Rebecca York - Phantom Lover

What must it be like to live with these people? Bree wondered. Nola was cold, brittle and hostile. Abner was belligerent and probably stupid, although she knew it would be dangerous to underestimate him.

As the girl started up the stairs, Bree picked up her bag and followed, her heels clicking smartly on the marble.

Glancing back at the Sterlings, she said, “Well, good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I assume you don’t have breakfast too early for Dinah.”

She caught up with the child at the top of the steps and they started down a wide, dimly lit hall. For the first fifty feet the paint and carpet looked new and expensive. After turning a corner, they were suddenly walking on worn boards, between gray, dingy walls.

Several paces along the uncarpeted hallway, they turned another corner. Behind her, Bree heard a floor-board creak, and the skin on the back of her neck tingled.

Was Abner Sterling behind her ready to attack? Stopping, she whirled, only to confront a tall, gaunt man who glared at her. His face was lined with vertical wrinkles, but he stood with shoulders squared. His clothing was scruffy—a dark wool jacket, a dirty shirt, blotched pants.

Feeling a sudden pressure against her side, Bree looked down to see that Dinah had also turned and was squeezed very close to her, her free arm still clutching the stuffed kitten. Obviously she, too, was alarmed by the newcomer.

The man ignored the child, his deadly gaze fixed on Bree.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low and raspy.

The questions were starting to get tiresome, she thought. “Dinah’s new teacher,” she answered. “Who are you?”

“Foster Graves.” He kept his gaze steady, his stance rigid.

“You work here?”

“I take care of some things, yeah” was his cryptic reply.

Beside her, Dinah stirred.

Bree bent to the child. “Are you all right?” she questioned.

“I don’t want to stay here,” the little girl whispered.

“We won’t.”

The child made a small sound, her eyes going wide. Bree turned again, following her gaze, and discovered that Graves had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

She took several steps down the hall, trying to figure out how he’d managed such a quick escape. Like the man outside in the driveway!

Only now they were inside. Which probably meant he’d stepped into one of the secret passages built into the house—passages that the London children had discovered when they were kids.

She was just reaching for a curtain covering the wall, when Dinah’s fingers closed around the fabric of her slacks. “Don’t go look for him,” she begged. “He’s scary. Come see your room.”

Although Bree wanted to find out exactly how the man had disappeared so quickly, the child was more important.

“Okay,” she agreed, and heard Dinah’s small sigh of relief.

The girl led her down another hallway that turned off to the right. Bree was thinking that perhaps she should have left a trail of bread crumbs so she could find her way back downstairs when Dinah stopped in front of a closed door. “This was Miss Carpenter’s room. I guess you’re supposed to sleep here.”

“That sounds right.”

Bree turned the knob and pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked on worn hinges. Fumbling along the wall for the light switch, she found it and flipped the toggle, turning on an elaborate, old-fashioned metal-and-glass ceiling fixture.

The rest of the room looked as though it had been redecorated with a combination of new fabrics, gleaming white woodwork and beautifully restored antiques. Under a flowered Oriental rug, the wood floor was newly refinished. And the small green-and-white checks on the bedspread matched the gracefully flowing draperies. The dresser and high chest were polished oak.

“It’s nice,” she murmured, then crossed the room and laid her suitcase on the double bed.

Dinah gave her a small smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Did Miss Carpenter like it?” Bree asked.

The girl considered the question. “She did at first, then she said it was spooky.”

“Oh.”

“I think that’s why she left. It didn’t have anything to do with me,” she added quickly.

“I didn’t think so,” Bree agreed, even as she digested the new information. Had Miss Carpenter made the decision to leave because she was afraid to stay at Ravencrest? Or had the Sterlings sent her packing?

In this unfamiliar environment, inconvenient questions were piling up like unpaid bills, and it was impossible not to feel overwhelmed. Bree was in over her head and she’d been here less than an hour.

Suddenly unsteady on her feet, she reached to brace her hand against the bedpost, her fingers closing around the carved wood. She’d set her alarm for four in the morning to get through airport security and catch her flight. Now she was jet-lagged, stressed and worn out.

Although she desperately wanted to make friends with Dinah, she was afraid that if she tried to do it in her present condition, she was going to make some crucial mistake that would set the wrong tone for their whole relationship.

Keeping her voice even, she turned toward the girl. “I’ve had a really long day and I don’t think I’m going to be very good company tonight. Would you mind very much if I just go to bed, and we start off fresh in the morning?”

Dinah looked down, dragging her foot in a small half circle over the rug.

Bree felt her heart squeeze as she watched. “I’m probably disappointing you,” she said. “I’ve just gotten here, and you want to get to know me.”

Dinah hesitated for several seconds, then gave a small nod.

“Well, I’m really eager to get to know you and Alice, too. But I’d probably fall asleep as soon as I sat down in a chair.”

“I understand,” the child answered, sounding much older than her years, and Bree had the feeling she’d learned some strategic coping skills in the past few months.

“We can see each other at breakfast. I’m looking forward to that,” Bree added, using her last store of energy to sound enthusiastic. Then another thought struck her. “That Mr. Graves—you’re not afraid he’s going to be in the hall, are you? Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

“No. He never stays up here long.”

“That’s good.”

Dinah hesitated for a moment. “You don’t have to worry about me, because my daddy takes care of me.”

Bree held back any reaction. “So your daddy’s okay? Can I talk to him?”

“Only if he wants you to.” Perhaps to forestall more questions, the child darted from the room, and Bree was left staring at the closed door.

What did Dinah’s assurance mean? Maybe Troy wasn’t a captive, after all. Maybe he was in hiding, watching out for Dinah. Or had the little girl made it all up?

Her hand closed around the door frame to keep herself from running after the girl. She wanted answers, but at the same time, this child tugged at her heartstrings. It was a little girl a lot like Dinah who had started Bonnie Brennan on the road to her new life. She’d been a timid, guarded person when she’d been teaching in Baltimore. Now she realized that teaching had been a safe place for her—where she could deal with children instead of adults. But one afternoon just as class was letting out, a man named Harvey Milner had stormed into the room and demanded that she turn his child, Cathy, over to him. Only Bonnie knew from conversations with his ex-wife that the father didn’t even have visitation rights and that he’d threatened to take the girl and flee the state.

Milner’s aggressive tactics had scared her, but she’d taken Cathy in her arms and marched down the hall to the principal’s office, the angry father trailing behind her, shouting threats.