Chapter 6
Chapter Six
ELLA
M y confidence had been so shredded, I kept Isla on the phone for fifteen minutes to make sure I didn’t blow the cookies. With my sister’s tutelage, I managed to bake a delicious batch of cookies, one worthy of a “welcome to the neighborhood” gift. If only I hadn’t tainted the cheery welcome by calling the new neighbor strange and grim first.
Whenever any of us were feeling nervous or unsure of ourselves, we headed straight to our big sister, Aria. Aria had taken over where wonderful Nonna had left off. She made sure we stayed safe and happy and that we avoided bad decisions. We were all past needing that kind of supervision now, but Aria was still our greatest source of comfort and advice. I needed a short pep talk from my big sister before walking up the hill to Grimstone Manor. Lunch hour was over, so this was the best time to stop by the café. Aria and Dex would be getting ready for tomorrow’s business, and there would only be a handful of customers, if any.
Yesterday’s dense fog had lightened to wisps of cold moisture and the occasional sharp breeze. I pulled my beanie lower with one hand and held the foil-wrapped plate of cookies with the other. The weather was less brutal today, but there were still only a few people on Juniper Road, the main stretch of road through town. Isla’s future bakery, a small shop that she had painted a lush lavender color, still had cardboard taped over the windows. People had been nosily trying to get a look inside, but Isla decided to hold a grand opening and big reveal once the bakery opened in spring. The townsfolk were waiting anxiously for that day. I continued to the other end of Juniper, where Aria’s popular café sat under a plum and white striped awning. The chalkboard menu outside boasted that today’s special was cheesy potato soup served with chopped salad. It sounded delicious, but my mostly empty stomach told me, “Not one bite until you get past this nerve-racking afternoon.”
There were only a few occupied tables when I stepped into the café. A fire was blazing in the hearth at the far end of the dining area, and the hanging strings of lights glittered overhead. Terry, one of the servers, was filling salt and pepper shakers as I walked up to the counter and set down my plate. “Hi, Ella, your sister’s in the back. Should I call her? I think there’s still some soup left. Dex made the most delicious potato soup today. I ate it for my break.” She patted her stomach. “Now all I can think about is a long winter nap.”
“No soup right now, thanks, but if you could let Aria know I’m here, that would be great.”
Terry disappeared into the kitchen and seconds later Aria emerged looking worried. “Everything all right?” It was a habit she’d found hard to break after years of watching over us.
“Everything is fine.”
She lifted her arms. “Then I hear congratulations are in order. Layla told me the good news.” Nonna had raised us as a family of huggers, and I always appreciated Aria’s the most. It was the hug that always made me feel more secure—as if nothing could knock me off balance because my big sister was there to make sure I always landed on my feet.
Aria’s thick copper hair was twisted in a loose chignon at the back of her head. Several long strands had come loose. She tucked them hastily behind her ears. “When do you start? This was the publication you were hoping to work for, right?”
“It was in my top three, so I’m very happy.”
“But,” she said. “I sense there’s a but coming.”
Dex chuckled as he stepped out of the kitchen. “Well, I’ve been called a lot of things in my life …” Dex was the size of a linebacker, and there was no denying that he was tough as nails, but Aria had softened his edges some. He was always in a good mood and always kind. He lifted his nose in the air. “Smells like cookies in here, which is a welcome aroma because I’ve been cutting onions.”
I lifted the edge of the foil, and both Aria and Dex grabbed a warm cookie. “I thought Isla was in the city with Luke looking at bakery equipment.” Aria lifted the cookie to her lips.
“I made them,” I said.
They both hesitated before eating the cookie.
“Here I came to the café because I needed a confidence boost from my sister,” I said wryly. “And they’re good because I had Isla on the phone giving me step-by-step instructions. I did almost use baking powder instead of soda, but Isla seemed to sense that I was about to make the mistake, and she told me to check the package. Doesn’t seem like it would make much difference.”
“Depends if you want your cookies to have a cookie texture or a biscuit texture,” Dex said. “Hmm, delicious.”
