Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
RHETT
T he six people stared at me from the grid of boxes on the monitor. Some were familiar, employees who’d decided to stay on when the new owners took over, and some were new hires, people I’d never worked with. Either the new hires were getting younger or I was getting older. Liam was the new manager for the research and development team. He’d worked for Mike and me from the start, when we were just a disorganized, dream-chasing, caffeine-pumped start-up. I was glad to see him take a leadership role in the newly structured company. I was also glad to be leaving the company for good. I hadn’t planned such an abrupt departure, but that was how things worked out after the accident.
“I think there should be an entire team dedicated to moving the AI software forward,” I continued. I’d been instructing the team on how to structure their projects. Continuing as a consultant for the first six months had been part of the sale contract.
A squeal made everyone, even the people who were obviously paying more attention to their phones than the meeting, look up in surprise.
“Everything all right there, Rhett?” Liam asked, sounding slightly amused. “Something you want to tell us?” he continued.
There was a second squeal but not quite as boisterous.
“Mice,” I said plainly. “I’ve got mice. Anyhow, I feel as if I’m losing people’s attention because it’s getting close to the lunch hour. We can continue this next week, same time.” We signed off. I got up from the table and decided to find out what the squeals were about. I only hoped it wasn’t due to real mice. I was pretty sure I’d heard squeals of delight and not terror.
Ella sat on the old leather chair in the room. She looked up from the book she was holding on her lap. She was incredibly pretty, but the look of joy on her face made her even more stunning. She hopped up and lifted the book, so I could see the cover. I saw that it wasn’t a book but a journal. The name Margaret Grimstone was embossed in the leathery cover.
“I couldn’t have even dreamed up finding this,” she said. “Seriously, I need to go out and buy lotto tickets because the luck gods are all looking over my shoulder today. Margaret Grimstone kept a journal.”
“I see that. Anything interesting?”
“Oh my gosh, where do I start?” She snapped her fingers. “I know where to start,” she said excitedly, then her lips turned down at the corners, and her expression softened. “Poor Mags, I think her betrothed died before he could walk her down the aisle. I haven’t read that for sure yet, but there are all kinds of clues in the chest.” She flipped open the back cover and pulled out an old sepia-toned photo of a young man. His hair was combed to the side and greased down, and he wore a dark suit and held a hat. “According to the notes on the back, his name was Chester Newsom.” She turned it to show neatly handwritten words on the back of the photo. The date was September 3, 1888. “I’ve only just begun to skim the pages of the journal, but it seemed she was engaged to Chester for a year, and they were to be wed just months after this photo was taken. I haven’t found out what happened, but it’s obvious that none of her trousseau has been touched. And I found this.” She hurried over to the desk where she’d piled the items from the trunk and lifted a gauzy black veil. “She was in mourning. It could have been for her dad, but since I found it in the hope chest, I’m sure it was for Chester.”
“The house was started in 1890 and finished in late 1891, at least according to the county site that keeps track of owners and deeds. Her fiancé’s death would have been pre-curse.”
“You’re right,” she said. I was already making a mental catalogue of her adorable expressions. Her wide-eyed, excited one was especially cute. Having Ella around might be the worst or the best thing that could have happened to me. I found myself being taken by surprise, only I was never big on surprises, especially because, as I’d discovered recently, not all surprises were good.
“Obviously, I can’t weave Chester’s untimely death into the Grimstone curse because the manor didn’t exist. I’m going to sit here and keep reading for a little while if that’s all right with you. I promise I’ll be as quiet as?—”
“A mouse,” I finished for her. “Of course, you can stay and read. You can even take the journal home if you like.” I hadn’t meant it to sound like I was pushing her out, but her instant frown told me that was exactly how it sounded.
“Great. I’ll just get my coat and scarf and?—”
“No, Ella, stay, please. I’m going to make a pot of macaroni and cheese for lunch if you’re interested?”
Her smile returned. “The kind from the box, where the cheese is more orange coloring than it is cheese, and the noodles are just a reasonable facsimile of pasta?”
“Well, if you’re going to make it sound so gourmet. I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got in the pantry.”
“Count me in. Did you know you can make it even more divine by crumbling some crisp pieces of toast on top? A little trick my sister, Layla, and I came up with back when we were so young that was the only thing we knew how to cook.”
“I’ve got some toast. Gourmet boxed mac and cheese coming right up. Are you still warm enough?”
She peered up at me shyly. “I was thinking about pulling on my coat.”
“I’ll bring you the throw blanket from the couch, and I’ll give the chimney company a call to see if they can move up their appointment to later this afternoon.”
“Thanks so much, Rhett. You know, you’re not nearly as grim and strange as I first thought.” She winked teasingly at me. It was another expression for my mental catalogue.