Chapter 6 Avery
AVERY
I followed Beck up the stairs after dinner. I’d offered to do the dishes, but he’d explained that he was paid both to manage the bakery and to clean the house. Dane, apparently, dealt with the other stuff — accounting, bill paying, and fielding repairs — while Noah managed the grounds.
The mac and cheese together with the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies had hit my system like a nuclear carb bomb, and exhaustion had dropped over me all at once.
In the last twelve hours I’d picked up my rental car, left the city, driven to Blackwell Hollow, found a dead body, been questioned by the police, and met my three (hot) new roommates.
I was ready to tap out.
“All the bedrooms are on the second floor,” Beck explained as we stepped off the sweeping staircase that started in the high-ceilinged foyer.
It was a double staircase, one of those that had stairs coming down in two directions in gentle, gracious curves, the banister gleaming mahogany that had been polished to a shine (by Beck?).
Like the parlor, it was all surprisingly modern and fresh, the floor in the foyer made of black and white marble rather than the wood that made up the floors in the rest of the house.
The paneled walls were painted a crisp white and covered with an assortment of real art, and a blue-and-white runner covered the stairs on both sides of the staircase.
We’d entered a spacious landing with a large open seating area in the center.
A comfy-looking sofa and four chairs sat around a coffee table.
Two table lamps glowed from the end tables.
A series of closed doors were arranged around the sitting area like spokes and a short hall between two of the rooms led to the back of the house where two more closed doors flanked a utilitarian staircase.
“There’s a third floor?” I asked.
The top of the staircase was obscured by the walls of the house, but it had to lead somewhere.
“The attic.” Beck paused to fold his big arms over his chest. I had to force myself not to stare. “Although ‘attic’ makes it sound small. It used to be the servants’ quarters back in the day.”
“What’s it used for now?”
“Storage mostly.” Oh joy, I’d inherited a creepy attic along with the dead body in the gazebo. Beck continued. “We weren’t sure how you’d feel about taking Evelyn’s rooms at the end of the hall, so we put you in the biggest guest room, but you’re welcome to move into her suite anytime.”
“The guest room is fine.” I wouldn’t be here long. Plus it felt wrong to invade Evelyn’s personal space.
Beck stepped toward one of the closed doors off the sitting area. “The rooms were all renovated with private baths about ten years ago. Noah brought up your stuff.”
He opened the door and stepped back to let me enter the room first.
I sucked in a breath as I stepped into a pink sanctuary, soft light glowing from pleated ivory shades on the bedside lamps.
It was huge, three walls painted in my favorite rose-gold, one papered in a quaint pink-and-white landscape toile.
The tufted velvet headboard climbed almost halfway to the ceiling, curving gently at the top. It was a bed fit for a princess, piled high with linens and a duvet that made me want to tip into it, feel the down inside fluff up all around me.
The nightstands were mirrored, silvering with age, and the room was big enough that there was plenty of room even with a dresser, armoire, and the small sofa in the sitting area tucked into the octagonal nook under a big window that looked out over the grounds.
The ceilings were as high here as they were on the first floor, and a chandelier dripping crystals glimmered overhead even though it wasn’t on.
I couldn’t have designed a more perfect, beautiful room for myself.
“This is…” I turned around, caught sight of the door leading to the bathroom. “This is so beautiful.”
“I think Evelyn made it for you,” Beck said softly.
I turned to look at him and had to catch my breath.
He was leaning against the doorframe like he was afraid to step into the room, his T-shirt stretched taut over his chest and shoulders.
His jeans were sexy-loose, just loose enough for my imagination to run wild, and his dark hair fell over his forehead, partially obscuring one brown eye.
I tried to focus on the conversation instead of the fact that I wanted to pull Beck on top of me on the fluffy duvet, slip my hands into all that dark hair.
“But… I haven’t been here since I was a kid.”
“I know,” Beck said. “But Evelyn started doing things before she died. Giving things away, getting her will in order, finishing projects around the house.”
“You think she knew she was going to die?” Irving Norwood had told me that Evelyn died peacefully in her sleep.
Beck shrugged, and I never knew a shrug could look so darn sexy.
“Maybe not consciously, but they say sometimes people have a subconscious urge to put their affairs in order before they pass,” he said.
I looked around the room and felt a pang of sadness. I hadn’t talked to Aunt Evelyn in years and she’d still made me this beautiful room, had still left me this beautiful house.
“Was she… happy?” I asked him.
I wanted to ask if she was lonely but it felt like too sad a question.
He nodded. “I think so. Everyone here loved her. She had friends, a busy schedule, the house. And…”
“What?” I prompted when he paused.
“Well, she had us. I mean I know we weren’t technically family, but she was amazing. We all loved her.”
I heard the sadness in his voice and knew he was speaking the truth.
“I’m glad.” I hesitated. “Who was he? The man in the gazebo?”
I’d needed the milk-and-cookies break, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I’d found a dead body on the property forever.
“Harold Pembroke,” Beck said. “Town councilman.”
“A town councilman?” I tried to process this new information. “Any idea why someone would want to kill him?”
“I’m not as plugged into the town as Evelyn was, but as far as I knew, everyone liked him. He was fighting to keep a gated community from being built on the lake.”
I chewed my lower lip. “Why was he here?”
“I have no idea,” Beck said.
“And you didn’t see him before…”
I was thinking about the fact that we were all told not to leave town.
About the fact that we were all suspects.
Beck shook his head. “Not until we found you in the gazebo.”
I sighed. “Weird.”
“Try not to worry,” Beck said. He had a surprisingly reassuring way about him for a guy with so many tattoos. “I’m sure Sheriff Crowe will figure it out.”
“I guess you’re right.”
I was almost relieved when he straightened out of his lean. Not that it stopped me from wanting to climb him like a tree.
“I should let you get settled,” he said. “There should be towels and stuff in the bathroom. Can I get you anything else?”
“I think I’m good. Thank you. And thanks for dinner too.”
“My pleasure.” He started to leave, then turned around. “And Avery?”
I liked the way my name sounded in his mouth. “Yeah?”
“I’m here for anything you need.”
The words were innocent enough.
So why did my face — and my body — feel hot as he disappeared down the stairs?