Читать книгу Angel Voice - Connie Hall - Страница 6

Lilly Running Doe stood on the front porch and looked at the tarnished brass plate next to the old oak door: Summerset Plantation, Established 1789.

Living only six miles east on the Patomani Indian Reservation, Lilly knew of Summerset’s dark past. In the middle eighteen hundreds, the owner’s wife was rumored to have been a sorceress and devil worshiper. She disappeared during the Civil War. Some believed the devil claimed her and dragged her to hell. The plantation still had an infamous reputation for being haunted with its sightings of strange lights and green mists. Just thinking about it made Lilly’s skin crawl.

At the thought of meeting the present owner, Jeffrey Carter, her heart pounded. She knew he had lived here with his family until the death of his parents twelve years ago. Then he had boarded up the house and left suddenly. Rumor had it he’d gone to California, as far away from Summerset as he could get, it seemed. But he’d recently returned.

Lilly turned and glanced longingly down the half-mile driveway she had walked down to get there. Her sister, Daisy, had dropped her at the mailbox, not even wanting to venture up to the house. Lilly couldn’t blame her. The ancient oaks along the drive looked alive. Their limbs, sprouting new March growth, intertwined in a canopy that blocked out the sun and threw gloomy misshapen shadows beneath them that warned visitors away. She hadn’t wanted to come here, but she needed the money.

She summoned her courage and gingerly stepped toward the door and knocked.

It seemed like ages before the door opened and a deep irritated voice said, “Are you Lilly Running Doe?”

Lilly nodded, uncertain if the man behind the door could even see her. She wanted to ask if he was Mr. Jeffrey Carter but didn’t have time before the next words were hurled at her.

“Come in, then.”

Lilly swallowed hard at the unwelcome tone in his voice, as if he were doing her a favor by letting her intrude on his privacy. This wasn’t charity. She was here to earn a wage. Still she hesitated at stepping into the house without seeing the man’s face.

Her feet stayed glued to the porch, her fingers digging into her suitcase’s handle.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said as he swept past the door so quickly it frightened her.

She glimpsed a Grecian profile, collar-length nut brown hair, jeans, a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows. He carried a hammer and it swayed in his left hand. It seemed odd he didn’t stop to face her. She had the distinct impression that he didn’t want to meet her face to face, or he was the rudest person she’d ever met. He had long, well-muscled legs, which had already propelled him to the foyer.

Lilly hurried inside, the silence oppressive, like a black hole gobbling up everything. It sucked the very air from her lungs. She forced herself to breathe.

“Close the door,” he called over his shoulder, then he disappeared from sight.

With shaky fingers, she shoved the door, flinching when

it snapped shut with a final hissing clap.

The quiet deafened her, teemed with a kind of force that suffocated everything, as if the house were actually alive. It pulsed against her senses, caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

The musty smell of disuse and dust lingered in the air, yet for all the house’s neglect and creepy atmosphere, she had to admit it was spectacular inside. The mahogany spiral staircase before her wove up to the second floor. Walnut wainscoting filled the foyer and the long hall next to the stair case--the hallway he had taken. On her right was a parlor, filled with antiques and what looked like a grand piano, covered by a sheet. On her left, a huge dining room held massive mahogany furniture that looked as if it belonged in a medieval castle. Everything about the house seemed uninviting, gloomy, desolate.

“The kitchen is this way,” his voice echoed from the room at the end of the hall.

She moved down the hallway, her insides clenching, the suitcase thumping against her knee. She should have taken the job at Food Lion. But this one paid more. At the moment, money didn’t seem so important.

When she stepped into the kitchen, he had already climbed under the sink, banging away on a pipe. He had a flat stomach, wide shoulders that filled his shirt, corded thighs that strained at tight jeans. Lilly caught herself staring at his perfect male body and quickly surveyed the kitchen.

It was large, with a huge center island. Pots and pans hung over the island from an iron rack. The frilly blue curtains at the windows had faded to gray and looked tattered in places. Some of the window panes were cracked. The blue checked linoleum floor was caked with years of dirt and grime. A large water stain encompassed most of the ceiling. A neglected kitchen.

“Got a leak,” he said, pounding harder on a pipe. “I’ll show you your duties when I’m done. I’ll require complete loyalty from you. You are never to speak of anything that goes on inside this house—that includes interviews with the press.”

Why would the press come here?

“I didn’t ask on the internet, but how long were you employed at your last housekeeping position?”

Lilly held up her hands to sign a response, then she realized he probably didn’t know how to sign and couldn’t see her hands anyway. Why hadn’t she told him she was mute? Because he wouldn’t have hired her, that’s why. She panicked and stood there swaying on her feet.

“Well?” his voice dropped in irritation.

Lilly pulled out the pad and pencil from beneath her sweater and scribbled, “I’ve been working as a maid for years.” In frustration, she tapped the tip of the pencil on the paper.

He didn’t seem to want to pull his head and torso out from beneath the sink.

“Can’t you speak?” he said, his voice lacking all patience, his thighs tensed into granite.

Aggravation filled Lilly and she scrawled, “I’M MUTE!” She stomped her foot to get his attention.

“What’s wrong with you?” His fist closed around the hammer and he slowly backed out from under the sink by his heels. His face appeared.

It startled Lilly so much, she dropped her pencil.

It thumped to the floor and sounded like a car crash in the silence. She gasped, heart pounding, and only stared, dumbstruck.