35
“What the devil is going on down there? You’re hunting ghosts? Receiving cryptic messages from the beyond? I hate to come
across as a responsible adult, but it’s for your own bloody good. This has gone too far! Pack your things and get to the nearest
airport. Once you leave that place, all this nonsense fades. You’ll think clearly again. This obsession ends. The only ghosts
you’ll care about are the ones you’re paid to write, and rightly so. I’m checking flights and will share what I find. Talk
soon.”
Leo crossed the lobby, phone pressed to his ear, listening to Matty’s rambling voice message. His friend had a point, but
as the saying went, they’d gone too far to turn back now. As he did most nights, he slid a glance at the portrait of Jacobsen
hanging in the parlor, convinced nothing escaped his steely-blue gaze. With all the focus on the young women of the house,
the old man effectively got a pass that he hadn’t earned. Leo had reached the grand staircase when, on impulse, he circled
back, intent on studying Aurora’s portrait with new eyes. Her enigmatic Mona Lisa smile no longer fooled him. She would not have known a day’s happiness while married to that man, held captive under his
roof. If she haunted the halls of this old house, Leo hoped she enjoyed her hard-won freedom. He hoped she danced in the tower,
raced down the halls at night, knocked on bedroom doors, and delighted in terrorizing the occupants. Heaven was whatever you
made of it. Aurora might have decided to spend eternity at play to reclaim her youth capped all too soon.
Another object in the display case caught his eye: the shriveled Bible that Daphne had showed him on arrival.
If Jacobsen was an orderly man . . .
Leo nearly tripped over himself in his rush to the front desk. Why hadn’t he thought to check the Bible? His research had
taken him to the San Carlos Institute, the Pink Pelican, the public library, everywhere except the inn’s lobby.
“Hey there, boss,” the clerk called out, jovial as ever.
“Hey, Rob. Could you do me a favor and unlock the display case? I’d like to check something out.”
“I don’t have the key.” He held up a ring that apparently held every key except the one to the case. “Only managers have access,”
he explained. “That’s either Graciela or Elias.”
“Are they around?” Leo asked.
“You just missed Elias. He’s on a cigarette break. He’ll be back soon.”
“Soon” stretched out a half hour. Leo passed the time, sat in a dainty antique armchair, engaged in a staring match with the
master shipbuilder. Jacobsen frowned down at him. The artist had captured his subject’s sinister nature, a true accomplishment.
Every brush stroke enhanced the angular face and expertly rendered a beaklike nose, granite cheekbones, and skin like crumpled
paper. Had the old man liked the portrait? Leo wondered. Had he thought it dignified?
What a thing to do: pluck a teenage girl kicking and screaming from her parents’ home to settle a debt and trap her for your
pleasure. Leo wrote stories filled with merciless demons and soulless creatures, but there was no accounting for the darkness
of some men. I see you . . . worthless son of a bitch.
The night manager returned, the break finally over. “Mr. White! Rob tells me you’re interested in a tour of the display case.”
“I’ve had the tour,” Leo replied. “I’d like a second look, for research purposes.”
Leo would not suffer another lecture or history lesson. He knew exactly what he was looking for.
Elias handed him a pair of white gloves. “In that case, please wear these.”
Tight white gloves weren’t required the first time around, but he wasn’t about to complain. Elias opened the case and chuckled
when Leo lifted the Bible. “Most guys go for the compass or the pocket watch.”
The explanation was simple: He wasn’t like most guys.
“I’ll give you a moment,” Elias said. “How long do you need?”
“Not long.” Leo flipped through the Bible, easily finding that center page. Jacobsen and Aurora headed the list, followed
by several members of the Jacobsen clan. On the next page was a shorter, less formal list, a sort of addendum to the official
record. Two names grouped together stood out.
Betty Cook 1834–1892
Juliann Cook 1867–1886
There were a few more names, but Leo was confident he had what he needed. Over Evan’s meek objections, he snapped a photo
with his phone. Then he ripped off the tight gloves. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
He took off running in the direction of the stairs to July’s room. He’d promised to solve the mystery, and now he couldn’t
wait to deliver the answer to her door like a bouquet of rare and precious flowers. The night manager killed that fantasy.
“If you’re looking for Miss Jones,” Elias called after him, “she’s likely in the garden.”
The garden? He’d thought they were done with that. Was the migraine an excuse to get rid of him? And why? To confront her
mother alone?
“She often meditates at night,” Elias continued. “Apparently, it’s good for her writing. You authors are a strange breed.”
That they were.
“I figured she was done by now,” Leo replied coolly. “I’ll head out there. Thanks.”
He exited through the back door and strolled the stone path, hands in pockets, in case Elias was watching. The night was mild.
New fairy lights strung around the pergola twinkled like stars. When Leo caught sight of July, stretched out on the ground
near the flower bed, bathed in moonlight, he quit his posturing and raced to her. Kneeling beside her, he gathered her trembling
body, kissed her shut eyelids, and brushed the dirt off her cheeks.
What if she needed medical attention? He decided to call 911. She could be convulsing, for all he knew. But in a matter of
minutes, she settled in his arms. Her hand curled around his, warm. If he had her carted away and she woke up in a cold hospital
room, would she ever forgive him? July had come out here for a reason, whether he liked it or not, understood it or not. And
he had a role to play. Instead of wasting time, he ought to get to it.
Leo cradled her in his arms. “I’m here, love. We’ll get through this.”
He forgot the night manager. He forgot everyone. It was as if they were alone in the world. “Tell her what she needs to hear.
Be kind, but firm. Make her understand that she won’t find him in this garden. He’s waiting on the other side. He’s been waiting
three lifetimes. If she stays, she loses him forever. Tell her that the love she lost is waiting for her to claim.”
He did not know any of this to be true, but that had never stopped him.
Leo rocked her, repeating these words like a mantra until she stirred in his arms, coughing, blinking, gasping for air. He
could have wept with relief.
Finally, she opened her eyes and whispered, “You found me.”
As if any other outcome were possible.
He helped her sit upright, and she immediately circled her arms around his neck.
“Please tell me you’re okay,” he said.
She nodded and tightened her hold.
He stroked her back. “Did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“Did it work?”
“I think so.”
They’d get into that later. “Are you hurt?”
“No, just sore.”
“We’ll take care of that,” he said. “Is there anything else you need? Anything you want?”
She pulled away and met his eyes. “I want to marry you,” she said. “Tonight.”
Leo looked up to the star-filled sky. The universe was too small to contain his joy, but that didn’t change his answer. “No,”
he said. “Tonight, I’ll pour you a warm bath and a chilled glass of wine, then I’ll get you to bed.”