Half-Moon Lake, page 16
His voice sounded strangled. “No, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Hmpf. Now where was I? Oh, yes, I thought I felt something right about…here.” My searching fingers located the indention right below the seam on the right, then reached in my pocket for the key. The situation made it necessary for reliance on my sense of touch rather than sight since I couldn’t bend over enough to actually see what I was doing. My first try with the old-fashioned skeleton key was with the hook facing up. Nope, that wasn’t right. I quickly turned it around so the hook faced down instead, praying I wouldn’t drop it. After a couple of jiggles, I felt it slide into position. I squeezed my eyes shut, held my breath and turned it slowly to the right.
Click. It sounded louder than it should, but maybe it was just the bad acoustics again.
Suddenly I was frightened. This was it. Was I ready? What would I find behind this door? What secrets might my father have hidden away here and why? Would I find answers to some of the questions that made up my life? Did I really want to? I felt as if I were balanced at the threshold of the point of no return. One step forward and there was no going back. Was this what I really wanted? Or could I live the rest of my life without whatever was behind this door? I glanced back toward Levi and I was sure all my questions, uncertainties and fears were clearly written on my face. He reached one hand toward me and I grabbed it, trying not to appear as frantic as I was.
My inner-Kate just rolled her eyes, mouthing the word, “Chicken.”
After a long moment of indecision, I took a deep breath and pushed against the wall.
Chapter Ten
A suffocating darkness draped heavily over my skin. The air was moldy and thick…hard to breathe. Was this the playroom? Why was it so dark? Didn’t this room have any windows? I was very thankful for the flashlight that Levi carried. The beam of light swept around the room, probing the shadows. Levi appeared to have a destination in mind, so I let him pull me along behind him like a little red wagon. There was a click, then light flooded the room, causing me to squint at the sudden brightness. He’d found the light switch, and wonder of wonders—it worked.
BJ’s muffled voice came from the other room. “Are you two all right? I know I can’t fit back there, but if you need help, Wink can probably squeeze in. Do you see anything?”
Levi stuck his head back through the doorway. “We’re fine. It’s a mess in here. Looks like it may take a while. You guys don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but please lock Kate’s door on your way out. We don’t want anyone surprising us.”
I stared around the room with curious eyes. If I ignored the swirls of dust in the air, and the stale, musty scent, I could almost imagine I was looking at an antique photograph, yellowed with age. Of course, the yellowy tint was probably a result of everything being layered with so much dust.
Ah…that’s why it was so dark. Heavy drapes covered the windows, blocking any light that tried to filter through. Years of dust build-up made it impossible to tell their color. They might be a deep red, but at the moment they looked dingy gray. With the drapes being that thick and that heavy with grime, it was probably too dark to see, even in the middle of the day.
There was a child-sized table with two chairs pushed underneath. It looked as if a tea-party had been interrupted; the delicate tea accoutrements still in place. Had they been the “look-but-don’t-touch” type of play things? That was the only way something that looked so fragile could’ve stayed in one piece in a child’s playroom. Even prissy little girls could be clumsy sometimes, and I doubted anyone would’ve ever categorized me as “prissy.”
A large wooden rocking horse occupied one corner, a piano another—dusty sheet music still in place on the stand. Along the wall above the piano was a line of cast-iron candle sconces. I looked at them more carefully. Ugh…creepy! No, they weren’t sconces, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Some kind of pocket-type contraptions; each one adorned with a different cobweb-covered gargoyle face. Whatever they were, they were ornate, very Victorian, and most certainly did not belong in a child’s playroom. A haunted house? Yes, but not a playroom. Whose idea was that? Had they taken decorating tips from Attila the Hun?
Shaking my head, my eyes continued around the room. Ahh…this was more in keeping with a playroom theme. The mantel above the fireplace contained a trio of painted cast-iron clowns, hands on their hips, goofy smiles on their faces. Directly in front of the hearth were two upholstered chairs separated by a small iron table that looked like something one would find in a medieval castle. On top of it was a pyramid of large ivory dice and a collection of small enamel figurines, their colors a bright jumble.
