Page 2 of Farlan (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #3)
Dusting all the junk must have been Tonje’s full-time job; maybe that was why she’d never bothered to work since Grace began earning what she called the big money.
Upon arriving she had switched off the automatic air freshener dispensers her mother had placed in every room, which had perfumed the air so heavily with a sickening artificial jasmine stench her eyes had watered.
She’d had to open all the windows for a day to air out the stink.
Once she could breathe without choking, Grace had lowered and closed all the blinds, which had the extra benefit of dimming the cacophony of color a little.
This was where most of the hefty income she’d earned by modeling had gone, into lining her mother’s nest of overpriced junk.
Grace had never cared about money; with the albatross of her mother hanging around her neck she could never afford to.
Since coming home and seeing how Tonje had been living, however, she kept thinking of the series of tiny studio apartments she’d had in New York.
Trying to keep up with her mother’s constant demands for money had left her unable to afford anything more than the cheapest places.
Everything she owned could still fit into a carry-on bag, a habit she’d maintained for the day her mother would tell her that she could quit modeling and come home. Yet Tonje had never been satisfied.
I raised you by myself, remember, after your father dumped us, her mother had shouted at her the one time she’d tried to discuss her spending . I had to go on welfare a bunch of times, trying to take care of you. Now it’s time to fucking pay me back, Worthless.
The nasty nickname Tonje had given her had been out of spite, or so Grace had assumed.
Her mother had taken after her father, inheriting his short, thick-set build, dark coloring and sharp features, as if someone had carved her face from lemon tree wood and left some of the thorns intact.
Even before Tonje had gained all the weight, she’d been buxom, with broad hips and pendulous breasts.
It had been easy to interpret the ugly looks she gave Grace as coming from jealousy.
Everyone noticed how different they were, too; a neighbor once asked Grace if she had been adopted.
You must take after your father, honey.
Grace hadn’t minded looking so different from Tonje, but she had confronted her mother one time about her cruel name-calling.
She’d started working at a boutique after school and sometimes modeled outfits for the ladies, who told her she was a natural clothes horse, whatever that meant.
It gave her a sense of pride in herself that she’d never before experienced, which prompted her to challenge Tonje the next time she’d been nasty to her.
I’m earning good money now, she’d reminded her mother. So you can’t call me Worthless anymore.
You think a hundred bucks a week is good? Tonje had slapped her so hard she’d knocked her into a wall, and then grabbed her chin and dug her fingernails into her skin. Until you earn two hundred times that, the big money, you are completely fucking worthless.
When another girl at school had asked her the next day what had bruised and scratched her face, Grace had blamed herself. I had a nightmare and woke up like this.
In the kitchen of her dead mother’s house Grace took out a jar of instant coffee she’d had to buy.
While she heated a mug of tap water in the microwave, she looked around to make sure nothing needed to be cleaned.
Her mother had evidently never used it. Upon arrival Grace had found the refrigerator and pantry empty; unused expensive dishes filled the cabinets.
After going through all the charge card statements she learned that Tonje had stopped cooking and dined out for all three meals every day, regularly going to expensive gourmet restaurants.
She’d often invited some of the women who lived in the neighborhood, always paying for them as well.
According to the medical records her doctor had sent to Grace, her mother had also gained two hundred pounds over the last six years, which correlated to how much money she had been sending home .
The extra weight must not have concerned Tonje, for she’d kept stuffing herself.
For her last meal Grace’s mother had eaten at one of the most expensive seafood restaurants in the area.
The receipt showed that she had gobbled up among other things a dozen oysters on the half shell while drinking a bottle of a rare champagne formerly reserved for Tsars.
According to Carter, Tonje had become violently ill later that night and had to be rushed to the hospital.
Four days later she had died from a vibrio infection she’d gotten from the raw shellfish.
My mother ate herself to death, and I paid for that, too.
Sitting down with the coffee she’d made, Grace sipped it and checked her phone.
