Читать книгу The Ghosts Of Cragera Bay - Dawn Brown - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Declan woke slowly. Warm sunlight seeped between the gap in the drapes and fell on his face. He squinted and burrowed into the pillow. The relentless rush of the sea beating the shore at the base of the cliff filled his ears, muffled through the closed window, but still audible, making it impossible to pretend he was at home in his own bed instead of this dreary house he’d never unload.

He sighed, opened his eyes and shoved back the blankets. Maybe today he’d have good news. Maybe the real estate agent would arrive with some eccentric crazy willing to buy this dump above market value. He could head back to Seattle a rich man. Enough money to clean up the mess Josh had made of his business.

Just thinking about everything his younger brother had done sent a fresh wave of fury rolling through him. Josh had always been a fuck up. Maybe it was classic middle child syndrome. Though, Declan was so much older than Josh and his sister Katie he felt more like a third parent than a brother—especially since his mother had passed away.

Josh, who had barely squeaked through high school and washed out of college, hadn’t been able to hold down a job so Declan had hired him. Taking on his brother had been an expense he could barely manage. He and his partner Jayne were just keeping their firm going, but his mother had been sick by then, and Declan had wanted one less thing for her and Allen to have to worry about.

He’d put Josh in charge of background checks for their corporate clients. After all, how badly could his brother screw that up? He should have known better. Josh had taken payouts from some of the people he was supposed to be investigating and falsified information. Not only had his brother damaged Declan and Jayne’s credibility, he’d left them vulnerable to criminal charges.

Declan had fired Josh, paid back the clients Josh had scammed and miraculously kept them from pressing charges against all of them—Josh included. Though, Declan had been so furious at his younger brother, he didn’t think he’d have given a shit if the cops had carted his brother off to prison. Only Allen and Katie had Declan scrambling to protect Josh. They couldn’t have dealt with that, too, not after losing his mother.

This house was supposed to be the shovel to help him dig out of his mess. Instead, it was burying him deeper.

He stood, crossed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Once the water heated, he stepped into the ancient iron tub beneath the weak spray. The hot water dribbled over his skin in a sad piss trickle.

Lousy water pressure—one more thing that needed fixing.

As he washed, a faint smoky scent tickled his nose. He frowned. What was that? The smell thickened, charred, burned. Was there a fire? Was Stonecliff burning down while he showered? Except for the potential danger to his person the idea wasn’t all that terrible. Maybe the place was insured.

The smell worsened, taking on a nearly putrid odor like burning garbage.

He shut off the taps, pushed back the shower curtain and climbed out. The stink filled the room so strongly he could taste it. God, maybe the house was burning down, after all.

He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, then froze, his heart lodging in his throat. In the fogged mirror a steam-smeared blur stood next to his own reflection as if there were someone beside him. He wiped the glass clean and the air sucked from his lungs.

A grotesque figure stood next to him in the reflection. A woman, maybe, burned unrecognizable. Stringy, dark hair fell past her shoulder on one side. The hair on the other side had been burned away. Flaked, blackened skin with oozing red flesh visible between the cracks covered her face and neck. Wide lidless eyes stared out from the glass. Her boney hand reached out for him.

Declan jumped back and swung around. The vanity’s sharp corner jabbed his hip, but he barely noticed. There was no one behind him. He was alone in the small bathroom.

But the smell lingered.

“Screw this,” he muttered. He jerked open the door and rushed out of the room, careful to avoid glancing at the mirror.

In his bedroom, he dropped the towel and dragged on a T-shirt and jeans, the latter sticking to his still damp skin.

There had to be an explanation. Yet his overwrought brain couldn’t seem to come up with one. He couldn’t blame what he’d seen on a dream like he had with the red-eyed shadow man; he’d been wide-awake.

Maybe he was losing his mind.

Cautiously, he approached the bathroom. The steam had dissipated. Tiny beads of moisture dribbling down the mirror all that remained. No sign of the burned woman. Not in the room, not in the mirror.

The pine scent of his soap hung in the damp air, mingling with something else, something burned.

* * *

By the time Stella Bahl arrived, Declan was on his second cup of coffee, his hair had mostly dried and he was almost feeling normal again. He’d even managed to talk himself into believing the burned woman he’d seen in his bathroom was merely a stress-induced hallucination, the result of not sleeping or eating properly—or the beginnings of schizophrenia.

Stella looked like most real estate agents he’d dealt with. Probably about his own age, he would have been hard pressed to say for sure. Impeccable makeup, cloud of sable hair falling past her shoulders without a strand out of place and a stylish gray suit over a red blouse gave off a mature attractiveness that left her age difficult to guess.

“Mr. Meyers.” She held out her hand to him, which he took. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. What a spectacular home. I’m sure we’ll find just the right buyer in no time.”

