A Stranger in Wynnedower (10 page)

She directed her
attention to the house and grounds and tried to take in everything from the
state of the gutters above her head to threats posed by unpruned trees.

Jack’s car was there,
parked on the eastern side near an exterior side door. He’d said it was a
loaner while he was in town. She stopped and casually scanned the area, not
really expecting to see Jack because he seemed to have made an art of hiding.

Rachel decided not to
mention David Kilmer’s visit. The more she replayed it in her head, the
stranger it sounded. It seemed unnecessary to go through that mess of a
conversation.

She turned back,
traveling beyond the outskirts of the garden. The dining room windows were dark
as she rounded that wing. On the far side of the house the only things worth
noting were the wide double-doors in the back wall. They were ground-level and
padlocked. Snug up against the base of the doors the grass grew close and
thick. They hadn’t been opened in a long time.

After a solitary
evening, she headed upstairs. Near the top, she heard a creak in the shadowy
alcove, then a swish, as with fabric. It was barely more than the whisper of
sound like that caused by cat fur brushing against silk.

Goosebumps prickled her
flesh. She held her breath. The switch that controlled the sconces in the upper
hall was inside the alcove.

The shyness of whatever
she’d seen, and the hint of fragrance, encouraged her to lean into the alcove
opening and flip on the switch. Nothing and no one.

The hallway beyond was
dark. Rachel knew from her touring that it went to the far end of the house, Jack’s
end, past those rooms he’d told her to ignore. It ended in a stair, the twin of
the stairs at her end of the house, and as dark and steep.

Wispy figures? Perfume?
Her imagination. That’s what Jack would say. Probably right, too. Except the
trace of scent still lingered and sooner or later she knew she’d follow it.

In the early morning,
about dawn, Rachel heard the rise and fall of distant voices, probably male.
The tone of the voices sounded conversational.

Jeremy?

She sat up, excited.
She bypassed her slippers, shoved her suitcase away from the door and swore at
the locks she had to undo before she could race down the stairs. By the time
she reached the central hall, sanity had returned. Her feet were bare; her hair
was crazy from sleep. If Jeremy was here, he wasn’t alone, and she was a sight.

The voices had stopped.
She strained to hear. A board squeaked, then a huge ripping scream of forced
wood razored through her head, a noise terrifying in its violence.

Jack? Was it Jack?

She raced into the
library.

Two scrawny men,
strangers in dirty jeans and t-shirts, were prying the wood paneling from the
library wall with the claw end of a crowbar. Rachel patted her robe pocket,
forgetting she hadn’t put it on. She had no robe, no pocket and no phone.

“Jack,” she shrieked.
“Jack!”

The men turned and
stared. They were unshaven and grimy.

Rachel continued
yelling, “Who are you? What are you doing? Stop it now!” Her voice resounded
throughout Wynnedower’s empty halls and rooms.

One grabbed the other’s
arm saying, “Let’s get out of here.”

Jack pushed her aside.

A gun. He was holding a
handgun. She reached out to grab his arm, then stopped herself and moved a few
steps away.

He said, “Don’t move.
I’ll shoot.”

“We’ll leave, man. We
thought the place was empty.”

She shouted, “It’s
private property.”

“Stand back, Rachel.”
He moved closer to the men. “Call 9-1-1.”

Reluctantly, she left,
moving swiftly, slipping on the wood floor as she turned the corner. Quickly,
she retrieved her cell phone and made the call as she was running back to where
the action continued.

“…Wynnedower. Do you
know it? On the river.” She broke into the woman’s reply, saying, “I have to
go. I have to help Jack.”

The skinny guy with the
shaggy hair tugged at the belt loops on his jeans and shifted from foot to
foot. “Mister, you can’t shoot us if we’re not threatening you. We’re gonna
leave. That’s all we want to do.”

“I’ll shoot if you
move. You could be armed. If you move a step in my direction, I’ll shoot in
self-defense.”

Jack’s tone was calm
and deadly serious. Rachel didn’t think he understood the law correctly, but
this wasn’t the time for a debate.

The dark-haired man
spoke in a stronger, deeper voice. “You’re blocking the door. We thought the
place was abandoned. We’re leaving now.”

“There’s a car parked
out front,” she said.

“We didn’t see it. We
came in from the side.”

Jack nodded his head
toward the front door. “Rachel, please go wait outside on the porch.”

She was struck by the
rage in his eyes, so at odds with the icy, controlled voice. She went, but
listened. She heard ‘bolt’ in their voices. Jack might not be cautious enough—or
too hesitant and they’d get the jump on him. Or he’d shoot them and get in
trouble himself. Primed with adrenaline, she was all but tap dancing in the
open doorway.

“No need for this, man.
We’re gone and won’t be back.”

“This is one of the few
times I’ve had the chance to catch you lowlifes and I’m not letting you go.
Think real good before you try me.”

The deputy arrived
first, then the deputy’s sergeant and a State Trooper, all with lights flashing
and sirens blaring.

Anxiety over anyone
getting injured, or maybe even killed, whooshed away and she let pure
excitement take over. This was like stepping onto the set of
COPS
or
CSI
,
but without the bodies or gore. She bit her lower lip and tried to keep mum as
she watched the officers and the action.

“Ma’am?”

She turned abruptly.
She was the only ma’am here.

“Could I get some
information from you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, ma’am. You
discovered them, correct?”

The officer was young,
but official looking in his uniform and with a confident, low-key attitude. His
manner appealed to her, reminded her that this wasn’t a game.

“I did.” She tucked a
lock of hair behind her ear, smoothed her clothing and realized she was still
in her pajamas. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack cast a glance their
way and his eyes lingered. “Everything okay?” she asked him.

