Flo Fitzpatrick - Legacy of Silence

She can’t imagine a life without music…

Even as a little girl, Miranda Nolan loved to sing and dance, especially for her reclusive neighbor, a woman who was more like a second mother. She never expected to inherit her mentor’s estate and to have to put her career as a performer on hold. Even more confusing, she’s found herself settling affairs with co-claimant Russ Gerik, an interpreter who lost his hearing in a tragic bombing and struggles to find his way in a now-silent world. Unimaginable.

As the two work together to catalog the possessions of—and understand—a woman shrouded in mystery, they forge a powerful connection. But how long can their bond last when it’s not built on trust?

“I represent another claimant.”

“Another claimant?” Miranda asked. “I thought everything was settled.”

The lawyer shook his head. “I drew up a will for Ms. Radinski right after her former lawyers drafted the old one. You were not named in the new will apart from a few odds and ends, like the piano. I have an injunction to remove you from the house.”

Miranda sank into the closest chair. “Okay… What’s the next step?”

“The locks will be changed after you leave today,” Brett said. “You and my client will do the inventory together.”

Miranda bit her lip. For a split second she contemplated flying back to Manhattan, but then she stiffened her spine. She was going to fight this.

“I didn’t think Miss Virginia had any relatives. Who’s this other claimant?”

Brett gestured behind her and Miranda turned. Russ Gerik had walked into the living room. He smiled at Miranda.

Dear Reader,

For years, I’d been fascinated by an old house on my brother’s street that was owned by an elderly lady who was considered the hermit of the neighborhood. She kept two ancient cars in the driveway no one ever saw her drive—perhaps because fifteen felines were always draped over the hood or the roof! I took that house as a starting point and created the fictitious Miss Virginia.

I’d also wanted to create a character who was physically challenged. A good friend of mine has Stargardt’s disease, which brutally affects vision. Despite being legally blind (and unable to drive in a city not known for mass transit!) she started—and still directs—the Waco Children’s Theatre.

When I realized that many people who suffer disabilities or loss of limb because of the war in Afghanistan are thought to be “less than” or just weird, I decided to have my hero lose his hearing. Russ Gerik popped into my brain and whispered, “Use me! Love me!”

Russ became one of my favorite characters, and I hope readers will feel the same about him.

Flo

Legacy of Silence

Flo Fitzpatrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

FLO FITZPATRICK

was born in Washington, D.C., and spent her formative years moving across countries and oceans as an army brat. She has little memory of living in a château in France but firmly believes the Gothic setting sparked her love of romance and mystery (and mousse au chocolat!). A performer, teacher and choreographer, Flo holds degrees in dance and theater. She’s spent much of her adult life shuttling from Texas to New York and loves both states for their ability to spawn diverse and often extremely wacky characters.

Flo’s second novel, Hot Stuff, was nominated by RT Book Reviews as Best Romantic Suspense and, along with the paranormal novel Haunting Melody, has been optioned for film.

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For Linda Haskett, the brilliant and talented creator of the Waco Children’s Theatre, who has always embodied the spirit of a child with the wisdom of a prophet—and the loving heart of a loyal friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“I’VE INHERITED A haunted house,” Miranda said. She surveyed the front of the Victorian home with a myriad of emotions that swung from sadness to guilt to elation.

Miranda was sitting in front of the house that was now hers—or it would be once she’d jumped through all the legal hoops. The last occupant, whom everyone referred to as “Miss Virginia,” had lived alone for the past seventy years—unless one counted the cats that had decorated the porch, fence, roof and the inside of her fire-engine-red Cadillac convertible. Word around the neighborhood was the car hadn’t been driven since it was delivered by the dealership in 1959. Miranda’s father, Tim, once told her he’d never seen it leave the driveway and no one had ever glimpsed Virginia behind the wheel. Possibly because there were always at least two cats draped around the steering wheel and ten more sunning themselves on the front hood regardless of the season.

Miranda stepped out of the SUV her dad had loaned her and glanced at her watch. She had about forty minutes before the guys from Rocky Ridge Furniture were scheduled to deliver a new bed frame and mattresses to the house where she’d be staying for at least a month—possibly a bit longer. Her first order of business would be hiring a yard service to deal with the unkempt trees and lawn. Miss Virginia had spent her final weeks in a hospital, then at home with a hospice team, and Miranda doubted that pruning or mowing had been anyone’s priority. The famous Caddy was still in the driveway, though absent of the felines. Miranda stared at the car for a few moments, blinking back tears and wondering if Virginia had even had a driver’s license.

The house itself appeared to be in great shape. Even the roof looked new, and although the shutters needed a good paint job, the windows were storm-worthy.

Dave Brennan, Virginia’s lawyer, had dropped off a key for Miranda that morning. It was time to use it. If bats with fangs flew out of the house, she’d simply pitch a tent on the front lawn until she could figure out her next move.

The key turned easily and nothing attacked her as she opened the door so she ventured in a bit farther and did a little tap dance in her sneakers on the hardwood. There was no lingering odor of big or small cats, and the switch in the front hall produced real light when she clicked it on. Not only that but those floors were in pristine condition—possibly because nothing had been moved for years.

After taking a look at the massive amount of furniture, piles of books, records and boxes, Miranda nearly turned around and headed back to the airport. Virginia must have moved all of her possessions down from the attic because Miranda had never seen even half of what was now crowding the room. One item, however, had not been moved. Miranda was thrilled to discover the old upright piano pushed against the north wall. She spent a few minutes shifting some of the lighter boxes so she could find out if the instrument was as neglected as the front yard.