Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
ELLA
I woke early, too anxious and excited to sleep later. I packed my laptop, notebook and pens in my backpack and sat at the table with Layla for breakfast. Ava was still sleeping, and Isla had already left to take her baked goods to the café.
I sat with a cup of coffee and one of the pumpkin muffins Isla left behind. It was my favorite kind, with nutty streusel topping. I was going to need energy for my hunt. I only hoped there was something in that house that would give me some trustworthy insight into Margaret Grimstone and her short, tragic life.
“You’re up so early.” Layla was wearing her pharmacy uniform and pin. Like everyone else in town, most especially Isla, Layla was anxiously waiting for the bakery to open. She would be working for Isla full-time, which meant she could finally turn in her pharmacy badge. Isla had left me a standing offer of a job in the bakery if I wanted it. Yesterday, as I trudged toward the front steps of the manor, I thought my writing career had taken its final bow and I’d need that job in the bakery. I was more than stunned by Rhett’s change of mind. Something told me he was stunned, too.
“I’ve got research to do for my first online story. I’ll be up at Grimstone Manor.” I realized I hadn’t told anyone yet. “In case I disappear,” I added.
“So, you sweet-talked the owner into letting you rummage through his house. Ha! Ava owes me ten bucks. She didn’t think you’d even get one foot inside after he refused to open the door to a plate of cookies. Which one of Ella Lovely’s arsenal did you use? Pleading with those big brown eyes? A long-winded, nicely worded defense of why it would be in his best interest? Or did you just break out the Ella tears?”
I rolled in my lips.
“It was the tears, right?” She shook her head as she took a bite of toast.
“Actually, it was a sprinkle of everything, and the tears were real, trust me. I was sure I’d just finished my career as a writer. No small thing, as you well know.”
“Yes, I know. We all know. What do you expect to find in the house?”
Her question made my shoulders sink. “Gosh, I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all, in which case my career would be over anyway. I’m hoping Margaret Grimstone kept some kind of records or journal, something that will give me insight into her life.”
“Can’t you just embellish? Make some things up? Like you do with your stories?”
“That’s just it. This isn’t a fictional publication. I’m a little out of my element here, but they want facts, interesting facts. Just not sure I’ll find any.”
“If anyone can turn a plain bird into a peacock, it’s my sister Ella. Don’t fret. You’ll be brilliant, and the publication will be thrilled they landed the multi-talented Ella Lovely.”
“Multi-talented?” I asked.
“Well, you can write … and … let’s see—remember that macaroni picture frame you made in fourth grade? That was pure genius. And you can do a perfect cartwheel in the sand. Not an easy task.”
I picked off a piece of muffin and threw it at her.
She laughed. “All right. I’m teasing. When are you heading over to the house and how many hours should we give it before we report your disappearance to the police?”
“I’m heading there at nine, and I’ll stay for as long as Rhett Lockwood allows. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. At the same time, I need to get this story started. I want it to be perfect and intriguing and factual. I want to wow the editors.” I sighed dejectedly. “How on earth am I going to manage that?”
“You’ll manage.” Layla got up to put her dishes in the sink. “By the way—what’s he like? The new owner? Is he young or old? Handsome or dreadful? Single or married? Grumpy or kind?”
“Whoa, there. Too much at once. Let me see.” I lifted my eyes in thought. “He’s youngish, like our age. Handsome.” I nodded once confidently because that was an easy one. “I didn’t see a ring but then his left hand has been injured in some kind of fire. He has bad scars on that hand and arm, and I very impolitely asked what happened, but he didn’t answer. Grumpy or kind?” I asked myself. “Hmm, jury is still out on that one, but at least he decided to let me look through the stuff.”
“Well, take your pepper spray just in case he’s a psycho.”
“Then I’d really have a great story to write.”
Layla pulled on her coat. “I’m off to my day of drudgery behind the counter, where I have to answer Molly Kelson’s million questions about which diarrhea medicine works the best and Ralph Vonn’s questions about which toe fungal cream is the most effective. Such is the glamorous life of Layla Lovely.” She grabbed her scarf and walked out.
I finished my muffin and walked to the bedroom to get ready for my big day.
The clouds had stayed. The gray skies made the old house look less inviting. As I climbed the steps I wondered if Rhett had had time to think about his offer enough to decide he’d made a mistake. I knocked and in the long minute it took him to open the door, I’d convinced myself this wasn’t going to happen.
The door opened. Rhett was wearing a gray button-down shirt with the top button open. Something told me he’d look spectacular in a three-piece suit. I’d been somewhat wowed by the tall, handsome man in the doorway and hadn’t immediately noticed the bump on his forehead.
