Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I let their voices fade away, eager to check out my room.
The door was solid wood that opened without a single creak. Someone had oiled the hinges. I laughed at my own disappointment before stepping inside.
“Now, this is more like it.”
Had we been paying to stay at the estate, my room would’ve been worth a premium price. First of all, it was spotless. The cleaners had done a stellar job. Second, though the bed was a single, it was a single with four posts and what looked to be an ancient canopy.
I hadn’t even known that you could get single four-poster beds.
Walking over, I ran my hand over the smooth dark of the wood. The polish was dull, the wood marked with fine scratches. But other than that minor cosmetic detail, there was nothing wrong with it.
The bed itself was made with crisp white sheets and a white comforter.
I wasn’t, however, so sure about the curtains tied to the posts. A heavy ruby brocade with swirling designs in black, they struck me as more theater than restful bedroom, and I was glad to see that the underside—the side I’d see from the bed if I pulled the curtains shut—was a simple black.
When I undid the tasseled black rope that tied the curtain to one of the posts, however, it was to get a faceful of dust.
Coughing, I waved a hand in front of my nose and took a few steps back. The cleaning service had clearly decided that laundering antique curtains was beyond their brief.
Once the dust quieted down, I retied the curtain back to the wood of the post and decided that I’d forgo the “romantic” experience of sleeping in a bed surrounded by curtains. I also decided to more carefully check the actual bedding on which I was to sleep.
Picking up a pillow, I took a sniff.
“Darcie told me they hired the bedding.”
I jumped, turning to find Vansi in the doorway. “Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
My best friend was unrepentant. “Comes with the territory—spooky old house and all that.” Then she nodded at the bed. “Ash knows a guy who owns a hotel. Borrowed the bedding, freshly laundered and all. Mates rates.”
“Nice friend,” I said, my heart yet racing. “Where are you and Nix?”
“All the way at the other end. I think you might be the only one on this side.”
“It’s the only single with a tub.”
“Yeah? Let’s go nosy at the other rooms.”
Normally, I’d have jumped at the chance, but my head already felt heavy. “Tomorrow,” I promised. “I know it’s early, but I’ve been awake since four this morning.” My body had decided I needed to be up with the birds. “I’m going to run the bath and sink—”
A sharp short scream reverberated through the house, slamming into the windows and making my heart knock against my rib cage.
8
Vansi and I arrived at the location of the scream at the same time as Aaron and Grace. He wore nothing but his jeans, while a barefoot Grace had on what looked to be a hastily pulled-on robe of silky black patterned with huge pink hibiscus flowers. What would’ve been scandalously short on a taller woman hit Grace only a few inches above the knee.
The four of us crowded into the doorway of the room just off the stairway landing to the left. As with my room, windows lined the back wall.
The space would be flooded with light in the daytime.
Right now, however, the air hung a dirty yellow, the old-fashioned lamps against the walls shaky in providing even that faint illumination. The muddy shade sank into the white of Darcie’s floaty dress as she stood by a huge four-poster bed, one hand pressed to her mouth and her body trembling.
I’d somehow made it to the front of the group in the doorway. Going over to Darcie, I said, “What’s the matter?” because the way she was trembling, the look on her face—this wasn’t about a spider or a mouse.
Her spine shook against the hand I ran down her back.
When she didn’t answer, I followed the line of her gaze. And froze.
“Whoa.” Grace’s voice, the other woman having come to stand beside me. “What is that?”
My voice was thin when I answered. “Bea’s doll.” I stared at the doll’s shiny white porcelain face and glassy blue eyes. She had perfect curls of chocolate brown, silky and not a strand out of place, her cheeks painted with dots of red. Across her nose and those rounded cheeks was a sprinkling of freckles.
Just like Beatrice’s freckles.
“Darcie and Bea’s parents had a doll made for each of them when Darcie was seven and Bea was six. The dolls were meant to mirror them.” A fun little Mini-Me for each girl.
It should’ve been a cute idea.
Shivering, Grace tugged the panels of her robe tighter around herself. “Why is it creepy?” she murmured. “It shouldn’t be creepy. I mean, it’s wearing overalls over a floral T-shirt. There are tiny sneakers on its feet. But it’s creepy.”