Christmas Awakening Read online

  Not that he could blame her. She’d trusted him with more than a theory before, and he’d thrown her to the dogs. She’d be smart to never trust him again.

  “I’ve got to make that call. Whoever attacked you could still be out there.” He made his way to the household office and plucked the cordless phone from its charger. He stared at the receiver in his hand. He didn’t want the hoopla of calling 9-1-1. But he didn’t even know where Edwin kept the phone book. Without Edwin, it seemed he couldn’t handle a damn thing.

  Glancing back to the kitchen, he let the idea of asking Marie sit in his mind for less than a second. The feeling he’d gotten when near her still vibrated deep in his bones. When she was close, she was all he could focus on. When he was touching her, the sensations were so strong they were painful.

  After Charlotte’s death, he’d wished he could no longer feel. Not the torment of his injuries, not the guilt in his heart, not the emptiness that hadn’t been filled in far too long. Now that Marie was back, now that she was here in Drake House, he couldn’t do anything but feel.

  He had to keep control of himself. And if that meant staying away from her, he’d find a way.

  He called up the directory feature on the phone. Sure enough, Edwin had programed the police department’s nonemergency number. His butler had saved him yet again. If he wasn’t so shaken by everything that had happened tonight, he’d find that ironic.

  “Jenkins Cove Police Department,” an official-sounding woman answered. “What is the nature of your call?”

  “I’d like to report a possible burglary at Drake House.”

  “Mr. Drake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you hold, Mr. Drake? The chief is here right now. He’d like to talk to you himself.”

  “Sure.” Brandon frowned into the phone. It wasn’t unusual for the chief to personally handle anything having to do with Brandon or his uncle Cliff. He supposed that was what happened when your family had nearly single handedly established and nurtured a small town like Jenkins Cove. Parks were named after you. Statues of your father and grandfather and generations back graced the town square. And the chief of police personally handled your crime reports. Still, it was awfully late for the chief to be in. It must have something to do with the state police’s investigation of the mass grave that had been found just down the road.

  “Brandon,” Chief Hammer’s voice boomed over the phone. “I hear you had a break-in. I hope no damage was done.”

  Damage. Brandon had been so absorbed with Marie he hadn’t even looked for damage. He stepped out into the kitchen and swept it with his gaze. “None that I’ve noticed.”

  “Glad to hear that. We’ve had problems with some teens in the area. Vandalism. You might have read about it in the Gazette.”

  Brandon had read about a lot of wild things in the Gazette lately, with the coverage of the mass grave, the doctor who was rumored to be responsible and his lackey the state police had hauled off into custody. A lot more excitement than usual in Jenkins Cove. The teen delinquent stories must have been buried on a later page. “I know my uncle Cliff has had some problems with vandals. Let me look around to be sure there’s nothing damaged.”

  Getting a grip on himself, he made his way to Edwin’s suite. The door was open and Marie stood in the sitting room, her back to him. He forced himself to notice the room’s condition and that of the two bedrooms beyond, not the curve of her hips in the skirt and sweater, now that she’d taken off her coat. “Notice anything missing or damaged?”

  Marie shook her head. “No. I don’t think so, anyway.”

  He nodded and forced his attention back to the phone. “The rooms we think the burglar entered don’t seem disturbed.”

  “We?” Hammer repeated over the phone.

  “Edwin Leonard’s daughter, Marie, is packing up his things.”

  “I see.”

  “She saw the light on in the butler’s quarters. The burglar attacked her trying to get away.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Just a bruise and a few scratches.”

  “This is going to seem like an odd question, Brandon, but are you sure someone was in the house?”

  Brandon paused. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Did you see anything yourself? Hear anything?”

  “What are you getting at, Chief?”

  “Nothing. I’m just a little concerned about Marie Leonard. I had a talk with her today at the funeral, and she seemed to be having a bad time of it.”

  Brandon cupped a hand over the phone and stepped out of the room. He wasn’t sure what Hammer was getting at, but he knew he didn’t want Marie to overhear. “Her father died. Of course she’s upset. You think it’s more than that?”

  “I’d call her paranoid.”

  “Paranoid?” Not a word he would associate with Marie. If anything she’d seemed too calm, too in control. But then, he’d been so turned inside out since he’d first seen her this afternoon, maybe she was just controlled in comparison. “What is she paranoid about?”

  “She seems to think someone killed her father.”

  His words probably should have surprised Brandon, but they didn’t. They explained a lot. “Why does she think that?”

  “You’ll have to ask her. I’m afraid it isn’t based in reality. I’ve found no evidence that Edwin Leonard was murdered.”

  Of course, knowing Hammer, he hadn’t expended much effort looking. “Thanks for the heads-up, Chief. But no matter what is going on with Marie, I don’t think she imagined this attack.”

  “I’m not saying she did. I’m concerned about her. That’s all.”

  “Well, if you could send someone out here, I can guarantee Ms. Leonard would feel a whole lot better. And so would I.”

  “Soon as I can, Brandon. I only have two officers on tonight, and one is securing the state police’s dig site. It might be the state’s investigation, but you wouldn’t believe the monkey wrench it’s thrown into our day-today operations.”

