Page 47

CHAPTER TWO

T wo days later Becca found herself clinging desperately to the side of the boat as Lake Superior waves slapped the vessel like a giant hand. The motion left her feeling queasy. She’d forgotten how uneasy her stomach got in rough water. Lifting her face into the cold spray off the lake, she focused on the landscape instead of her tummy.

Clutching her cat Misty in her arms, she watched the island draw nearer. Lake Superior glittered like some fabled jewel. She leaned forward and fastened her gaze on the imposing house just coming into view. A shiver started at her back. It had always been her first reaction. Jake used to say Windigo Manor looked like a great bird of prey looking down on its hapless victims.

His comparison had given her nightmares when she was growing up. She told herself she was no longer a child, but the shakes wouldn’t stop. She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d been here. Staring at the manor, she watched it draw closer.

The house could have been the setting for Jane Eyre . Weathered stone and three stories high, its mullioned windows cast a glassy stare over the crashing waves below. She’d never felt comfortable in that house. That was probably the reason she never wanted to live there. And now, she was doing that very thing.

The sooner she found what she wanted and got out, the happier she’d be.

She rehearsed what to say to Max Duncan and smoothed her linen skirt with nervous fingers. The boat owner, Dutch he called himself, eased the boat to the dock then jumped out and looped a rope over a piling.

He shook his head as he looked at her. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Miss, you sure you know what you’re doing, eh?” Dutch took off his faded baseball cap and scratched his head before slapping it back over his bald head. “There’s no fun times out here. The Baxters are a mighty dour folk. A woman as fine-looking as you could find another job with no problem.”

He was a bonafide Yooper, as residents of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula were called. Becca smiled at his characteristic twang, part Canadian and part Finnish inflection. “I’ll be fine. You go on back.” She straightened her jacket and tucked Misty inside then smoothed her hair. Max wouldn’t be inclined to hire a woman who looked like a rattled mermaid.

Clambering over the side of the boat, she planted her feet on the beach. The heels of her shoes sank into the sand, and she staggered. She bit her lip. She wanted to portray a persona of competence not ineptitude.

Tugging her heel from the sand, she stared at the woods. She’d forgotten how the massive trees blocked out the sun. The wind soughed through the pine trees along the cliff’s edge, and the back of her neck prickled as if someone were watching her.

She caught herself looking for shadows, and laughed, though even to her ears, the laugh sounded shaky. Her grandparents’ housekeeper, Moxie Jeffries, used to tell her all about the Windigo, Ojibwa spirits who roamed the North Woods looked for people to devour. Childish nonsense, surely. But why did her hands still tremble?

Dragging her luggage behind her, she marched to the front door and lifted the knocker. The door opened, and Becca found her gaze traveling up and up until she stared into the dark blue eyes of the man filling the doorway. Unruly black hair spilled over a wide forehead that was creased in a surprised frown. His sheer size made Becca feel small and dainty which was something few men accomplished. At nearly six feet tall, she wasn’t used to the sensation and wasn’t sure she liked it.

It made her feel out of control. Not an unusual feeling, but Becca had hoped to be like Wynne, cool and calm.

She drew herself up to her full height. “Mr. Duncan?”

He nodded and leaned against the door jamb. “Ms. Lynn, I presume?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “Please call me Becca since we’re going to be working together.” She wasn’t sure she’d remember to answer if someone called her Ms. Lynn.

“You don’t look like a Becca. I’d expect a Becca to be small and dainty, not a towering Valkyrie.” His shoulders still blocked the doorway, and the surprise in his face changed to anger as he looked at the cat in her arms.

Becca’s mouth dropped open. She simply couldn’t help herself. Didn’t he know it was bad taste to remark on a woman’s height? She bit her lip and told herself to stand up to him.

