Deadly Inheritance: A Romantic Suspense (10 page)

He shut the engine off. The sound of his heart thudding within the cage of his chest deafened him.

His speedometer showed 50MPH. The wheels shrieked from the momentum.

His hands clenched the steering wheel, white-knuckled.

Trees were coming up. Fast. Thick pines, oaks, and maples. The tires smoked and roared. Through the woods he caught a glimpse of gunmetal gray—another saltwater flat and beyond that, another bridge. The truck bucked and swerved, resisting his efforts to keep it on the road.

No other cars appeared on the road—no one to see what was happening.

Trees or water? Crushed or drowned?

He had to stop the truck. The vehicle—his baby—would be destroyed. Nausea rose up his throat.

As the bend in the road came into view, he made a decision. He wrestled the wheel to the left. The tires shrieked and spewed clouds of smoke. He tightened his grip. The rear end began to swing around as the tires lost traction. The vehicle tilted to the side, threatening to roll over, but the width and low center of gravity held it to the road. Pine trunks flashed by, the rough bark filling his windshield. The truck slewed to the right, screeching into a sliding circle.

Glass and metal exploded. Airbags slammed into him and shoved him back in his seat. Lights sparkled and then dimmed into nothingness.

By five o’clock, Nora knew more than she wanted to know about her cousins and was surreptitiously watching the clock, wishing Gabe would return soon. Her cousins kept talking, sharing details about their families that no one but the narrator found interesting.

Mike was married and had twin boys, Daniel and Donald, in middle school. His face glowing with pride, Mike couldn’t seem to stop grinning as he spoke about his boys. Danny wanted to go to medical school, which was why Mike was at Autumn Hill, despite its unsavory reputation. Donny hadn’t decided what he wanted to do, yet. Mike hoped he would consider engineering, but didn’t want to pressure him. Mike insisted on giving Nora a tour through his online photo album on the computer, and she only managed to escape by promising to look at all the photos after she caught up with her urgent email.

When she got up from the computer to stretch, Kirsty was standing nearby with a glass of sweet tea and her life story. Her dark hair covered half her face as she spoke in a hurried voice, clearly afraid Nora would stop her if she halted more than a second to catch her breath. Kirsty was single, ran the business side of a tattoo shop, thought tats weren’t all that interesting, and had wanted to be a vet until organic chemistry killed her grade point average. She’d just moved out of her parent’s home into an apartment she shared with one other girl and a man who thought rent was only due when he happened to have a little extra money. Which was why she was here, hoping if she remained quiet and respectful, the evil spirits would overlook her.

After maneuvering herself between Kirsty and Nora, Candy took center stage. She was married, owned a trendy dress shop, and promised with a condescending smile to give Nora a discount on a new wardrobe because she so obviously needed one. Not everyone had the money to dress well, she stated generously. Nora nodded, secretly pitying Candy’s husband, and managed not to say so without biting her tongue completely off.

Finally, when Candy wound down, there was Drew. After two minutes, Nora found she preferred the more formal name, Andrew, because it gave her the illusion that she was keeping him at arm’s length. He was divorced, twice. Candy butted in briefly to elaborate on his life’s history in a richly sarcastic voice. According to her, by the time he’d parted with his rich wives, the prenuptial agreements were moot since he’d generously given up his own careers in each case to support his wife-of-the-moment. Both women were now working long hours in Candy’s dress shop in order to supply him with the pittance their lawyers called alimony.

After Uncle Archie had died, the two ex-wives had invited Andrew to lunch, plied him with liquor, and convinced him to go to Autumn Hill. Perhaps with the desperate hope that he’d finally get enough money to break his tick-like hold on their bank accounts. Or that the ghosts would put him out of their misery.

Nora was rooting for the ghosts and wishing fervently that she’d gone with Gabe.

Where was he?

Unable to stand it any longer, she escaped from the den and went to the front door. Outside, the surrounding trees rustled, already black with night. She frowned. He’d promised to return before nightfall. He didn’t have much time. A thin line of ruby-red sky hung just above the treetops, and a single star had already appeared.

Had he forgotten her? Decided not to come back?

She wished her cell phone hadn’t drowned. The loss made her feel cut off and alone.

As her concern morphed into fear, she took a step back and slammed the door shut. There was no point in worrying about him—been there, done that. With a sinking feeling she realized that once more, she’d trusted someone she
knew
she shouldn’t trust.