Two texts from her agent, of course; the second had come after she’d left word with his secretary that she would not be returning.
That one contained so many f-words it seemed he’d gotten the message.
Eight other texts had been sent by different designers wanting to know if she would be available during Fashion Week in September; the rest were from print ad and beauty product marketing agents who wanted her for their projects.
Her agent must have been hanging up on everyone.
At the very bottom of the voicemail list was one from Renard Beaumont, the owner of the castle where her grandmother had disappeared seventy years ago.
He's going to tell me I’m crazy, just like the police did.
Grace reached into her jacket and took out the locket she’d stolen from her mother’s jewelry box when she was a child.
When she opened it a folded piece of yellowed parchment fell out onto the table.
Although she had read it hundreds of times, she unfolded it to once more see the message written on it in tiny, smudged charcoal.
I’m not dead. I walked into an enchanted hall in McKeran’s Castle and fell into a time spell trap. There is no escape from here. I’m still with the clan and their people from the 12 th century. Please help us ~ Inga Holm
On the back of the strip of parchment, she’d drawn a sketch of a building’s interior with a tiny star in one spot, presumably the entrance to the spell trap.
Grace had often been tempted to look for a lab to test the message to see how old it really was, because if it dated back to the twelfth century that would prove that Inga’s message was real.
Yet part of her still wondered if it was all a hoax, just as the police had long ago surmised.
My father was never good enough for her, Tonje had often ranted. She always complained about how little he made at his job. That’s why she left us, because she found herself a rich man.
Grace’s mother had always believed that Inga had not only abandoned her but had killed her father in the process.
After his wife had vanished, John Holm drank himself into an early grave, Tonje claimed, forcing her to be placed in foster care.
That abandonment made Tonje hate her mother so much she always blamed her for everything, including her own failed marriage to Grace’s father, her drinking and her money problems.
That worthless bitch ruined my life.
Tonje’s drunken rages had terrified Grace throughout her childhood.
Countless times she’d seen her mother tearing up photos, smashing dishes and destroying other things that had belonged to Inga until she exhausted herself, after which she broke down into noisy sobs and cried herself to sleep.
Sometimes she’d made Grace come out into the backyard and watch as she burned yet another pile of her grandmother’s clothing and shoes.
If she ever comes back, baby, don’t worry. I am not letting her anywhere near you, Tonje had promised, savagely wiping the tears from her face before taking another drink from the vodka bottle in her fist. My fucking mother is dead to us forever.
Grace had managed to save the locket and one small photograph of her grandmother Inga from Tonje’s destruction and had secretly carried both with her everywhere.
In the picture the missing woman was wearing the locket, the same one that had been found in the castle the day after she’d vanished in nineteen fifty-four.
It’s a hoax, Ms. Johansen, the police detective she’d spoken with yesterday had assured her. The locket was found in the castle three months after your grandmother disappeared. Maybe she came back and planted it before she started her new life somewhere else.
Now Grace dialed Renard Beaumont’s number, which rang three times before a male voice answered the line with, “Hello, Ms. Johansen. I hope you’re not calling to ask me about visiting the castle again.”
Beaumont sounded ordinary enough, but something about his voice made Grace shudder.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Beaumont.” Willing herself not to hang up on him, she twisted the locket’s gold chain around her slim fingers.
“I was just hoping that you might have changed your mind. All I want to do is go to the spot where my grandmother disappeared, and see if I can find any evidence of what happened to her.”
“I am sorry, Ms. Johansen, but as I told you, significant damage to the property during the spring storms has made it unsafe. I don’t even go in there anymore.
” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we meet for dinner?
I’ll tell you what I know about Mrs. Holm’s disappearance.
You’ll love this little place down by the wharf. ”
As he rambled on about the restaurant, Beaumont seemed to be hoping the gourmet food would tempt her. He probably thought a pistachio-crusted rack of lamb was the way to her heart. Judging by the number of times it had shown up on her credit card receipts, Tonje had loved it.