“I take it these cookies were not for us,” Aria said.
“No, I baked them for Whisper Cove’s newest resident. He bought Grimstone Manor, and my first writing assignment is about the manor’s curse. Hannah Jensen said there were a lot of old papers and photos left behind in the house through the years, and I’m hoping it’ll help with my research.”
“Never thought anyone would buy that old house,” Aria said.
“Is that the old house sitting by itself on the hill, behind the town? It’s a pretty cool house, but looks like it needs a lot of work,” Dex said.
“It’s been vacant off and on for years. Some of the owners have met grisly ends,” Aria said.
Dex’s eyes rounded. “Really? So, it’s haunted?”
“Nope, just cursed,” Aria said lightly. She snapped her fingers. “That’s who that was. Yesterday a stranger walked into the café. Fairly tall—” she looked over at Dex who was well over six feet. “All the other tall people get the ‘fairly’ qualifier because of this giant. Nice-looking guy with a very stern, solemn expression. His left arm was scarred, a burn scar, I think. Not very friendly.”
“That’s right. You mentioned that you were dealing with a grumpy customer,” Dex said.
“No, that was Rupert Coleman.” Aria shook her head. “That man gets grumpier every time I see him. This new customer—he was just quiet, distant. He ordered his meal and hardly looked up from his plate. He was a generous tipper though.” She looked over at Terry who’d continued with her task but could hear the conversation.
Terry looked up with a smile. “I’ll say. He didn’t wait for his bill, which wasn’t more than twenty dollars. At first, I thought he’d pulled a dine and dash but then I saw it—a crisp new fifty-dollar bill tucked under the coffee cup.”
“Wow, that is a nice tip,” I said. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
Dex’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know about you going up there alone to talk to this guy. He’s a stranger, and not a friendly one at that. Maybe I should tag along?—”
I smiled at Dex. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m not sure if showing up with a plate of cookies and a fierce-looking bodyguard will work.” Dex was a teddy bear wrapped in a very menacing-looking package.
“Ella’s right. She should go alone, but I’m worried, too, Ella. Maybe you could keep us posted on your phone, and at the first sign that you feel uncomfortable, get out of there. You were always a fast runner. In fact, why not drive up?”
I thought about the suggestion. Every part of Whisper Cove was walkable. It was what we all loved most about our pretty town. There was a glacial chill in the air, and a car would give me a quick escape.
“I’m not sure if driving up to the house fits with my neighborly gesture of dropping off some cookies. I’ll be fine, and I’ll text you after I’ve left the house. I had one interaction with Mr. Lockwood; that’s his name, but that’s all Hannah would tell me about our new neighbor. Well, she did also mention that he paid cash for the place, which makes sense considering the state it’s in. Most banks would give a hard pass on a loan for that house.”
Dex looked unconvinced. I got up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for worrying. I’ll be fine.” I zipped up my coat and adjusted my beanie. “Well, wish me luck. I figure the worst that can happen is he shakes his fist and yells at me to get off his lawn. Not that there’s been a lawn or yard, for that matter, around that house for years. Then I’ll just have to do research the old-fashioned way.”
“The library?” Aria asked.
“The barbershop. But yeah, the library would probably be a good place to start.” I hugged Aria and Dex and picked up my plate of cookies. Most people would be pleased to get a plate of homemade cookies, but something told me Mr. Lockwood was not like most people.
The bitter cold made my eyes water as I walked toward the manor. Grimstone Manor had been built at the end of the nineteenth century by Margaret Grimstone, a railroad heiress. She purchased the entire hill that the house stood on, so the manor came with a lot of acreage. She had a long gravel road plowed for her horse and carriage to travel easily between her house and town. I knew very little else about the house’s origins except that its construction brought a lot of jobs to the small, mostly uninhabited town of Whisper Cove.
