John Manning - The Killing Room

He shrugged again. “We’re just very different. They have an air about them. A certain superiority. I like my other cousins, okay, though. Paula and Dean. But they’re older. Ryan and Chelsea are my age.” He looked up at her. “I guess they’re probably about your age as well.” He smiled and winked.

Carolyn felt her cheeks blush. There were those dimples again.

She likes me, Douglas thought. He could always tell when women liked him. He was glad. He hoped Carolyn planned to stay a few days.

“But you said it was awesome when you were little,” she commented. “What about when you were older?”

Douglas sat back in his chair again. “Well, it wasn’t so great then. You see, my father died here. We had come up for the family reunion. They’re held every ten years, and everyone comes. It’s something that Uncle Howie insists upon.” He made a small laugh. “I guess everybody does it because they don’t want to be cut out of the will.”

Carolyn was studying him with her beautiful green eyes. “And your father died while you were all here together?”

Douglas nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was tight. “It was an accident. They found him in the morning. When I came down the stairs I remember seeing my cousin Paula’s face…she was crying. And I just knew. Somehow I just knew that my father was dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was ten years ago. Do you know there’s another family reunion scheduled for next month?”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes.” She paused. “Your uncle mentioned it.”

“So tell me about you,” Douglas said suddenly. “Enough about me and this house. I want to know about you.”

A server had arrived asking if they wanted their waffles now. Carolyn was so full she begged off, but Douglas said he’d have one in a bit. “First,” he said, standing, holding out his hand to Carolyn, “I think you might like to see my favorite place in the house. And as we head up there, you can tell me all about who you are and where you come from.”

Carolyn smiled and followed him out of the dining room.

As they headed up the grand marble staircase, she explained there wasn’t much to tell about her life. She gave him a quick summary of college and the FBI and explained she was now running her own independent investigation agency. She left out everything about Mom and Andrea and, of course, David. But her words had been enough to pique Douglas’s curiosity nevertheless.

“Here I was thinking you were some actuary or accountant,” he said, “working with Uncle Howie on the family investments or whatever. But you’re a private eye?”

She laughed. “I guess you can call me that.”

“The FBI, huh? You actually worked for the FBI?”

“That I did.”

He had stopped walking. They stood on the top landing of the staircase. “So what kind of project does Uncle Howie need a private eye for?”

“I’ll let him explain all that,” Carolyn said. “It’s not my place.”

“Very strange,” Douglas said, eyeing her. Then he winked and crooked his finger, indicating that she should follow him down the hall.

“This is my favorite spot in the whole house,” he said.

At the far end of the corridor was a door. They stood outside the door, and Douglas grinned over at her. His eyes were wide like a little boy’s. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

He opened the door. Beyond was a small, steep staircase leading up.

“The attic,” he said. “But that’s not what is so special.”

He gripped her hand. Carolyn followed as they bounded up the steps. At the top, to the left, was a small door that led into the attic. But to the right was a bay window. There was a small seat in the window, where one could sit and look out over the cliffs and the ocean.

“Oh, my,” Carolyn said.

“Look,” Douglas said, his arm now around her shoulder. “You can see the whole estate. The barn. The tennis courts. The road going down to the village. And over there, you see, is the village itself. You can even see the highway through the trees.”

“Yes,” Carolyn said. “It’s a breathtaking view.”

“You see there, along the cliffs? You can see the start of the path that leads down to the village. It’s a shortcut, but rather steep and a little precarious. It cuts through the family cemetery. If you look closely you can make out the headstones.”

“Oh, yes,” Carolyn said, but looking at the cemetery made her uneasy. All those dead Youngs buried there…the ones who had died in this house. She preferred to glance out over the cliffs to the blue ocean beyond, the sun reflecting off its whitecaps.

“I would come up here as a boy and sit for hours, daydreaming that I was a king and this was my castle,” Douglas said.

She smiled over at him. “You had a lively imagination.”

He nodded. “I also came up here on the day my father died. They couldn’t get me to budge. I just stayed here that whole day.”

She reached down and squeezed his hand.

“Douglas,” she said, her heart breaking. “I think your uncle would like to talk with you.”

He nodded.

Heading back down the stairs, Carolyn thought about the little boy who had sat in that window, grieving for his father. She had been up quite late the night before, reading through the histories of all who had died in that basement room. Douglas’s father had been a good man. A public defender. An advocate for the disadvantaged. He had died by suffocation. His hands had been tied behind his back and a plastic bag secured over his head. What kind of vileness lived in that room? What monstrous force could so do such a thing, especially with his young son sleeping in the same house?

Douglas insisted he stop back in the dining room for his waffle before heading out to talk with his uncle. He was still hungry. He asked Carolyn if she’d join him, but she demurred. He told her he’d see her outside then, and reached down and gallantly kissed her hand. Women loved when he did that.

He watched Carolyn head out through the French doors. He liked her. He was surprised by how attracted he was to her. She wasn’t like the girls he usually found himself going after. Sure, she was pretty. But she didn’t have the va-voom quality that Brenda possessed, the obvious, raw sexuality his girlfriends usually displayed. In the past, the girls on his arm had been one step up from bimbos: shapely bodies, big hair, loud laughs, not a lot of education. Carolyn Cartwright was very different. Smart. Crafty. A private eye, for crying out loud! Sitting back down at the table and licking his lips at the crispy Belgian waffle that was placed in front of him, he figured he’d need to watch himself around Carolyn. There would be no hiding anything from her!

That’s why he liked her, he realized as he took his first bite. He was here, after all, to get his life on track. To get serious. A woman like Carolyn, then, held tremendous appeal. Beautiful-but serious, too.

Douglas peered out through the French doors to catch Carolyn looking back at him. He waved. She waved back.

Oh, Carolyn thought. He saw me looking.

She was being silly. Acting like a schoolgirl. And acting like a schoolgirl had gotten her in big trouble before. She had vowed never again to trust a man on first impression. Douglas Young might seem charming and sincere, innocent and fun. But so had David. She repeated that mantra as she headed out toward the cliffs. So had David.

She found Mr. Young sitting on a stone bench looking out over the ocean. She could hear the surf and even taste the salt on her tongue. The old man turned his yellow eyes up at her.

“I see you are making the acquaintance of my nephew,” he said.

Carolyn smiled and sat down beside him. “He’s very sweet.”