She recovered her composure and gave him what she hoped was a calm, competent smile. “Look, Mr. Duncan, I didn’t come all this way to discuss my name—or my size. May I come in?” Though she hated to admit it, even to herself, this man’s intimidating stare had shaken her. She just prayed he couldn’t feel the fear radiating off her like heat baking off Eagle Rock in the summer. Some people could smell fear. She hoped he wasn’t one of them.

His brows drew together. “Remember this is a trial period only. I’ve never had a research assistant, and I’m not sure how we’ll get along. Especially a woman who shows up with a cat without asking if it’s all right.”

The derision in his voice stung. He stared at her, his blue eyes raking over her face like twin lasers. She wanted to cower but managed a sweet smile. “Only curmudgeons don’t like cats.”

“Then I freely admit to being one. Just keep that animal out of my sight.” He hesitated then took her suitcase and swung the door wide. “The parlor is on the right.”

The words I know were on the tip of Becca’s tongue, and she bit them back just in time. Whew, this was going to be harder than she thought. She started inside then tripped over the doorplate. Max grabbed her before she tumbled to the floor. Misty yowled and shot out of her grasp then dashed across the hall and cowered under the hall tree.

Her face burned, and she tugged her arm out of his grasp. “Thanks,” she said, not wanting to look at him. She glanced around. It was exactly the same. Grandma’s hall tree, its mirror scratched and the silver coming off in places, still graced the corner near the door. The same wallpaper brightened the plaster walls with a floral pattern. The faint scent of decay still wafted in the air.

“Misty, come here.” She tried to coax her cat out from under the table.

“Leave the stupid cat,” Max walked past. “Let’s talk.”

Suppressing another shiver, she started down the hall. Without her grandmother’s presence, the old mansion seemed even more sinister, especially with the man behind her in residence. He would have made a good pirate with his black hair and cynical smile.

Becca stepped inside the parlor and gasped at the wave of pain that swept over her at the empty room. She’d half expected to see her parents here, she realized. She hadn’t understood how hard it would be to come here again and not see her mother bent over her photo scrapbooks and her father working on a crossword puzzle. Their presence had been like a safety net, and the sense of being on her own dried her mouth and made her knees tremble. She curled her fingers into fists, the sharp edges of her nails cutting into her palms. She couldn’t afford to let Max Duncan suspect anything.

He set her suitcase down by the door and indicated the sofa. “Have a seat. Would you care for a cup of tea or a soda? We’re not completely uncivilized here.”

“No, thank you.”

He smiled faintly, and Becca found herself scrutinizing him. She judged him to be in his mid-thirties, and there were lines etched around his mouth that reminded her of the pain he’d suffered with the loss of his wife, Becca’s cousin Laura.

“Do I pass muster?” His sardonic tone broke her reverie.

Becca’s face grew hot, and she looked away. “I’m eager to get to work. History is my passion, and I’m thankful for the opportunity to help you.”

“I admit I’m leery of the whole thing, but it’s time I got back to writing, and I don’t have time for all the research. I hope it works out.” He crossed one jean-clad leg over another. “I have a feeling you and I are going to mix about as well as sailors and society matrons.”

Becca bit down on her angry words, her jaw aching from the effort to keep silent. If she’d had any other choice, she would have turned and stalked out the door. “I’ll do my best to do my job and stay out of your way,” she said in an even tone.

“The only thing I question is your sanity. Why would you be willing to bury yourself on this island? Running from a broken heart?” He said the last with a trace of mockery, and she stiffened.

“I like solitude. This place reminds me of the house my grandparents owned when I was a child.”

“I think there’s more than you’re telling me. But I’m desperate, so you’ll have to do. Your pay is room and board plus a thousand dollars a month. That suit you?”

“It suits, Mr. Duncan. One other thing. I haven’t set up a bank account yet, so if you could pay me in cash, that would make things easier.”

“Fine, but call me Max.” He rose and beckoned her to follow him with a crooked finger. “I’ll introduce you to the housekeeper. She’ll see to your needs.”