Jack shook his head,
his expression serious, but a vague smile played across his lips. “Yes,
everything’s okay. Now.” He nodded toward the library and his dark look
returned. “I’ll be back.” He left with another officer.

They took her
statement, Jack’s statement, and photographed the damage in the library and in
the conservatory where a glass pane had been broken to unlatch the door. The
pickup was parked out by the terrace. The police took the men aside to speak
with them separately. Her energy was draining and by the time they drove away
with the men in the back seats of the cruisers, she was glad to see them go.
Jack came back up the stairs to the porch where she was standing.

He looked at her
pajamas and bare feet. The storm cleared from his face, and he laughed.

Annoyed, she said,
“You’re rather disheveled yourself.”

He’d managed to drag on
his jeans and shirt, but was also shoeless.

“Disheveled. I haven’t
heard that word for a while. And I
am
disheveled. I’m also hungry. Are
you up for some breakfast? I need a cup of coffee.”

“Breakfast, yes. No to
the coffee.”

He paused at the door.
“After you.”

It took her back—a
whole three days ago? It seemed like she’d been here forever, but in a good
way.

“They’re sending a tow
truck for the pickup,” he said.

Rachel pulled out
plates as he grabbed the frying pan.

“I told you not to
confront intruders. You agreed.”

“It was pure chance,
Jack. Their voices woke me. The sound must’ve come up through the heating
vents. I thought it was Jeremy.”

“Proves I can’t be
everywhere. Not so long ago some of the copper downspouts were torn down. They
busted into the basement to pull out the copper pipes, but didn’t get far with
that before something ran them off. Maybe our resident haunts.” He laughed, but
with disgust.

“They’re getting
bolder.” He poured his coffee while the pan heated.

“The economy, maybe?”

He glanced around at
her. “None of them knocked on the door asking for work.”

“I hope the paneling
can be repaired.”

“Does it matter? A year
from now….”

“A year from now,
what?” She stopped and waited.

He focused on the pan
heating on the stove, “A year from now it may be gone. I’m told it’s a prime
location for some expensive new houses.”

Still not moving, she
asked, “Then why do you care? Why not let the thieves take the paneling and
downspouts?”

Jack stared at the wall
behind the stove and spoke, perhaps to her, perhaps to the house. “Because it’s
mine.”

Rachel let his words
settle while she poured herself a glass of orange juice. Finally, she said, “You
need an alarm system.”

“I had one, but the
phone lines are old and unreliable. It caused more problems than it solved.”

Jack broke the eggs in
the pan and she popped the bread into the toaster.

“Is that why you got
rid of the furniture? Oh, goodness. Don’t tell me it was stolen.”

“No, there’s plenty of
furniture. Haven’t you made it to the attic yet? It’s locked away to keep it
safe until I sell or renovate. Frankly, I don’t have time for either and,
sooner or later, some vagrant is going to set this place on fire, and it’ll all
go up in flames.”

An alarming picture.
Her mind filled in the horrible details. Flames climbing high, searing the
night,
a la
Jane Eyre
, a raging conflagration that consumed
everything it touched—fabric, wood, and flesh. And poor Mr. Rochester, blinded
and scarred for life. Her skin burned at the thought.

Passion drove her
voice. “You have to do something. You can’t wait until it’s too late. Get
motion detectors, the kind with lights. Install a siren or two. Bring an expert
in. There’s bound to be effective ways to get it done.”

“No time. Same with
carpenters and painters. Cost aside, it’s a full time job setting up
appointments, getting estimates, setting schedules, all that. Besides....”

“I can be useful to
you,” she interrupted. “Let me work on that list. First, though, we have to do
something about people breaking in and damaging the premises.”

He went quiet. She felt
a ‘no’ coming on, but then he nodded. “I’ll give you the number of the security
company I used before, and you make the appointment. Don’t agree to anything. I
want to review and make the decision. And that’s all. Don’t bring anyone else
in. I don’t like strangers in Wynnedower.”

“You bet.” Rachel
smiled, and glowed on the inside. If this place had air conditioning and Jeremy
was here, safe and sound, and single, Wynnedower would suit her fine.

****

As Jack had said, some
keys opened more than one door, but others seemed to fit no doors at all, and
he said there were more keys.

She tried them one by
one, finding the key and door matchups.

In the narrow stairwell
at her end of the house, she stood on the second floor landing at the base of
the stairs to the attic. The door squeaked as she opened it. The stairway was
very wide and very steep, and disappeared into darkness.

There was no handrail
here. Rachel touched the unfinished walls, the boards, to steady herself as she
ascended. Sunlight filtered in weakly, but it was sufficient to get her to the
top of the stairs.

The attic, of course.
She scanned the vast area as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The ladder
back of a chair seemed to rise from a hulk of no particular dimension. The
nearest mound was covered by a sheet, and she touched it gently, tracing the
rounded back of a chair.

Inventory this? Rachel
was flabbergasted.

This was a Himalaya of
settees, dressers, tables—unimagined treasures for antique collectors. But in
an attic?

It was dry up here, but
got very hot and very cold. This was not an acceptable environment for
preserving antiques. She could inventory this, but Jack had to bring this stuff
downstairs or sell it. Soon, if it wasn’t already too late.

Beyond a few yards, the
dark hung like a wall, and she couldn’t see the far end of the attic. Within
the fringe of the natural light, the shapes seemed to shift ever so slightly—a
trick of the lighting and uncertain footing. Gingerly, she stepped back,
avoiding the rounded, covered corner of something big, and turned directly into
Jack.