He doubted it. Not unless the Addams Family was in the market looking for creepier accommodations than their current residence. “I hope so.”

She flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m from Cragera Bay, you know, but have never had the opportunity to see inside Stonecliff before. This is a real thrill for me.”

You should get out more.

“I was at school with your sister, Eleri,” Stella told him. “But I was a few years ahead of her. Terrible thing she went through.”

Declan raked his hand through his hair. He didn’t like to think too much about Eleri and Brynn. Only one sister had turned up when she’d heard their father was dying, to see what she could get. The other had left the man to die alone after he’d protected her for years from the police, making him a virtual pariah in the village.

But wasn’t he just as bad, taking this property from a man he hadn’t wanted to know in life? Guilt twisted in his gut. He wished he’d asked his mother about his father before it was too late. Maybe then he wouldn’t be dealing with all these conflicting emotions now.

“About the house,” he prodded.

Stella’s face reddened. “Yes, of course. Is there somewhere we can sit down? I’d like to discuss some potential strategies, then you can show me around.”

“Sure.”

Declan led her into the study, sat behind the heavy wood desk while she settled on one of the chairs opposite him.

“As you can imagine, finding comparable houses to a property like Stonecliff is difficult. Still, a property this size, and on the water, makes it fairly desirable.”

Declan perked up a little. It was the best news he’d had since he’d arrived. “Really?”

She nodded and tilted her head, eyes squinting a little. “Unfortunately, the estate’s history will have a large impact on the price.”

“I have no issue listing under market value.” Hell, if he didn’t need the money at all he’d give the thing away, donate it to some worthy cause.

She flashed a brilliant smile. “We’ll discuss price after I’ve had a chance to look at the house. Can you tell me the state of the electrical, plumbing, if there’s been reconstruction work done and when?”

“I have that information here.” He pushed the stack of paper Warlow had put together for him across the desk.

“Perfect.” Stella slipped the pages into a folder and took a spiral notebook from her bag. “You currently have staff?”

“A butler and a housekeeper. They’ll remain here to run the house when I go back to the States at the end of the week.” At least until the money ran out and he had nothing left to pay them with.

She made a note in her book. “Good, having someone here to keep the house in good condition will help to sell quickly. Now, there is a second dwelling on the property that I’m not sure you’re aware of, Morehead Lodge.” She tapped her pen on her notepad. “I know the house has been let in the past. I’d like to suggest severing the property and selling it separately.”

According to Hugh, Stonecliff had been a much larger estate, stretching down the coast and even onto the opposite side of the road. Over the years Arthur James had parceled off the property to live on the proceeds. Even this past summer, his father had sold off tenanted properties he’d owned in Beaumaris, and the money from those sales was keeping Stonecliff running now—and there wasn’t much left, maybe enough to keep the lights on until Christmas if they were careful.

“Even priced under market value Stonecliff could take some time to find the right buyer. The estate is isolated, large and old. You are already dealing with a limited market. Trying to find someone who isn’t put off by what’s happened here…”

“What if I razed the house, filled in the bog with concrete?” He wasn’t sure either suggestion was feasible, but he was open to any possibility.

Stella chuckled. “I don’t think it will come to that. Let’s have a look at all this then.”

He took her from room to room. Except for the ones used daily—the study, parlor, kitchen and his bedroom—the others were dark, covered in a layer of dust and smelled musty.

“These rooms need a good tidy,” Stella said, making a note in her book.

Declan glanced around the bedroom and nodded. Even the covers on the bed looked faded and dusty. “The house is too big for Mrs. Voyle to keep all the rooms clean.”

“I understand,” Stella said, with a sympathetic smile. “There used to be three girls who came from the village and cleaned. One was murdered here last spring, and the other two stopped coming.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, shaking his head. No one in their right mind would buy this house. Hell, even if he did try to give it away, who would take it? He turned to the window. A thin layer of grime covered the glass in a brownish-yellow film. Outside, golden sun spilled over the forest, turning the pockets of remaining fall foliage into brilliant bursts of orange and red. Most of the leaves had given up their hold on the tangled branches, and from where he stood he could see the black water of The Devil’s Eye.

“Since the arrests, those girls might be willing to resume their positions, especially given the state of the village. There isn’t much work to choose from just now,” Stella said.

“That would help.” But what would he pay them with? Good thoughts?

Movement at the edge of the bog caught his eye. Someone was down there. Declan squinted to try to see who, but he was certain he already knew.

“I have to go,” he said, turning back to Stella.

She blinked and sputtered, “But I’ve paperwork, and—”

“I’m sorry. Leave the paperwork with me and I’ll drop it by your office later today,” Declan said, ushering the woman back downstairs to the front door. “I’m really sorry about this. I just remembered another appointment.”