I circled around the end of Juniper and cut across two smaller streets to reach the edge of the private gravel road. Most of the gravel had been washed away by rain and wind and the passage of time. Short stubby weeds grew in the bare spots. Very few people ever traveled up the road, and I was sure that had mostly to do with the legendary curse. Plus, there was a fine for trespassing around and in the house. That was mostly to keep curious teens from getting hurt up at the site.
I’d forgotten how steep the climb was, and my breath was coming in short white puffs of air by the time I reached the place where the land leveled off and the house came into view. You could see it from various places in town but only if you looked up toward the hillside. I hadn’t seen it this close in years. I stopped to catch my breath and take in the view.
Grimstone Manor was built in the craftsman style of architecture. The style became the darling of the rich because it was a simpler, less gaudy relief from the complicated Victorian architecture of the century. Grimstone was a collection of three gabled roofs, all with deep, overhanging eaves. The front gabled roof stretched out over a large stone porch that wrapped halfway around the exterior. Many of the stones had been broken off, and the shingles seemed to be barely clinging to the steeply pitched roofs. Squared columns, wooden and weathered, held up the porch overhang, and double hung windows dotted the entire facade, both top and bottom stories. I vaguely remembered the siding shingles being painted a dark brown, but most of the paint and a lot of the shingles were gone, leaving vacant holes on the facade. A carriage house with matching gabled roof and equally matching missing shingles sat about twenty yards from the house. It had two massive wooden doors on the front, held closed by a giant metal latch. I could almost visualize Margaret Grimstone’s coachman leading the horses and coach into the carriage house after a day on the road. All in all, it didn’t look as bad as I expected. Somehow, it looked more dilapidated when viewing it from down in the town. It was certainly a massive beast of a house, especially compared to our cottage. The landscape around the house was another matter altogether. I remembered a time when we could ride our bikes around the house without much problem, but now it’d take a tractor to navigate the area around it. There was one small patch of gravel at the top of the drive, and the green truck was parked in the center of it. He was home. I supposed part of me hoped I’d arrive to an empty house.
I rearranged my scarf and beanie, took a deep breath and marched to the front steps with my plate of cookies. The wooden planks of the front porch creaked so much, I immediately lightened my steps to keep from falling through them. The front door, in traditional craftsman style, had a short set of windowpanes in the top third of the paneled door. Most of the dark stain had faded and peeled off in long splinters, but the door still looked solid. A shiny new brass doorknob had been added.
The brass knocker, probably original, was a lion’s head with a big ring jammed between its fangs. I lifted it and knocked several times. Silence. A breeze kicked around some of the weeds out front causing me to startle. I knocked again and listened for a sound, anything, but not even a footstep followed. I knocked with my bare knuckles three times. It was hard enough that I could hear the knocks echo through what sounded like a mostly empty house. There was no response.
There were two large windows on each side of the door. One was covered with plywood, but the other was dusty glass. I wiped a spot clean and peered into the house. Dark wood beams crisscrossed the ceiling of the entryway. A green and gold art deco style lamp hung from the ceiling. A few bulbs flickered in the light fixture. The wooden floor was faded and dusty, but it was in decent shape. If the rest of the house was in as good of shape as the entry, then Hannah was right. The place just needed some TLC. It seemed the stories of the curse had scared away a lot of potential buyers, buyers who would have gotten a good deal on a magnificent, old house. But why was this buyer not scared off? Something told me there were a lot of layers to the elusive Mr. Lockwood.
I knocked once more but no luck. My first assignment already felt like a failure. I glanced at my phone. The library was still open for two hours. If I hurried, I could make it there in twenty minutes. I started off with the plate still in my hand. Verna Denton, the head librarian, was very strict about food and drink in her library. Stopping at home first would take an extra twenty minutes, and I was anxious to start my research. I decided to leave the cookies on the porch. Maybe Lockwood would find the cookies, and the delightful treat would change his whole demeanor, I thought with a giggle. Either way, I needed to leave the cookies behind. I set them down and walked gingerly down the loose front steps.
I reached the top of the gravel trail and looked back. A shiver went through me as a pair of dark eyes stared down at me from the second-story window. I swung around and raced down the gravel path.