Charmed

Jonathan strode across the room and searched Ashley’s face as if he were afraid to believe Fontaine. “Where?”

Ashley took a deep breath and sat down in the closest chair. As unemotionally as she could, she told them about the rescue. “Lorrie was knocked out from a blow to the head. She’s weak from being out in the wet and cold, but she’s regained consciousness and the doctor says she’s going to recover.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ellen bubbled.

“Did she say who was responsible?” Fontaine asked.

Ashley decided not to mention Sloane. Brad had made it clear there had to be some evidence of the man’s guilt before an arrest could be made.

“Lorrie doesn’t know,” she responded truthfully. “Apparently, she was stuck from behind and never saw her assailant.”

“Maybe she’ll remember more when she gets better,” Ellen offered.

Clayton Langdon made a wheezing sound. His color was a pasty gray as he put his bony hand on his chest and sucked in air.

Ellen was on her feet immediately and rushed over to his chair. “Oh, dear, too much excitement.”

The old man quivered like a strangled bird struggling for air and seemed to hover on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Jonathan, call Dr. Hadley,” Ellen ordered. “Your father’s having another attack.” She summoned Mrs. Mertz and sent her after his medications.

The drama was too much for Ashley. While everyone clustered around Clayton, she followed the housekeeper out of the room.

“Where do I find my sister’s room and her workroom?”

“They’re across the hall from your room.”

“And where is that?” Ashley asked in exasperation.

“Take the stairs,” Mrs. Mertz replied briskly over her shoulder and disappeared down a hall.

“Great,” Ashley muttered as she climbed narrow, steep stairs that ended at a closed door. Only feeble light illuminated the passage.

The door creaked as she opened it, and she gingerly stepped out into an unfamiliar corridor. As she looked up and down, closed doors along the way gave no hint of what might lie behind them. The faint echo of the ocean’s surf reached her ears, and she headed in that direction. When she came to descending stairs that resembled the ones she’d taken that morning, she knew where she was.

Ashley decided she’d better get a handle on the inventory as quickly as possible. When she reached her room, she turned to the door directly opposite hers and gingerly opened it. Peering in, Ashley felt a rush of warmth.

Lorrie’s usual clutter was spread out all over the bedroom. A lovely sight. Ashley smiled. Never again would she chide her sister about her messy habits.

She found two empty suitcases and began to pack up her sister’s belongings. She’d take them to the hospital tomorrow, so they’d be there when Lorrie was ready to leave.

After she’d finished packing, she looked around the room to see if she’d missed anything and noticed a door on the inside wall next to the closet. It opened to an adjoining room. Judging from the casual furniture and curtained windows overlooking the water, she suspected it had been a sitting room at one time with a second door that opened out into another hall. She’d found Lorrie’s workroom. No doubt about it. Vintage apparel and accessories were everywhere. A variety of garments hung on racks, others were sorted in piles and some still lay in opened old trunks. The assortment was mind-boggling.

The collection included beautiful Edwardian gowns of satin, lace and taffeta. In addition to a myriad of day dresses fashioned by famous designers, there were flounced petticoats with ribbons and edging, and shawls that reached the floor with silken fringes.

On a worktable, Lorrie’s meticulous cataloging was evident in her lists of items and a file of accompanying photos she’d taken. Various accessories, such as purses, scarves, silk flowers, and ornate jewelry, seemed to be packed and ready for transport.

Everything in the room possessed a kind of mystique that totally charmed Ashley. She felt strangely drawn to the women who had owned these beautiful things. Sensuous silken fabrics and lingering scents seemed familiar to her, as if in another lifetime she might have worn the satin gowns and ornate necklaces that had circled their necks. The impression was fleeting, but uneasiness remained. As she looked around the room, she sensed an undefined warning.

Satisfied that she could continue where Lorrie had left off, Ashley returned to her bedroom and was surprised to find a housemaid just finishing making up the large canopy bed.

A quick-moving, blondish young woman had straightened up the bathroom and had hung Ashley’s few clothes in the wardrobe. She’d even laid out her makeup and brush set in an orderly manner on the vanity.

Ashley quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I left in a hurry this morning. I don’t want to trouble you every day to make the bed and—”

“No trouble. I’m Clara.” She had a pleasant smile, and Ashley judged her to be in her early thirties.

“I’m glad to meet you, Clara. And thank you.”

“I’ve always liked doing this room. It’s nice to have somebody in it. I used to set it right every day.” Her tone grew pensive. “Don’t know why they’ve left it all shut up for so long. I’m surprised Mrs. Mertz decided to put you here.”

“It’s a spacious room,” Ashley commented and wondered what there was about it that lacked warmth.

“Pamela liked it.”

“Pamela?”

“Mr. Jonathan’s daughter. You should have seen the room then. She had all kinds of bright pictures on the walls and knickknacks everywhere. She had everything any young woman and bride-to-be could want when she had this room.” Her voice faltered. “She died…two years ago now.”

“Yes, I heard about the tragedy.” She remembered Brad had said the young woman had died of a drug overdose.

“I’d been her maid since I came to the house. She was always so full of life. I couldn’t believe it. Only twenty-three years old. Her wedding dress was hanging in the closet. I’d pressed it the day before. I know she never meant to kill herself, even though she and her fiancé had a big fight. He stormed off and Pamela shut herself up in this room…” Clara’s voice petered out.

“What a tragedy,” Ashley murmured gently.

The maid reached out and smoothed a coverlet on the bed. “I found her…right here…in this bed. All cold and lifeless.” Her voice thickened as she turned and stared at Ashley. “I wonder why old lady Mertz put you in her room? She always hated my Pamela.”

Chapter Four

As Ashley stared at the bed, her imagination began to taunt her with haunting impressions. A young girl lying on the bed…drawing her last breath…clutching the pillow with desperate hands—

Stop it! Her nerves were threadbare enough without giving in to morbid fantasies. The housekeeper probably had a pragmatic reason for putting her in this room. After all, it was across the hall from the one Lorrie had occupied and close to the workroom. That made sense—didn’t it? Maybe, but from the moment Mrs. Mertz had opened the door, it was obvious to Ashley that her presence wasn’t welcome.

BRAD WAS on the wharf when the returning fleet of fishing boats pulled into the harbor after a full day’s run. The air was redolent with the smells of fish as tired crews began unloading their catch for the day’s tally.

After asking around, Brad had learned that Sloane had gone out with Old Man Whitkins, who had trouble keeping any kind of a permanent crew because of the pittance he paid. The crusty old codger had to depend on unreliable help like Sloane, who signed on when he needed drinking money.

Whitkins’s old boat was one of the last to come into view. Brad saw Sloane sitting on the deck, his feet propped up on a lobster cage while he smoked a cigarette. He heard Whitkins yelling at him to cast the bowlines as the fishing vessel prepared to dock.

Brad decided to wait until Sloane had finished unloading the boat before he approached him. He didn’t want to cheat Whitkins out of any work he was paying the man to do. As soon as Sloane headed toward the pub with his wages in his hand, Brad fell into step with him.

“Looks like you had a good day’s catch,” Brad commented.

“How in the hell would you know?” Sloane growled. “When’s the last time you put your hands into a smelly lobster trap?”

“I deal in other kinds of smelly business,” Brad answered as he put a detaining hand on Sloane’s arm. “I have some questions that need answering. Either here or at the office. What’s your choice?”

Sloane’s body stiffened and Brad was prepared to block a sudden uppercut and land one of his own, if need be. Sloane seemed to read Brad’s readiness.