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arms was tattooed with colorful designs, but Haley didn’t

stare.

“Uh, I’m looking for Claire Finley.”

“Yes, I know. I’m Jenny.” The woman didn’t extend a hand

or offer a smile. There was something about her that screamed

violence, and Haley’s breath caught in her throat. Was this the

bodyguard? The woman who had come to escort her to her jail

cell? “Leave your stuff in your car. Come in. I’ll show you to

Claire’s office.”

Haley nodded. She followed Jenny up a set of stone stairs

and through a double wood front door that had to be at least

eight feet tall. The whole house was overkill from the outside,

but inside, it was actually quite homey. There were no dark

corners and no shadows. No gothic inspiration breathing down

from above, darkening the atmosphere. The house did boast

lots of windows, which let in the outside light and gave a

spectacular view of the rolling grass in the backyard, and the

beach and the water beyond. There was tasteful artwork, but it

ranged from abstract to highly detailed oil paintings. Some

were huge and new, others looked old, in classic antique

frames. The walls were painted a cream color and the floors

were dark wood.

The house opened up into a large foyer, and then from there,

they walked down a hall. There were a number of doors, most

of them closed but not foreboding, and then one that was open

a crack.

Haley strained to see inside even before Jenny stopped and

knocked lightly. An even lighter voice, like the wind and the

water, called out, and Jenny pushed the door open.

Claire Finley stood behind a large antique oak desk.