To the right of the fireplace, standing at an angle to the window and in front of a floor-to-ceiling expanse of bookcases, was an enormous easel bearing what I assumed was an even more enormous picture, shrouded in a dusty, gray sheet. Why was it covered when nothing else in the room was? I’d have to investigate it later because something else had caught my eyes. In the very center of a room full of things I didn’t remember sat something that I did! It was a dollhouse, but it was more than that…it was Swan Song!
As I stared at the miniature version of my father’s house, my mind was assaulted with frame after frame of memories, snapshots from my past in which my sister and I were the stars.
I remembered!
Nothing else in the room brought back any hint of recollection, but I remembered that dollhouse! It was something that Kenna and I had both loved and we’d spent untold hours of our childhood wrapped in this little make-believe world.
The details were incredible. I could see the tiny replica of my bedroom, twin beds in place where my mammoth bed now stood, the uncomfortable chairs, the white marble fireplace with the mirror over the mantel. There was even a tiny tray with teapot, cups, and treats on the equally tiny table.
Each room of the house had been painstakingly reproduced to this fractional-sized version. There was the dining room with its identical Queen Anne cherry table, chairs, sideboard and china cabinet filled with a diminutive set of the family’s china collection. The kitchen looked so identical, I fully expected to see a shrunken version of BJ standing at the stove, whipping up something microscopic and delicious. When I peered into my father’s office, my mouth dropped open. There were the curio cabinets and they actually held a minute collection of meerschaum pipes!
My eyes traveled from room to room, taking a slow tour of the house, gawking at the unbelievable intricacies until they reached the miniaturized version of the room Levi and I were now exploring. There were two little dark-haired dolls—identical in appearance—sitting by their own little dollhouse. I couldn’t help wondering whether there’d be an even tinier replica of the same thing inside that diminutive house. If I were to take a look with a magnifying glass, would it be like a mirror reflecting a mirror, never ending? It was a ridiculous idea, but it made me curious.
It was while I was staring at the dollhouse inhabitants that sudden giggling echoed down the corridors of my mind. It sounded so real that I glanced sharply at Levi to see if he’d heard it too. If he had, he was much better at hiding his reaction. My eyes stung and I had to swallow repeatedly at the lump that seemed stuck in my throat. I sat as still as possible, afraid to even breathe lest the remembered sound slipped away. It was only when I started feeling light-headed that I took a deep breath, allowing air into my oxygen-deprived lungs.
“Katie? Are you all right?”
Levi’s dark eyes were full of concern and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I opened my mouth, hoping that something witty would come out and break the tension, but I couldn’t come up with anything. My brain just wouldn’t cooperate, and I was sure I just ended up looking like a fish gasping for air. I gave him a distracted nod instead.
He didn’t look convinced.
“Okay.” The word came out as a whisper; not firm and decisive like I’d hoped, so I cleared my throat and tried for a little more volume. “We’ve found the room. Now, whatever my father left for me to find must be in here someplace. I would think it would be something that looks like it doesn’t belong in here. On the surface, the only thing in that category is that set of horrible gargoyle heads on the wall, but I don’t see any place a clue could hide on them. You take that side and I’ll start over here. With any luck it’ll be laying out in the open.” I ignored his muttered, yeah right and continued. “After all, just how many layers of ‘hidden’ does it need to be?”
After nearly an hour of searching, the only thing we seemed to have accomplished was thoroughly disturbing a decade and a half’s worth of dust. The air in the room was full of it, swirling in little eddies when we moved. We were just as covered with it as everything else in the room. I was feeling a little like a piece of chicken coated with Shake and Bake, ready to pop into the oven.
