Dark Homecoming (27 page)

T
had secured the shutters over the large plate glass dining room windows. He knew it was the eastern-facing windows that were in the most danger of shattering under high winds. About a decade ago, they'd lost most of the windows on that side of the house as well as a part of the roof to Hurricane Frances. Just as Thad had gotten busy with repairs, Hurricane Jeanne had blown through and undone all his work. That was when Mr. Huntington—the older one, the one who was huffing and puffing in the parlor at the moment—had had these shutters installed, so they could protect the house's east flank when the next big one hit.

And it seemed Caroline was indeed going to be a big one.

That worried him. But other things besides high winds and rains worried Thad this afternoon. Things even more powerful than a hurricane.

He remembered other gatherings that had taken place in this house on stormy nights. The skies would darken and cars would arrive out front, and people would gather in the parlor. Dominique would be dressed all in bright red, and a thick, spicy incense would be lit, and then all the servants would be sent home. The servants knew that a good thunderstorm in the late afternoon would always be enough to send them home early.

Thad was remembering those gatherings now because he'd smelled that same incense burning from somewhere in the house. He couldn't place exactly where the aroma was coming from, or who might be burning it. But he had a pretty good idea.

It was Dominique. She still walked through this house.

He remembered the day she died. He remembered the weeping and wailing after the news was brought to them—from Mrs. Hoffman, not the dead woman's husband. He remembered the chanting that had afterward drifted down from the attic, led by Variola's lyrical, Haitian-accented voice. And he remembered the sudden salty stink that had filled the house—the stink of the sea.

When he heard commotion in the kitchen, Thad had gathered his courage and made his way there. But when he went through the door, the kitchen had been empty. Still, what he saw there had left Thad horrified.

Dirty seawater was everywhere. Slimy green seaweed clung to the counter.

They'd laid her out there
, Thad thought to himself.

Somehow their witchcraft had brought Dominique back from the sea. And ever since then, she had walked this house.

Thad had never seen her, but he had felt her. He feared her, too, ever since he had attempted to take down her portrait from its place of honor.

And now, all these deaths. Audra, Jamison, Rita. Thad knew Mr. Huntington wasn't the killer. He felt certain that all the murders were committed by Dominique. Her restless ghost simply refused to give up her claim on this world. How Dominique had hated Rita, whose affair with Mr. Huntington had been common knowledge among the servants. That was why she had run off that day on the yacht. Now, at last, she had taken her revenge. Who was next?

Once again, Thad thought he knew.

Liz. Dominique planned to kill Liz. Today. During the hurricane. When her powers were at their greatest.

He had to warn her. He had to get that poor sweet girl out of this house. He felt in his bones that Dominique was going to strike soon. The approach of the storm, he believed, was really the approach of Dominique.

Even as he entertained such theories, he knew what Carlos would tell him: “Thad, mind your own business. Nobody wants to hear your ghost stories.” Thad and Carlos had been together for twenty-four years, and never in all that time had Carlos ever given Thad's belief in the supernatural one iota of consideration. “There's no such thing as ghosts,” Carlos would say. “Dominique's body was washed out to sea and surely eaten by sharks. She can't come back, Thad. She's just a few pieces of bone and gristle floating through the Atlantic.” Carlos was a practical man; if he didn't see a thing right in front of him, he didn't believe the thing existed.

But Thad had a very different point of view. Dominique had never been eaten by sharks. They'd brought her back. Somehow their little witches' coven had summoned her bloated, waterlogged body back to this house. And now her spirit was getting ready to strike. He had to warn Liz. She and her friend should get in the car immediately and get as far away as they could.

He could finish the shutters later. The hurricane wasn't scheduled to hit for another couple of hours. It was more important that he find Liz.

But she didn't open her door when Thad knocked. He tried calling to her, but there was no answer. He tried the knob; it was locked. Concerned, Thad hurried downstairs. He found her friend, Nicki, seated in the study, reading a magazine.

“I'm looking for Mrs. Huntington,” Thad said to her.

“She's sleeping,” Nicki replied.

“It's really important I speak with her.”

Nicki looked puzzled. “Can't it wait? She said she wouldn't nap long.”

“No. I've got to talk to her now. Before the storm hits.”

Nicki seemed anxious, as if she was hiding something. “I'm sure Mrs. Hoffman can give you instructions on preparing the house—”

“It's not that.” Thad glanced around, to see if anyone was around. Satisfied they were alone, he stepped into the study. “Look, you've got to get her out of here. Immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because it's not safe. When Audra died, there was a storm.”

“Who's Audra? Oh, wait, the girl who died here . . .”

Thad nodded. “Believe me, it's not safe. I can feel it. Something's going to happen.”

