and get the stone set while the mortar’s at the right temperature, it should be okay.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“The house stays pretty cold without a fire, and with the added draft, Adrian’s uncomfortable.”

Pops leaned back in his chair. “She’s staying there for a while? Not just the weekend?”

“I don’t know.” Rooke realized she’d just assumed Adrian would be there. Maybe she’d just come up to check the place out and would be leaving come Monday. At the thought of never seeing Adrian again, the tightness returned to her chest. “I’ll have to ask her.”

“Well, either way, we’ll put the estimate together. I’m sure she’ll want to run it by her grandmother.” Pops gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll be surprised if Elizabeth Winchester doesn’t want some fancy outfit from Albany or somewhere to come down here and do the work.”

“She’ll wait a good long time if she does.” Rooke strode to the back door and twitched the curtain aside. Usually she didn’t care how long a storm went on or how much snow fell, but now, the snow presented a physical barrier keeping her away from Adrian. She didn’t even have the excuse of working on the house as a reason to see her as long as it kept snowing.

“You want to tell me why you’re pacing around like a cat in a cage?” Pops asked.

“I don’t know why.” Rooke wasn’t trying to be evasive. She really didn’t know. Since the moment Adrian had stared out at her through the window, a half-worried, half-aggravated expression on her face, she’d been captivated by her. It wasn’t
just
that she was beautiful. She had an edgy temper that hinted at both strength and vulnerability. She was alternately stubborn and tender. She was mysterious and smart. Very smart. She traveled around the world. She wrote articles that probably thousands of people read. Rooke sighed. Adrian’s world was light-years away from her own.

“Let’s get the measurements for the estimate, then,” Pops said. “Might as well put some of that energy to use.”

“Right.” Rooke followed her grandfather into the adjoining room that had once been the formal dining room but now was his makeshift office. The big square walnut table in the middle of the room was built to seat ten, although Rooke had only the vaguest memory of ever having a family dinner at that table. Now rolls of drafting paper lay in the center surrounded by coffee cans filled with pens and drafting pencils.

“How big an area of the roof?” Pops asked, bending over a blank pad of paper.

“About a quarter of the rear section.” Rooke had paced it off before nailing down the tarp. She had an excellent sense of spatial dimensions and could remember angles and 3-D relationships with perfect recall. When building any of the larger structures on the cemetery grounds, after she and her grandfather reviewed the plans, she’d sketch the structure and then they’d go to the site. She’d walk the perimeter and stake the positions of all the critical supports. Then he’d measure to confirm it was to plan, and she was always right. “Thirty by twenty-two feet. Thirty feet of flashing. And the vertical downspouts need to be replaced. Eighty feet of pipe should do it.”

He made notes. “Chimney dimensions?”

“Forty by twelve.” Rooke judged the vertical height by the width of the stone in the chimney. “I’m going to use the native stone that’s on site. I’ll need at least twenty bags of mortar.”

“Inside?”

“A pallet of reclaimed bricks.”

“Your labor?”

Rooke hesitated. “Maybe we could give them a discount?”

Her grandfather looked up. “Why? You’re gonna be freezing your butt off out there. And standing on a scaffold in this kind of weather isn’t all that safe.”

Rooke felt herself blushing. She could hardly tell him that she’d do the work for free if it meant she could talk to Adrian once in a while. She didn’t want Adrian making coffee for someone else. “I…uh…the shop is slow right now. I could use something to do.”

“I just sent you four new orders for markers.”

“They’ll be ready. No problem.”

He scratched something down on the paper. “All right.”

“So what’s the total?”

He told her.

“I’ll take it over to Adrian tomorrow,” Rooke said. “I want to check to make sure the tarp is holding.”

“Uh-huh.”

He watched her as if expecting her to say something else. When the silence grew uncomfortable, Rooke said, “Thanks for dinner. I’ll get breakfast.”

“Sausage and eggs would be good.”

“You got it. ’Night, Pops.”

He waited until she was almost at the back door before calling, “Get some rest.”

Rooke pulled on her shirt and walked back to the shop. She hadn’t slept the night before and she was tired. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep, though. She let herself into her apartment and got a beer from the fridge. Then she sat drinking it on the sofa in the dark. In the past when she’d been too agitated to sleep, she’d never known why—she’d only been aware of searching for something always just beyond her reach. Tonight, she knew her restlessness was because of Adrian, but nothing had really changed. Adrian was also beyond her reach.