I pointed up at my own head. “Ouch. Please tell me that doesn’t have anything to do with me and my request.”
“I’ve discovered that I’m too tall for my attic.”
I peered up at him. “Have you changed your mind?”
“Back and forth about a dozen times. Come on in.” I hung my coat and scarf on the hooks by the door and followed him through the entryway. The glass lamp had only two working bulbs, and the rest of the house was also seriously lacking light. We walked down a hall with art deco-style sconces, brass and geometrically shaped beauties, but like with the light in the entry, only two had working bulbs. We passed an attic hatch door that was propped open. A rope hung down from the hatch.
We stopped under it and both stared up. I hadn’t really considered the possibility that I’d be sitting in a dark, dusty, spidery attic to look for information about Margaret’s life. I supposed that was expected in journalism—danger, intrigue and spiders. There were definitely spiders in that attic.
“Should have borrowed my neighbor’s beekeeper suit,” I said. “I’m not a big fan of things with multiple legs. In particular, things with eight legs.”
“Then you’re lucky I did some of the dirty work for you,” Rhett said. “It took some serious brain digging back to high school physics, but I managed to lower two large trunks.” He stared up at the square hole in the ceiling. “Not even sure how I got them through the opening, but they’re sitting in the library waiting for you to dig in. I glanced through some of the other junk up there, and it was just that—junk. Old clothes and shoes.”
My eyes widened with excitement.
“Before you start imagining taffeta Victorian dresses and lace-up boots, the clothes and shoes are more circa 2000. The trunks were the only things of interest, unless you’re interested in cobwebs and scurrying noises. Plenty of those up there.”
I shivered. “I think I’m good on those things, thanks. And thanks for lowering the trunks down.” I looked up through the hole. “That must have been some feat.”
“Let’s just say there was plenty of colorful language coming out of this mouth. Follow me to the library. By the way, the library shelves are still filled, too. Old books, dusty old books that probably haven’t been opened or looked at in years. I bought some boxes, so?—”
“I fully intend to keep my end of the bargain and box everything up for you. Especially since you went through the trouble of getting the trunks down.”
“I can help with the books. I might want to keep some.”
We walked down a narrow corridor with peeling floral wallpaper. I sneezed twice.
“Bless you, and yes, you’ll probably be doing a lot of sneezing this morning. I think every speck of dust in Whisper Cove somehow managed to make it up the hill, drift into the house and settle in every corner.” We stepped into a room that had large windows. Like the rest of the windows in the house, they were crusted in years of dirt and allowed in little of the cloud-muted outside light. To add to the gloomy, dark feel of the room, the walls had been covered in wood paneling. Some were faded to a golden brown and others were nearly black as if water or smoke had damaged them. Library shelves took up three walls, and about half were filled with books. A massive desk with carved lion feet sat in the center of the room on a faded rug.
An impressive marble fireplace took up half of the remaining wall. “I’m waiting for the chimneys to be inspected, so I can start fires. There’s a heating system, a last century one and definitely not big enough to heat the whole house. Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine. I live in a cottage by the beach that’s so drafty that sometimes things blow around the front room as if a gale force wind was going through the house.”
“Sounds like quite the adventure. So, you’re right on the coast?” he asked.
“Less than thirty steps from the sand.”
“Nice.”
The two large trunks he’d lowered from the attic sat in front of the desk. One was a traveling trunk, or steamer trunk as they called them, complete with leather straps, iron hardware and patches showing where the trunks had been. The second trunk was the one that immediately caught my interest. It was a cedar chest with a rounded top. A large heart, flanked on each side by cherubs, was carved into the side, the initials “MG” in the center.
“Oh, my gosh.” The words came out on a stunned breath.
“I don’t know much about these things, but I thought that might be Margaret’s hope chest. I think that’s what they called them,” Rhett said.
I looked at him. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Wait to see what’s in it first. It might just be a bunch of moth-eaten fuzz. There’s a lock on the chest, but I can unscrew the latch. I just need to get a screwdriver.” He left the room.
I walked over to the chest, traced the initials with my finger and touched the small lock. I wondered how many times Margaret took the tiny key out of her locket or dresser to unlock it, so she could add linens and blankets and other treasures for her trousseau. The small, insignificant article had referred to her as Margaret Grimstone. Back then, women didn’t hold on to their maiden names, so it was easy to conclude that she never got married. Her hope chest had been just that, a wooden, beautifully decorated box that held all her hopes that she’d one day be a wife.
