I gave an awkward laugh to cover my uneasiness. “I think I could at least manage a shower.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m really not in the mood for a party. It’s been a long day.” And I needed time alone to digest everything that had happened in the laurel bald.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to be a little more persuasive,” he said slowly.
“Meaning?”
“I believe I have something you want.”
My pulse quickened at his ominous tone, even though I suspected he was teasing me. “And what would that be?”
“A lot of the old cemetery records are stored at Asher House. I could arrange for you to have a look at them.”
“Luna told me the records were stored at the library in town.”
“Some of them are, but not the ones you’ll want to see. If you come to dinner, I’ll make sure you have full access.”
“That sounds very much like a bribe,” I accused.
He grinned. “Would it pique your interest to know there are pictures—actual photographs—of the cemetery from the late 1800s? The original site map should still be around, too, and who knows? We may even be able to dig up the family Bible.”
I thought about that hidden grave once again and wondered if any record of it might be included in the Asher family archives. I wanted to know who was buried there. In fact, I had to know. Unidentified graves were anathema to me.
“You drive a hard bargain,” I said with a sigh.
The green eyes gleamed. “Shall I pick you up at quarter of eight?”
“No, thank you. I’d rather drive.”
He gave me a knowing look. “So you can leave whenever you want?”
I shrugged.
He nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at eight, then. You can’t miss the house. It’s just past the cemetery. Cross the creek and you’re there.”
Eleven
I
f the cemetery statuary was a tribute to Asher ego, then I could only surmise the house must pay homage to the family’s hubris. The place was massive, a towering cliff-top behemoth with three stories of verandas and half a dozen gleaming columns that seemed at least a mile high. I had expected something large but nothing quite so grand. Nor was I prepared for the floating illusion created by moonlight and clever illumination.
A circular drive swept me up and around to the front of the house, and my first inclination was to make the arc and keep going. For some inexplicable reason, I found myself intimidated, and I didn’t understand why. Status meant nothing to me. I’d been brought up by a gentle mother who embodied the more refined qualities of a Southern belle, but also by a father who came from the mountains of North Carolina and worked with his hands. I was a product of both and proud of it.
So why the nervous hesitation? Why that foreboding that warned me to stay away from this house and the Ashers?
My gaze traveled up the mansion’s façade as I climbed out of the car. The ground floor veranda was well lit, but the upper balconies lay in darkness. Even so, I fancied I could see a shadow way up high staring down at me. A ghost? I wouldn’t be surprised. Not in this house. Not in these hills. The whole area seemed afflicted by some dark spell, some evil enchantment. I knew how daft that would sound to anyone other than my father, but I couldn’t discount my instincts. Too many strange things had happened in the short time I’d been in Asher Falls.
I climbed the steps and rang the bell, feeling a little underdressed. The only decent outfit I’d brought with me was a plain black sheath that I often wore when invited to speak or give interviews. If I’d been back home in Charleston, I could have accessorized it with pearls and pumps, but tonight I had to make do with flats and a cardigan.
A uniformed maid answered the door and gave a little curtsy as I relinquished my bag. I had only a brief impression of crystal chandeliers illuminating a magnificent double staircase before I was ushered down a spacious hallway. As I walked along behind her, my gaze was drawn to the faded paintings on the walls—generations of Ashers, I presumed—and I couldn’t help but notice the curl of the brocade wallpaper and the water-stained ceiling. Despite its grandeur, the house smelled old and musty, and the air had the damp chill of a tomb. A place where time had stood still. A home more suited to the dead than the living.
The maid waved me through the arched doorway, and the room fell silent as I entered. I hastily searched the small crowd for Thane, and my gaze lit upon Luna Kemper, breathtakingly lovely in lavender chiffon. She smiled and nodded, but I had the distinct impression she was shocked to see me. She was flanked by two women. I recognized Sidra’s mother from the day before and the redhead from the photograph in Luna’s office. The picture had captured a hovering ghost in the background, and I searched the window behind them now for that scowling countenance. But I saw nothing more menacing than reflected candlelight.
Sidra’s mother wore a white sheath with coils of silver chain around her throat and the redhead, a vintage brocade cocktail dress in emerald-green. They watched me warily, the way one might observe something suspect in a petri dish, and I saw Sidra’s mother touch Luna’s arm and murmur something in her ear. I grew even more anxious and wished that I’d followed my initial inclination to circle the drive and head back home. Or that I’d at least taken a little more care with my makeup. Done something different with my hair. Then I told myself I was being ridiculous. When had the way I looked become such a pressing concern? Like my father, I worked with my hands. I had no need of frills in my wardrobe. As lovely as those dresses were, they wouldn’t suit me at all. But I knew the tension that knotted my stomach really had little to do with my appearance. The worry over my plain attire was merely a manifestation of some darker uneasiness that plagued me.
The three women had grouped themselves around a tall, broad-shouldered man who had his back to the door. He was the only one who hadn’t turned when I arrived. There was a fourth woman, but she blended so seamlessly into the background I nearly missed her. She was slight and nondescript, and her unfortunate choice of brown velvet all but swallowed her. She looked uncomfortable and so out of her element that I felt an instant kinship.
All of this was but a brief assessment before Thane materialized at my side, handsomely bedecked in a charcoal suit with a narrow green tie that complemented his eye color.
“You found us,” he said warmly.
“Of course, I did. Your directions were perfect. And, anyway, it would be hard to miss this house.” I glanced around. “I’m not late, am I?”
“Right on time. But I admit, I was starting to worry you might have had a change of heart.”
“I almost did. Several times.”