He’d taken one look at the situation, eaten one lousy lunch, and hightailed it out of there.

But he had asked her if she wanted to go with him.

Which he knew she’d refuse to do, because she needed to stay at Autumn Hill fifteen hours out of every twenty-four in order to earn her share of the inheritance. Unfortunately, thanks to him, she’d arrived later than she intended today and had to stay until midnight.

Then again, maybe he’d just been delayed. Or had another flat tire.

Despite her efforts to guard her heart from more disappointment, a small voice protested her cynical assertions. She barely knew him. He deserved the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe. She still felt like a fool to trust him, but darn it—she’d liked him. He’d seemed so nice and honest. Dependable.

He’d had competent hands and could obviously use them. He’d built his own vehicle. And a man who owned dogs couldn’t be all bad. Maybe he’d gone to visit them. Maybe one of them was sick. That might explain everything, except it still left her feeling vulnerable, disappointed, and foolish, a sensation with which she was all too familiar.

Well, she couldn’t stand here in the hall waiting for him. If they wanted something other than fish for supper, she had to talk to Sarah. She could then use one of the computers to order pizza, assuming they could get someone to deliver it. If not, she’d volunteer to cook.

Loathe to confront Sarah, Nora wandered around the house for several minutes, opening doors and growing more and more depressed at all the ornate, dark furniture and a general lack of anything she considered cheerful or normal. There wasn’t a single photo of a smiling family member. In fact, other than mirrors in elaborately carved and gilded frames, there wasn’t any art, either.

Uncle Archie did show an interest in time, however. An obsessive interest. There were clocks everywhere. Grandfather or longcase clocks, carriage clocks, china clocks, ship’s clocks, gothic clocks, cuckoo clocks, and schoolhouse clocks. Every kind of clock she could imagine clicked softly and incessantly from walls, fireplace mantles, tables, and shelves.

How on earth did Sarah find time to keep them all wound? Why did she even bother, now that Uncle Archie was dead?

It was creepy.

Nora pushed through the door Sarah had used when entering the dining room and discovered the kitchen. Or a time warp. Her hands smoothed over the hips of her sweatpants, instinctively feeling for the full skirt and frilly apron that belonged in the 1950’s room. Chunky, smooth-curved white enamel appliances lined one wall, opposite an expanse of baby-blue cabinets, white Formica countertops, and a stainless steel triple sink. A Kit-Cat clock swished its tail and ticked softly on the wall next to a second door. Black and white floor tiles and a rectangular chrome and white laminate table with four red vinyl and chrome chairs completed the retro décor.

“Sarah?” Nora stepped hesitantly into the kitchen and glanced around.

The place was spotless, and there was no evidence that the housekeeper had begun dinner preparation. After calling Sarah’s name several times, Nora walked across to one of the other doors, centered in the middle of the left-hand wall. Maybe Sarah was taking a nap or working on menus or something. Nora rapped gently and waited.

Nothing
.

She knocked harder and was surprised when the door swung open. Her hands turned to ice as drops of cold sweat slid down her sides. She didn’t want to trespass on Sarah’s domain, but the open door seemed ominous, given the empty kitchen. What if something had happened to Sarah?

Nora imagined her lying on the floor, her skin growing colder and colder as her murderer hid silently in the kitchen, gleefully watching Nora’s reaction to the crime.

A quick glance over her shoulder suggested she was alone. There simply weren’t that many places to hide. Straightening, she entered the room, surprised to step onto the first wall-to-wall carpeting she’d encountered in the house. Soft, pink, deep-pile carpeting covered the floor and matched the pink roses climbing up the wallpaper and trailing over the curtains. A single bed took up the center of the room, and a white chenille bedspread trimmed with dark pink roses covered it. A white dresser stood against one wall, next to another doorway through which she could see the corner of a pink bathtub. A white highboy stood against the wall opposite from the bathroom.

She stepped closer to the highboy. A large framed picture of a marmalade domestic shorthair cat stood on a doily with white candles on either side and a small, crystal vase of flowers. The arrangement screamed shrine. On the small nightstand next to the bed was another, smaller picture of the same cat, stretched out on the bed—on top of the same chenille bedspread. Next to the picture was a plastic bottle of pills, labeled ranitidine, a generic drug used to control acid indigestion.