Rhett’s footsteps caused a little jolt of what felt like nerves. Only it wasn’t the waiting-for-the-dentist-to-drill-a-tooth case of nerves. It was a good case of nerves, one that left me feeling slightly giddy. I froze for a second trying to understand that strange reaction.
His smooth, deep voice floated around the paneled room. “I think this screwdriver will work. I left all my tools at—” He stopped and shook his head. “I didn’t bring much with me.”
Seconds later, he held the screwdriver and the latch. “I guess that high school shop class came in handy, too.”
I smiled. “So, you weren’t one of those guys who was always covered in grease, leaning under the hood of an old truck?”
He patted his chest. “Computer nerd. Although, I did occasionally lean under the hood of my 2000 Honda. Should we open it up?” he asked.
“Yes, let’s. Come on, Margaret, ole gal, don’t fail me now,” I said. It took some strength, mostly Rhett’s, to unstick the lid from the bottom half. It was quite heavy.
“Craftsmanship was something to brag about back then,” Rhett noted.
We both stared down into the chest. For a fun second it felt as if we were in this together, and I was enjoying this new connection I had. The top layers were neatly folded and, it seemed, never-used linens, all embroidered with tiny violets. The chest was full, and I couldn’t wait to get past the top layer.
“Well, my theory about it containing a lot of moth-eaten fuzz has been busted.” He knocked on the heavy lid. “I guess this is cedar, and the quality is so good, even the moths didn’t manage to get in.”
“I can’t thank you enough for this, Rhett. Do you mind if I take all the items out? I could place them on the desk.” Something occurred to me then. “You can’t send this chest and Margaret’s belongings off with the second-hand collectors. Even if everything else goes, this belongs with the house. It belongs in Margaret’s house.”
I was sure I caught the slightest glimmer of a smile, but it might have been wishful thinking or a trick of the shadows in the room. “You would make one heck of a lawyer, Ella. I’ll consider keeping it, and yes, feel free to look at all of it. That’s what you’re here for, right?”
“Right.” His gaze held mine for a touch longer than was necessary. Right then, it occurred to me that after the rather rough start, we might very well become friends. I hoped that was the case. Something else occurred to me. My hands flew to my mouth. “I forgot to bake cookies. I was so excited about digging into Margaret’s things, I forgot all about them. I promise I’ll bring them tomorrow.” Then my posture shrank. “That is—if I don’t finish here today. I don’t want to presume.”
“Let’s see how far you get today. I’ve got some work to do on the computer.”
“Right. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” I promised. There it was again—the glimmer of a smile. Something told me that full smile would not disappoint.
Rhett walked out of the room. I turned back to the chest and took a deep breath. “All right, Mags. Hope you don’t mind if I call you that. Margaret seems so formal considering I’m about to rummage through your trousseau. I promise to treat it all with respect.”
The linen still felt remarkably sturdy considering its age. Towels, hand towels and even two sweet satin pillows had all been embroidered with purple violets. A yellowed ribbon was tied around a stack of white handkerchiefs. The top of the desk was covered in dust. I couldn’t possibly place the linens on top of it. I glanced around the room but couldn’t find anything to wipe the desk with that wasn’t also covered in dust. Rhett had not been exaggerating about all the dust in Whisper Cove settling inside the house.
I headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. I’d seen a roll of paper towels on the counter. I froze as I stepped inside the kitchen. Rhett was sitting at the table with his laptop.
I shrank down and pressed a finger to my lips. “Shh, it’s me, your mouse,” I whispered. “I need a paper towel to wipe the desk,” I continued in a whisper that was probably louder than my normal speaking voice. I hurried across the floor and hit a majorly squeaky board. I froze again and looked back over my shoulder and shrugged coyly before continuing to the roll of towels. I grabbed a square and pulled to tear it from the roll, but I pulled too hard and the entire roll fell over. I was still holding the end as the roll leapt from the counter and raced across the floor, leaving a long, white trail of paper behind it. I looked up in horror.
Rhett stared at me, plainly, over the top of his laptop.
Again, I pressed a finger to my lips and quickly began rolling it back up. I was keenly aware that Rhett was watching the entire circus act from behind his laptop. The roll felt ten times fatter and was quite messy by the time I got to the end of the trail. I placed it back on the counter and slipped back out with my one square. I probably should have taken two for the big desk, but considering how the first tear-off went, I didn’t dare try again.
I left the kitchen and then I heard something. A chuckle, a deep chuckle. Had I imagined it? Was it Rhett? Or maybe besides being cursed, the house was also haunted. Now that would make a great story.