Nicki looked unconvinced. “Liz told me that all of the people who worked in this house were very superstitious.”

“I'm not being superstitious. Look, there's something in this house . . . a force. A bad force. You can believe it or not, but if you're her friend, you'll get her out of here.”

“Well, I agree with you that there's something bad in this house. And you can rest assured that I am going to do my level best to get Liz out of here just as soon as the hurricane blows over.”

“It'll be too late then,” Thad said, his voice getting desperate. “Please!”

Nicki stood and approached Thad. She seemed to be studying his face.

“You're being sincere,” she said. “I can see that. You really believe these stories that Dominique haunts this house.”

From the neck of his shirt, Thad pulled out the jade pendent that he wore around his neck on a chain. “This protects me,” he said. “I tried to get Mrs. Huntington to wear one, too, but I don't believe she has.”

“No, she has nothing like that around her neck.” Her eyes flickered away, as if she was troubled. “Look, I don't know you, but I know that Liz likes you. So I guess I can trust you. Last night she claims she had a very disturbing encounter.”

“What happened?” Thad asked.

“She was up in the servants' quarters . . . in a room there. I found her, terrified, screaming, curled up in a ball on the floor. Someone had tried to kill her, she said. A woman . . . with a knife.”

“Dominique.”

Nicki looked confused. “I don't know what to believe anymore. Liz said the woman came out of a secret passageway in the closet—a passageway that went in between the walls of the house.”

“In between the walls . . .”

“You're the caretaker of the house. Is such a thing possible?”

Thad nodded. “There
are
such passageways. They were built in the 1920s so the people who lived there could hide their liquor. It was Prohibition. They built passageways to move the liquor in and out of the house.” He shook his head. “But you can't come out of them the way she described, in some closet. You'd have to cut a hole in the wall to access them.”

“Well, according to Liz, there's an entrance through a closet in the room where I found her last night.”

Thad looked at her. “The last room on the left, I expect.”

“I believe that's the one. How did you know?”

“It was where Mr. Huntington used to carry on with Rita. It was hardly a secret. Maybe he used those very same passageways to meet her there.”

Nicki shuddered. “I'll level with you. Liz isn't here. She went out on an errand. Don't tell anyone else. She'll be back in a moment. And whether you're right or wrong about ghosts and imminent dangers, I'm going to take your advice. Liz and I are going to ride out this storm at a hotel. We'll leave as soon as she gets back. I'll find a way to convince her.”

“Good,” Thad said. “And in the meantime, I have a certain closet I need to inspect.”

T
he first place Liz went looking for Roger was at his gallery. But when she arrived there, pulling up in Nicki's little rental car, its windshield wipers swishing back and forth against the heavy rain, she'd found the gallery closed. The front windows were boarded over in anticipation of the storm. So she had decided to drive over to Roger's house.

Liz had never been to Roger's house before. He'd made promises to have her—or her and David—over for dinner, but he'd never actually set a date. She had the address—it wasn't terribly far from Huntington House—so she headed back that way.

She decided not to call or text Roger ahead of time. She didn't want to prepare him in any way for what she was about to ask him. She wanted to see the honest look on his face when she asked him if he'd had an affair with Dominique.

Roger's house, at least compared to Huntington House, was rather modest. It was all one floor, with lots of metal and spun glass. Probably not more than ten years old, Liz estimated as she turned off the ignition of the car and sat looking over at the house, waiting for the rain to subside just a bit. But that wasn't happening anytime soon, she realized, so finally she pulled up her hood and made a dash for the front door.

“Liz!” Roger exclaimed when he saw her. “Is anything wrong?”

“I just needed to speak with you. May I come in?”

“Of course, of course.” He stepped aside so Liz could enter. “Is it okay to drive? I've just been watching the news. Looks like we are about to receive Caroline full-force.”

“Just a lot of rain so far,” she told him. “I think we've got a little time before it hits.”

She glanced quickly around the room. And the first thing that struck her was how similar Roger's house was to his gallery. Every wall was cluttered with paintings not unlike the ones Liz had seen at the art show—disturbing images of headless statues and floating eyes and obelisks set against bright red backgrounds.

“May I take your coat?” Roger was asking.

But she barely heard him. Liz's eyes had fixed on a sculpture on a table in a prominent spot in Roger's living room. It was the bust of an angel—with black wings and the head of a cow.

“I see you still don't fully approve of my taste in art,” Roger said, coming up behind her. “Some of them are pieces by Naomi Collins. I often display the work of my artists here in my home. Helps when I have parties to promote the gallery.”

Liz said nothing as he took her coat, shaking the rain off it in the foyer before hanging it on a rack.