Not true, but he wasn’t about to admit he had to chase away some crazy woman hunting ghosts at The Devil’s Eye.

* * *

“My God, Carly, I’ve never seen numbers like these.”

Carly nipped at her bottom lip to keep from smirking. Standing at the edge of the bog, she stared down at her rippling reflection in the black water and somehow managed to keep from telling Andy she’d told him so.

As she’d predicted, the geomagnetic field readings were practically off the charts. Excitement welled inside her when she considered the possibilities. As well as setting up geomagnetic meters at opposite ends of the bog, she and Andy had set up voice recorders and she’d snapped a few pictures of the area.

Both Brynn and Eleri James had claimed to have seen shadow people in the woods, and Reece Conway had been bombarded with voices once he managed to get past the gate. To be fair, Reece was sensitive, a natural medium. The odds of Carly hearing anything he could were low. But Brynn and Eleri were about as sensitive as the rock Carly was digging out of the mud with the toe of her boot.

She’d asked Reece to come with her. Having worked with him back when she was an undergrad and he was a teenager assisting his uncle—also a natural medium—she knew he was good, better than any medium she’d worked with since.

Reece had turned down her invitation to return to Stonecliff. Not only had he given up using his gift to go build boats in Holyhead on the opposite side of the Isle. Of Anglesey, but he was also engaged to Brynn, who never wanted to set foot on the estate again.

How could someone have a gift like his and not use it, not explore it or take the time to understand it? Such a waste.

“Carly?” Andy’s sharp tone jerked her from her reverie. She turned to see him standing behind her, a frown etched into his boyish features. “I asked you if you believed the source of the energy was coming from the bog? Maybe there’s a fault zone running beneath it.”

She jerked a shoulder. “It’s possible, but I’m more interested in what that energy is producing.”

“The shadow people?”

“Voices, footsteps, strange noises. Both sisters had physical experiences. One was pushed down the stairs, the other trapped in a stairwell by a door with no lock. So the question is—does all that activity stem from this place, The Devil’s Eye? Is the energy given off by the bog producing paranormal phenomena, or is it a source of hallucinations?”

She turned back to the dark water. The afternoon sun reflected off the black surface like a white pupil in a black iris. A shiver slithered up her spine.

“I thought you believed the energy was evil.”

“Energy is energy,” she murmured, then turned to face him. Andy looked up from his hunched position next to one of the geomagnetic meters. “But what if evil acts could manipulate that energy and draw more evil to it? Some believe shadow people are manifestations of evil.”

Andy snorted and shook his head. “You’re not trying to claim the energy here influenced those people who killed all those men, that The Devil’s Eye made them do it.”

“No, but what if it drew them here?”

“All three were local—the pub owner and his wife and the village doctor. They’d lived here all their lives and their families before them.”

Carly sighed and left the water’s edge, walking toward Andy. “But why here? They could have murdered people anywhere in Cragera Bay, or anywhere on the island for that matter. Why The Devil’s Eye? And don’t forget that nurse who murdered two people this past spring, completely unrelated to the bodies in the bog.”

“If your theory’s correct, and The Devil’s Eye is attracting murderers, then I suppose we’re lucky to still be alive. We could have been killed in the short distance between here and the car.”

Andy laughed at his own joke, and Carly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I brought you in on this.”

“Because no one else would have been crazy enough to come. Still,” Andy said, with a shrug. “I think you might be onto something here.”

Andy, after all, wanted the same thing as her: for his work with the paranormal to be taken seriously. While Carly had her own issues in academia, her work considered little more than a pseudoscience, Andy was still a builder by day, paranormal investigator by night. His own work viewed as an amusing hobby by some, a crackpot waste of time with no scientific merit by others.

Carly pushed the envelope, walked a very thin line between right and wrong to get what she wanted—and in the case of The Devil’s Eye she was well over that line—but Andy was willing to do all that with her because if her work could be taken seriously, then so would his.

She grinned and folded her arms over her chest. “Was there any doubt?”

He snorted. “Should we start tidying this lot up? Before his lordship realizes we’re here.”

“I suppose,” she murmured, nipping at her bottom lip again. She just hoped they’d gathered enough to convince Meyers to give them access to the property.

“If we did manage to catch something while we were here,” Andy said, setting the voice recorder back in its case, “do you think Meyers will change his mind?”

He must have been reading her mind. Carly opened her mouth to answer, but a man’s voice cut her off.

“No, he won’t change his mind.”

Carly whirled around. Declan Meyers stood in the opening between the bog and the path that led deeper into the woods toward Stonecliff. His gaze burned like black coal, sharp-angled features twisted into a furious scowl.

“He might, however, have you arrested for trespassing.”