Becca followed him down the hall to the kitchen. A short woman, almost as round as she was tall, was kneading dough on a rough wooden table. She looked to be about sixty, and her ample hips and stomach pressed against the flour-covered gingham dress she wore.

Moxie Jeffries. Becca had hoped she was gone by now. Her dour stories of her Ojibwa heritage legends had haunted Becca’s dreams for years.

Her dark eyes narrowed when she saw Becca, and Becca had to force herself to meet the woman’s gaze dispassionately. She prayed the housekeeper wouldn’t recognize her.

“Moxie, this is my new research assistant, Becca Lynn. Becca, this is our housekeeper, Moxie Jeffries. Her brother Morgan is the groundskeeper.”

Moxie Jeffries grunted and jerked her head. “If she can organize your notes, she’s a miracle worker.” Her dark eyes perused Becca’s face. “You look familiar to me.”

Panic tightened Becca’s chest. She couldn’t be recognized, not right from the start. “How strange,” she said feebly.

Mrs. Jeffries shrugged. “It will come to me.”

Becca could only pray it didn’t. “I’m looking forward to my stay.”

She offered her hand and almost winced at the woman’s iron grip. A smug smile teased the corners of Mrs. Jeffries’ mouth, and Becca realized the woman meant to hurt her with her crushing grip. Uneasy, she tugged her hand loose and turned to Max.

“I think it’s time I got unpacked and ready for my duties.” She wanted to get away from Mrs. Jeffries’ suspicious stare. She doubted the woman recognized her, but it would be best to stay out of her way, just in case.

Max nodded. “Moxie will show you to your room. You can meet the rest of the group over dinner. They’re all out on the boat this afternoon. I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic at the relief from boredom your presence will bring—at least for a few hours. I’ll bring up your suitcase in a few minutes.”

A reprieve. Already exhausted, Becca followed the housekeeper, tripped over the first step. She hated being clumsy. If only she could be like her sister Wynne, small, dainty and graceful as a swan. Regaining her composure, she gripped the handrail to make sure she didn’t stumble again.

She made a familiar turn at the top of the stairs then stared. Her eyes blurred with tears as Mrs. Jeffries stopped in front of the second door down. Becca’s old room.

It seemed too good to be true she’d be housed in her childhood room. Becca moved slowly down the hall and stood in the doorway looking at the same space she’d occupied as a child. The wallpaper’s yellow pattern had faded a bit more, but she’d forgotten the mellow tones of the oak casing around the windows and door. The books she’d read as a child occupied the small bookshelf under the window.

She stepped into the room. Ancient lace festooned the canopy bed, and she remembered lying here and studying the pattern in the lace. Her grandmother had made the canopy and coverlet for the bed when she was still a young bride, some fifty years ago. Becca touched the lace and let it drape through her fingers. The fine cotton felt soft.

Tears burned the back of her throat. The last time she’d been here, her mother had come in to pray with her before bed. Becca could almost imagine she could smell her mother’s perfume here. Had Mom stayed in this room before the explosion?

She moved into a dapple of sunlight that warmed the oak floors. The Aubusson carpet under the bed looked different, but maybe she just didn’t remember it. Becca bounced on the bed then kicked off her shoes.

“Anything else?”

Mrs. Jeffries’s gruff voice startled Becca. She’d forgotten the housekeeper was still in the doorway. “No, thanks. I think I’ll explore the house a bit, learn my way around.”

The housekeeper shrugged. “Just stay out of the room at the end of the hall on the third floor. Mr. Max doesn’t like anyone to disturb his wife’s things.” Her mouth in a tight line, she backed out of the room.

The room at the end of the hall. Though the warning was meant to keep her away, Becca knew sooner or later she’d have to check out that room. With the housekeeper gone, she stepped to the window and looked down onto the rocky shoreline. The lake looked blue and endless from here. The serenity was a lie. A month ago her parents had died in an explosion right off this point.

Her lips tightened. She would find out who killed them and make them pay. Her parents deserved it.