“What are you doing in here?” Sarah stepped into the room behind Nora.

Nora jumped and spun around to face her, hand pressed against her pounding heart. Sarah’s frowning gaze flashed around suspiciously, as if searching for signs that Nora had been snooping.

“I’m sorry—I was looking for you,” Nora stammered, feeling a hot flush rise to her cheeks. She stared at her feet before forcing her gaze up to meet Sarah’s hard eyes.

“And you just felt free to come on into my bedroom?”

“No—no, I knocked and the door swung open.” Nora cringed at the lame excuse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Sarah studied her with hard eyes before she sighed and pushed past her. When she reached the center of the room, she spun around to face her. “Well, you did intrude. And I’d appreciate it if you’d just get on out of here.”

“Sure.” Nora moved back into the kitchen.

Sarah followed her and shut her bedroom door behind them with a snap.

“I respect your privacy—really,” Nora said, feeling smaller and smaller in the face of Sarah’s sullen anger. “I didn’t realize your bedroom was right off the kitchen.”

“Where else would it be?” She eyed Nora. “Why were you here, looking for me?”

Nora smiled. “We wanted to give you a break—it’s a lot of work cooking for so many people all the time.”

“I can cook for six, same as for one,” Sarah interrupted stiffly.

“Of course.” Nora rested her fingers briefly on Sarah’s bony wrist. “But we’ve given you a lot of extra work, so we’re going to have pizza for dinner.”

“Pizza?” She made the word sound like a curse. “I don’t eat
pizza
.”

The image of the ranitidine on the nightstand made Nora touch her temple in reaction to the lightbulb moment. She should have realized that if Sarah took the drug, she would most likely not be able to eat pizza for dinner without suffering from acid reflux.

It might also explain the plain food she cooked.

“Is there something else you’d prefer? I can order anything you’d like.”

“I don’t know.” Uncertainty wrinkled Sarah’s forehead. “The fish is done thawing. It’s in the refrigerator. And I don’t know no one who’ll deliver way out here, ‘specially at night.”

“Well, Gabe—” Nora broke off with a frown. She’d almost given up on him. He might be on his way back. If he was, he might have a stack of pizzas on the seat next to him. She glanced around, but there didn’t seem to be a phone in the kitchen. No way to tell him not to bring the pizzas or to order something else.

Assuming he was going to return.

Maybe they could eat the pizzas tomorrow for lunch. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d eaten cold pizza.

When she looked up, Sarah was staring at her.

“I’ve got an even better idea,” Nora said. “Why don’t you let me cook dinner? I’m in the mood for fish tacos, or something like that. We can make them to order.”

“To order?”

“We’ll just grill a few pieces of fish plain and a few pieces with spices. Then we can put an array of salsa, lettuce, and whatever else we can find on the table.”

“We don’t have no tortillas or salsa,” Sarah said grudgingly, although there was a flash of gratitude in her gaze.

“If you have baking supplies like flour, I can make little flatbreads.” She touched the woman’s wrist again. “And I can make the salsa if you have fresh tomatoes and onions. Come on. It’ll be fun and a lot less work for you. I’ll even wash the dishes.”

A faint smile curved Sarah’s lips as she agreed, and Nora almost hugged her in relief. Cooking relaxed her, and the activity was a way to keep her mind off of Gabe. She remembered the warmth of his cheek and his startled expression when she’d impulsively kissed him.

Where was he? Despite her cynicism, she was worried. He just didn’t seem like the type to cut and run without saying something.

Then again, her father hadn’t seemed like the type either, and he’d done exactly the same thing.

“Do you have a phone?” Nora asked absently as Sarah opened the refrigerator and started methodically removing the items they would need for dinner and placing them on the table.

“I got me a cell phone. Mr. James wouldn’t pay for no regular phone.” She touched her pocket.

“I’m a little worried about my friend, Gabe. May I borrow your phone?”

“I suppose so.” She didn’t sound happy about it, but she dug her phone out and handed it to Nora.

Nora prepared to dial and stopped.

Idiot
. What was she thinking? She’d given him back his business card and had relied upon the number she’d plugged into her phone, which was now dead. And if she remembered correctly, Mr. Leonard had mentioned that Gabe’s number was unlisted. There was no point in searching the Internet.