I was bending over a stack of boxes we’d found in the cabinets that comprised the base of the book cases, flipping through papers and hoping that whatever it was I was looking for, would somehow wave a flag and shout, “Here I am!” I groaned as I straightened my stiff back. “Ugh! Whose bright idea was this anyway? How in the world can we find what we’re looking for when we don’t even know what that is?”
Levi stood up slowly stretched. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his muscular shoulders and my mouth went a little dry as I watched. He’d unfastened the top two buttons at his neck and once again I caught a glimpse of the silver chain I’d seen before. This time I caught a glimpse of the edge of some sort of pendant or medallion. It pricked my curiosity; what kind of a pendant would a man like Levi Wolfe wear? But when my eyes reached his face, I burst out laughing.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s not polite to snort when you laugh?” he chuckled. “What’s so funny?”
I had to work hard at not sounding like a pig again. “You.”
“Me? Well, thanks a lot.”
“No, you should see yourself. Your hair is so full of dust; you look like an old man. You even have dust on your eyelashes.”
He gave a short laugh. “I hate to tell you this, Katie-girl, but you’re pretty gray yourself. Here…close your eyes.”
“What?”
He narrowed the gap between us, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I said, close your eyes.”
My heart stuttered a few times, but I did what he said.
After a long moment, I felt his hand gently brush across my eyelashes and then my brows. “I don’t want any of this stuff to get in your eyes. No, just a minute, not yet,” he murmured when I started to open them. “Let me get some of this out of your hair while I’m at it.” Electric currents zinged along my hairline and I was afraid my scalp might burst into flames. My breathing was a bit ragged by the time he finally deemed it safe for me to open my eyes again.
Willing my pulse rate back to normal, I spoke in a voice hardly recognizable as my own. “Your turn…close ’em.”
****
I didn’t remember dusting him off, but I must’ve because he no longer looked old and gray. Well, he never looked “old” to begin with, but I couldn’t use “gray” as an adjective to describe him now either. However, the thing that convinced me more than anything else, was the fact that my fingertips now felt a little scorched.
A clear indication that I’d touched Levi Wolfe.
As much as we didn’t want to, we were giving up for the evening. The light was just too dim to illuminate through all that dust. Perhaps in the morning, when we pushed those heavy drapes out of the way and let a little sunlight into the room, it would bring to light—in a literal sense—something we’d missed.
On the way to the door, I’d just stepped passed the sheet-shrouded easel, but stopped and took a step back. Without thinking, I reached out, grasped the edge of the covering and pulled. It slipped to the floor, sending a huge puff of dust up into our faces. What followed was an extended bout of coughing. Once our hacking had dwindled somewhat, and my watery eyes could actually see what I’d uncovered, Levi stood quietly—not moving—and allowed me to take my time with this new discovery.
The painting was enormous—four figures just under life-sized. On a smaller portrait, the six-inch wide gilded frame would’ve been too heavy and gaudy, but it seemed just right for this one. It fit. I instantly recognized that Kenna and I were two of the subjects, but who were the others? I studied them carefully, then gasped.
Pat! A much younger version of her, of course, but I was sure it was the woman I’d always known as my mother. She had one hand on my shoulder and the other on my sister’s and was standing behind the three younger children. My eyes moved to the boy standing between us. It had to be Emory. His hair was much lighter, so blond it was nearly platinum, but his eyes were the same.
I stared at the smiling portrayal of Pat. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties and very pretty. I found myself wondering, for the first time, if Pat had had a boyfriend when this painting was being done. As attractive as she’d been, it was more than possible, it was very probable. And it must’ve been shortly after this that Pat had fled to Arizona with me, after Kenna had drowned. I’d never considered what Pat might have given up in order to take me away. I didn’t remember her looking like this. The Pat I remembered had been almost calloused, hardened by life, never seeming to need anyone, not like the girl depicted in this painting. Had she left behind a broken heart? The thought was a troubling one.
Why was this family portrait covered and hidden in this sealed up room? Had it been too painful for my father to have to see it every day?