  Brandon grimaced. Apparently the chief hadn’t had a good few days, either. “Send someone out as soon as you can. I want to make sure whoever it was is gone.”

  “In the meantime, stay inside, make sure your doors are locked and turn on that fancy alarm system of yours just to be on the safe side.”

  “Already done.” He turned off the phone. The only problem with the chief’s advice was the idea of locking himself in with Marie. Still, he couldn’t see how he was going to find it within himself to let her leave, not when whoever had attacked her might still be outside.

  “Is an officer on the way?”

  Something jumped in his chest at the sound of her voice. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway to Edwin’s quarters. “It might take a while. You have a place to stay?”

  “A B&B in Jenkins Cove.”

  “How long are you planning to hang around yet tonight?” Edwin Leonard was an impeccably neat and organized man. Still, he’d been the butler of Drake House since before Brandon was born. Cleaning out his rooms was going to be a big job.

  “I’ll be here a few hours at least. I don’t think I can sleep after all this.”

  He was sure he wouldn’t be sleeping, either. But at least he had the sense not to offer to help. “Why don’t you stay?”

  She raised her brows.

  “In your old room. Edwin would have insisted. And I would feel better if you didn’t go back outside. Not until the police have a chance to check out the grounds.” He had to be crazy, inviting her to stay under his roof. Drake House was big, but not big enough to keep him from listening for her all night long and noting her every movement.

  At least that way he could keep her safe. Edwin would have insisted on that as well.

  “Thanks.”

  “Chief Hammer is concerned about you.”

  She twisted her lips to one side. “I’ll bet he is.”

  “Why?”

  She waved her hand in front of her face as if tr
ying to erase the words between them. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s just been a long day, that’s all.”

  “He said you believe your father was murdered.”

  She held his gaze but said nothing, as if waiting for some kind of prompt.

  “I take it you do. Why?”

  “My father never walked near the water. You know that. He was deathly afraid of water.”

  “So he couldn’t have accidently fallen in.”

  He wasn’t sure if she’d nodded or not. She just watched him as if waiting for him to discount her theory.

  “Hammer says there’s no evidence.”

  “Because he’s too lazy to find it.”

  That was the Charles Hammer he knew. If the answer wasn’t easy, Hammer wasn’t interested. “So that’s why you’re here.”

  “I’m here to pack up my father’s things.”

  “And look for evidence he was murdered. And that’s what you think our burglar tonight was doing, too, don’t you? Looking for something incriminating. Something that ties him to Edwin’s murder.”

  Again she didn’t react. She just seemed to be sizing him up, watching, waiting. For what? Did she think he was going to tell her she was wrong? Hell, it should have occurred to him earlier how unlikely it was for Edwin to venture close to the water. He should have been looking for explanations himself. “Talk to me, Marie. Maybe I can help.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Well, there’s no reason for you to tie up a room at the B&B during Christmas shopping season. You can stay here as long as you need. Shelley gave you keys?”

  “Just to the kitchen entrance and my father’s quarters.”

  Leave it to Shelley. The day he’d promoted her to fill Edwin’s job, she’d collected keys from all employees, doling them out only when she deemed necessary. The woman wielded her new power with a closed fist. “I’ll get you a complete set.”

  “Thanks.” Her lips softened. Not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment. Something.

  “It’s the least I can do. Your father meant a lot to me.” And so do you. The words stuck in his throat. Not that he would ever say them out loud. He’d hurt too many people the last time he’d given in to that indulgence. Himself, Marie, and Charlotte most of all. He deserved the pain. But Charlotte…He couldn’t erase what he’d done to her. Nor would he risk hurting Marie again. No matter what happened, he had to protect her. He owed Edwin. And he definitely owed her. “I’ll go wait for the police. Good night, Marie.”

  MARIE LAUNCHED into the fifth drawer of her father’s personal desk. So far she’d found nothing. No questionable photos or letters or anything that even hinted why someone might want him dead. But she had gone through almost a half box of tissues wiping the tears that continuously leaked from her eyes.

  What she wouldn’t give to have him back.

  She closed her eyes, her lids swollen and hot. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. Ten years ago, he’d helped her put her life in perspective. He’d hugged away her tears in that stiff-backed way he had. He’d encouraged her to get away from Drake House and make the life she deserved.

  She hadn’t lived with him for over ten years, but she knew whenever she had a question, whenever she needed to know if she was making the right decision, he was only a phone call away. Without him, she felt lost.

  If only she could talk to him about her stirred-up feelings for Brandon.

  She rubbed her eyes. She knew what her father would say. He would tell her to go home. To get away from Brandon, from Drake House. The same thing he’d told her ten years ago.

  Too bad she couldn’t follow his advice this time. Not until she found out who killed him. Not until she brought his murderer to justice.

  She reached to the top of the desk and snapped on the ancient transistor radio she remembered her father using to listen to his beloved Orioles on summer nights. She turned her attention to the last desk drawer. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” drifted over the airwaves.