“May I pour you some sherry? Or something stiffer?” Roger smiled. “It looks as if you could use it.”

“No, thank you,” Liz said, pulling her eyes away from that obscene cow angel. “I'm still recovering from all that wine last night.”

“Is that why you've come, Liz? You're upset by what I said.”

Liz had a flash of memory from the night before. Roger's brown eyes, so full of compassion.
“Then can I tell you that I love you?”
He had kissed her after that.

She had liked it. She had felt so good, so happy, so safe, in Roger's arms.

Liz took a deep breath and looked over at him now. “I'm not upset,” she told him. “But I do need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

“Did you have an affair with Dominique?”

There it was: the expression Liz had hoped not to see. Roger's eyes revealed the answer to that question before he even had a chance to speak.

To his credit, he didn't try to lie. “Yes,” he told her. “Yes, I did.”

“And David knew about this?”

Roger nodded.

“That was part of the reason for his breakdown?”

He sighed. “I heard my father was in town. I see he's paid you a visit.”

“Yes, he did.”

“He's always hated me. I wasn't the son he wanted. I could never do what David did, which was to kiss Dad's ass and follow his orders without question.”

“Did you love her?”

Roger's eyes focused on her. “Not the way I love you, Liz. You are good. She was evil. You are life. She was death.”

She felt as if she might cry, but she held back the tears. “I don't know what to say. Except now I understand why David hated her so much.”

“And why he hates me.”

“Was David with her on the yacht on the day of the accident?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Detective Foley asked me. I didn't really think about it at the time. Now . . . well, now I'm wondering.”

“Yes.” Roger looked at her emotionlessly. “David was with her.”

“So . . . he made it back safely, but she drowned?”

“That's right.”

Liz felt dizzy, much as she had back at Huntington House while talking with her father-in-law. She steadied herself by leaning against the back of Roger's couch.

“But that's not the official story,” she said. “The official story is that Dominique went out alone. Why not tell the police and the Coast Guard that David was on board too?”

“Because he didn't want to be accused of murdering her.”

“Surely he can't be blamed for a storm.”

“But Dominique went overboard before the storm. At least, that's what the captain later asserted.”

“The captain? I didn't know there was a captain on the yacht that day . . .”

“In the official account, there wasn't.”

Liz couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They slid down her cheeks and dropped off her chin. “What are you telling me, Roger? That David killed Dominique?”

He remained emotionless, just standing there across from her, staring at her. “Given what he'd discovered,” he said, “he would have had reason, wouldn't he?”

“And Rita? He killed her, too, because she was going to tell me.”

“Oh, Liz.” Roger's gaze softened, and he held open his arms.

Liz rushed forward and allowed him to hold her. She sobbed against his chest.

“There, there, my love,” Roger said softly, his lips near her ear. “I'm sorry I never told you about Dominique. It was in the past. I thought it was no longer relevant.” He gently lifted her chin with his fist. “If it matters, she hurt me, too. You see, I wasn't the only one she was cheating on David with. There were others . . . bellboys, gardeners, deliverymen. She was an evil woman, Liz. She's destroyed David, but you see, I won't let her destroy me.”

“He's going to go to jail,” Liz said, the reality of her husband's predicament fully hitting her. “He might even be . . . put to death.”

“Sweet girl, don't think about any of that right now . . .”

“I've got to go,” she said, pulling out of Roger's arms. “I've got to get back.”

“Yes, my love, you should go back. But remember, I am always here for you.”

She managed a small smile in his direction. “I appreciate that, Roger. Your friendship means the world to me.”

“You forgive me for not telling you about Dominique?”

“Yes,” she said. “She used you, just as she used so many others.” She choked up. “Just as she used David.”

They walked to the door and Roger helped Liz back into her coat. “You'll see, my love. When this storm is over, and the sun shines again, all will be better.”

“I'm afraid then it will only be worse,” Liz said. “If David doesn't come home on his own, they'll have to extradite him . . . and then there will be a trial . . . the headlines are just going to go on and on . . .”

“Listen to me, Liz.” Roger gripped her by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “By this time tomorrow, everything will be better. Can you not feel the power that approaches? This storm is going to be one of the great ones. Let's not be afraid of its power, my darling, but instead, let's harness that power to fulfill our dreams.”

“I've never heard a hurricane described that way,” she said.

“Feel the power, Liz. Tap into it.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I will see you very soon, my love. Don't despair. Better days are ahead of us.”

She tried to smile, but Roger's words were almost unfathomable to her. What was he talking about? As Liz turned to leave, her last glimpse before leaving the house and heading out into the rain was that terrible, awful cow-headed angel with the black wings.