“Lucky for us you didn’t. Come along, then. Let’s get the introductions out of the way and I’ll see about getting you a drink.” Weaving my arm through his, he led me across the room to the others. A set of French doors stood open to the cool night air, and the scent of wildflowers drifted in. Or was that Luna’s perfume?
Detaching herself from the group, she came forward to greet us alone, the airy fabric of her dress swirling gracefully in the breeze. I couldn’t help but admire the one-shoulder cut and the contrast of dark hair against creamy skin. She was beautifully and meticulously groomed—hair, makeup, nails, everything perfect—but there was something feral in her eyes and in the way she walked that reminded me of a jungle cat straining at a jeweled leash.
I thought back to her transformation at the Covey house that first afternoon and how everything about her had seemed so enhanced by our natural surroundings. And then I also remembered her attitude toward Angus, and my esteem for her quickly vanished.
“You know Luna, of course,” Thane was saying.
I nodded with a polite, if forced smile. I suspected her greeting was just as strained.
“Lovely to see you again, Amelia, although I never expected to run into you here.” Her inquisitive gaze flicked to Thane. “I didn’t realize you two even knew each other.”
“We met on the ferry,” he said.
“That explains it.” Her smile settled back into place, her expression as benign as the evening breeze. But now I was remembering something else about Luna Kemper—that flash of rage when I’d dared stand up to her about Angus. She was not a woman to be crossed. Certainly, not someone I’d want for an enemy.
“How do you like your accommodations?” she asked. “Not too far from town, I hope.”
“No, everything’s fine. Thank you for making the arrangements. Although…”
She tilted her head and regarded me with that same bemusement, as if she still couldn’t quite figure me out. “Yes?”
I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told me about the proximity of the original Thorngate, but I didn’t dare mention it without providing some alternate explanation as to how I’d come by the knowledge. I couldn’t tell her about the bells, after all. Or the swirl of restless souls in the mist.
“Never mind,” I murmured. “It’s not important.”
“If you say so.” Annoyance flashed in her eyes, but she quickly shrugged it aside. “By the way, has Tilly been by since you arrived?”
“Not that I know of.”
She sighed. “And I specifically asked her to keep an eye on you…in case you needed anything. I thought she might even be able to help you in the cemetery. She’s always on the lookout for odd jobs.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Thane said. “Tilly’s a hard worker. I’ll speak to her myself if you like.”
The blonde glided up beside Luna with a frown. “Forgive me…I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re referring to Tilly Pattershaw, I assume. She may be a hard worker, but I’d worry about her mental stability if I were you.”
“Bryn,” Luna admonished.
“Don’t
Bryn
me. I’m just saying what we’ve all thought for years. The woman is strange. Living out there in the woods for so long has affected her mind. When was the last time anyone saw her in town? I shudder to think what she lives on.”
“She’s not hurting anyone,” Thane said. “So I really don’t see the problem.”
“She may not be a problem
yet,
but that doesn’t negate the fact that she hasn’t been right since—”
“My goodness, where are my manners?” Luna interrupted. “Here we are going on and on, and you two haven’t even been formally introduced yet. Amelia, I’d like you to meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Bryn Birch. You met her daughter, Sidra, at the library the other day.”
Before I could offer my hand, Bryn lifted her head, giving the effect of gazing down her nose at me. “Actually, I feel as though we’ve already met. You brought my daughter home yesterday. She and Ivy couldn’t stop talking about you.” She glanced at Luna. “They pretended to be sick so they could leave school early.”
“That doesn’t sound like Sidra,” Luna said.
“It’s that
girl,
” Bryn said scathingly. She turned back to me. “I’m certain you weren’t in any way complicit in their little scheme.”
“All I did was offer a ride. I drove them straight home.” I hated that I sounded so defensive, but Bryn Birch had a way about her. She was beautiful, cold, haughty and aloof—the embodiment of every quality I found intimidating. The perfect headmistress.
“Where did you pick them up?” she asked.
“At that little market off Main Street.”
“You don’t know where they’d been all afternoon?”
“They never said.”
She exchanged another glance with Luna, and at that moment, I wasn’t so certain I would have told her of their whereabouts even if I’d known. Both professionally and personally, she had every right to be concerned, but there was something very disturbing about her third degree. I wasn’t getting apprehension so much as suspicion.
The redhead joined us then and thrust out her hand. “Amelia, welcome! I’m Catrice Hawthorne.” Her handshake was warm and firm—a relief from the frostbite of Bryn’s interrogation—and her soft brown eyes sparkled with good humor. “Ever since Luna told us you were coming, I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Oh…well…thank you.” Her effusive greeting caught me off guard.
“I’ve been reading your blog,” she said. “Digging Graves…such a clever name. You’re quite the celebrity, it seems.”
“Hardly. It’s just something I do in my spare time.”
“Well, I’d say it’s a very successful hobby. One of the videos you posted has over a million hits.”
“That’s from an interview I did in Samara, Georgia,” I said. “The camera captured reflected light over the cemetery and the footage made the rounds on ghost-hunting sites. It really had nothing to do with me.”
“Cat is something of a celebrity herself in these parts,” Luna said. “She’s a noted ornithologist and a very talented artist.”
“Translation—I’m a bird-watcher who paints,” Catrice said with a charming touch of self-deprecation.
“You’re far too modest.” Luna turned back to me. “One of her paintings hangs in the governor’s mansion. That’s quite an honor.”
“I’d love to see some of your work,” I said.
“Drop by my studio one of these days and I’ll give you a tour. But enough about me,” she said with a wink. “You haven’t met Hugh and his lovely wife.”