  Great.

  Here she was. Home for Christmas. Except the only person she had to come home to was gone. Taken away forever.

  She turned the dial. Static took over.

  Fabulous.

  She twisted the knob. Now she couldn’t get a signal at all. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was too tired for this. Maybe she should get some sleep and finish going through the desk tomorrow. She reached up to switch the radio off. Shadows of a voice rustled among the white noise. “Murder.”

  Marie jerked her hand back.

  “Murder.”

  There it was again. A whisper rising from the static.

  Marie frowned at the radio. It had to be a news report. Maybe something about the mass grave the state police were investigating, the one the waitress in the crab shack had been buzzing about last night. Marie gave the dial a twist, moving the needle back and forth, trying to get better reception. The static fuzzed on.

  “Marie.”

  The whisper again. Saying her name?

  She snapped the radio off. Sophie Caldwell’s theories about communicating with ghosts flitting through her mind, she thrust herself to her feet and walked into the bathroom. She was tired and she was imagining things. That was all it was. All it could be.

  Turning on the water to warm, she fished a hair band from her bag and pulled her bob back from her face. She looked into the mirror.

  Sophie and Chelsea believed mirrors were like oracles. A way to see into the spiritual world. A way to communicate with loved ones lost.

  The only image in her mirror was herself with her hair in a hair band. Not her best look.

  She thrust cupped hands into the warm water and lifted it to splash her face. She froze before the water reached her skin.

  That scent.

  Marie took a long breath. She knew the smell. The fragrance was faint, but she recognized the exotic notes, a blend dominated by jasmine.

  She let the water drain between her fingers.

  Pressure lodged under her rib cage, hard as a balled fist. Glancing around the bathroom, she dried her hands on a towel and turned off the tap.

  The scent had to be caused by soap or air freshener. But look as she might, she didn’t see a source. As she searched, the scent grew stronger. She could swear it was coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

  A tremor moved through her chest. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

  She’d remember that scent all her life. And the woman who wore it. So exotic, so sophisticated. And so much more than little Marie Leonard. More beautiful, more accomplished. In every way, more.

  No wonder Brandon had made her his wife.

  But Charlotte had died six months ago. Why was Marie smelling her scent now? Here in the butler’s quarters?

  Sophie and Chelsea had talked about spirits communicating through images in mirrors, not voices carried on radio static, not scents. She was freaking herself out over nothing…wasn’t she?

  Pulse thrumming in her ears, she stepped out into her father’s sitting room. The room was as vacant as before. She tested the air again. The scent was stronger, but it didn’t seem to be coming from this room, either.

  She followed her nose to the door leading to the estate office and kitchen area. The cloud cover had cleared outside, and stainless steel and stone countertops stretched long and cold in ribbons of feeble moonlight shining through window blinds. The scent was even stronger out here. It teased the air as if Charlotte had just walked through the room.

  Ridiculous.

  More likely Brandon had the furnace filters treated with the scent to remind him of Charlotte. Or Shelley used jasmine air fresheners to memorialize the mistress she adored, à la Mrs. Danvers from Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. A giggle bubbled up in Marie’s throat. She was being absurd, letting her imagination run away with her—first to ghosts and now to characters from novels. Silly or not, she followed the scent.

  Marie wove her way through the kitchen and veered through the hall and
into the dining room. She circled the grand table and stepped quietly across the parquet floor and oriental rugs in the first-floor sitting room. A hint of moonlight filtered through draperies, creating misty images on leaded mirrors. Images that almost looked like ghosts.

  “Marie?” Brandon’s voice boomed from the shadows. “What is it?”

  Marie started. She whirled around to see him jolt up from a sofa in the sitting room.

  His eyelids looked heavy, as if he’d just awakened. He reached for his cane and walked toward her. He stopped just inches away. Close enough for her to trail her fingertips over his stubbled chin and the slick, scarred skin of his cheek.

  Marie’s nerves jangled. For a moment she couldn’t think.

  His dark eyebrows dipped with concern. “Is something wrong?”

  Something? Everything was wrong. Him standing so close. Her need to touch him, to hold him, to pretend the past ten years had never happened. She shook her head. “Don’t you smell that scent?”

  “What is it? Something burning?”

  “No. It’s like perfume. Jasmine.” Maybe Brandon was used to it. Maybe he didn’t even detect it anymore. Marie took another deep draw. The fragrance had faded, but the whisper of it was still there. “I noticed it in my father’s room and followed it out here. Don’t you smell it?”

  “Jasmine?”

  “It was the scent Charlotte used to wear.”

  His mouth flattened in a hard line. She could see him moving away from her, withdrawing, even though he hadn’t physically moved an inch. “Why are you saying this?”

  Realization hit her with the force of a slap across the face. She’d blurted out what was in her mind without any thought about who she was talking to, how bringing up his dead wife would make him feel. Her lack of tact knew no bounds.

  She took a step backward as heat crept over her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

  “Carried away by what?”

  “My imagination, I guess. The house. The conversation I had with Sophie Caldwell.”

  “You talked about Charlotte?”