Frowning, I leaned closer, focusing on details not seen with a casual glance. Had the artist taken license with Pat or had her hands really been clutching both girls’ shoulders that way? My eyes narrowed. Was it an illusion or was Emory forcing his way between the young twins; slightly facing me with his back to my sister, like he was trying to push her out of the picture altogether.
It was too much to take in at once, too much to analyze, and my brain just couldn’t do it. It had been a long, eventful day and I needed a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t deal with psychoanalyzing nuances in an old family painting until I recharged.
I turned to Levi, bearing his wordless scrutiny without flinching. “This stuff hasn’t moved in fifteen years. I don’t think there’s any danger of it doing so tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. Let’s tackle it again in the morning. ’Kay?”
One corner of his mouth turned up, and he gave a quick nod, motioning me toward the door.
****
The much-needed sleep eluded me, but in spite of the fact that I hadn’t gotten “recharged” during the night, I was back in the playroom first thing in the morning, up to my ankles in dust and staring at the portrait. I’d pushed the heavy drapes out of the way, in hopes that light would help. Murky sunlight struggled its way through the dirty windows; too weak to do much more than diffuse the air a dingy yellow. I straightened and took a step back so I could get a broader view. The background of the portrait wasn’t difficult to place. It was obviously my father’s office, the room where his will had been read. My siblings and I were posed in front of the curio cabinets that held his pipe collection.
How odd!
The Sherlock Holmes pipe showed crystal clear right above Pat’s right shoulder, the details perfect. Was it my imagination? No, all the other pipes were blurry and slightly out of focus. I bit my lip. Maybe it was just a coincidence, something the painter hadn’t intended. Maybe…
I shook my head. No, this was another clue from my father. There must be another message hidden here.
I rushed forward, tripping over one leg of the easel and nearly sending the whole thing crashing to the floor.
Suddenly Levi was there and he caught it before it fell. It must’ve been terribly heavy because he grunted and I could see him straining as he set it carefully back on the easel. “Whoa! Careful, Katie. Where’s the fire?”
“Levi!” I gasped. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep, and BJ let me in,” he explained as he dusted off his hands. “My brain was here all night, I needed to get it and my body back together, so I thought I might as well come over first thing, help you get an early start.”
I hardly heard his explanation. Didn’t even pause to gawk at his too-handsome face. I could do that later. My attention was too focused on getting a look at the back of that painting.
Rats!
Even if there’d been more light offered by the windows, the painting was angled in such a way that the rear of the canvas was still in the shadows. And it was too darn heavy and awkward to move. I’d have to rely on my sense of touch to “see.” I ran my hands carefully over the surface, not sure what I was searching for, but trusting that I’d know it when I felt it. Levi gave me a speculative look, one brow lifted; no doubt, wondering if I’d lost my mind. I tried to ignore him so I could invest all my concentration in my search. Ignoring him wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
I decided a systematic approach would be my best bet so I started at the top left of the canvas, smoothing my fingertips all the way across in one slow sweep, then dropping down a bit and repeating the process in reverse; time after time, like reading Braille. Keeping my eyes closed helped me concentrate on what I was feeling better. At first, I could feel Levi staring at me, and it did funny things to my pulse rate, which I tried to ignore. The feeling finally weakened, so I slit my eyes, peeking through my lashes to see him facing the bookcases, tilting his head to the side so he could read titles.
My fingertips switched to “auto-pilot,” which allowed my mind to work on two levels. Levi’s back was toward me, so I could ogle to my heart’s content. Hopefully he couldn’t feel my stare like I always could his.
Sunlight struggling through the window caught and held millions of dust motes in swirling beams, spotlighting the star on my stage. Mesmerized, I watched the fabric of his shirt stretch across his broad shoulders when he reached up for a book. He glanced my way when he turned to find a chair, and I quickly averted my gaze, eyes staring off into space above the back of the portrait. Once he settled into the chair, and became absorbed in his book, I felt safe to continue my perusal.
