Dawn Brown - The Devil's Eye

If this headache didn’t knock him on his ass first.

The pills he’d swallowed in the car had taken the edge off, but not much more. He reached into his pocket, curling his fingers around the plastic vial. If he popped another, he’d be down for the night and driving would be out of the question. Lord save him if he missed this meeting.

Bloody Dylis Paskin and her grand ideas, but she’d jump at any excuse to get him out of her place. He’d like to believe his connection to Stonecliff was what made the woman so uncomfortable around him, but he knew better. Like so many others, she sensed something off, something not quite right, and while he’d never given her cause to refuse him at her establishment, she looked for any reason to keep his visits short. Ironically, were it up to him, he’d never darken her door.

He sighed, snatched up Brynn’s cases and continued on to the kitchen.

He’d had everything timed perfectly—until Brynn walked in. He hadn’t even known Arthur James had another daughter. Or had he? Hadn’t he heard something about Eleri and a sister? Of course, the story ended with Eleri having killed the infant. But that’s how all the stories about Eleri ended—in death and murder. With so many, how could he keep track of them all? Or know which to believe?

Obviously, Brynn hadn’t been murdered. She was very much alive and looked well enough to him. He certainly wouldn’t have pegged her for Eleri’s sister. Unlike Eleri’s small, hard features, Brynn’s were softer, prettier. Warm brown eyes and pale red hair falling damp and windblown to her shoulders gave her an earthy sexiness he would’ve had to be dead not to notice.

Did Brynn have any idea of the mess she’d stumbled into? For all he knew, she and her sister were two of a kind. He considered her artless questions, open expression, and somehow didn’t believe it.

Why? Because he liked her face? He of all people should know better. Human beings rarely looked like who they really were. He, for instance, played normal so well no one would guess at the freak he really was.

“You must be mistaken, Iola. Perhaps you heard her name wrong.” Hugh Warlow’s condescending voice drifted from the kitchen. Reece slowed his pace and pressed against the wall. The musty stink from the ancient wallpaper wafted to his nose while he inched nearer to the opening so he could better hear the hushed conversation without being seen.

“He introduced her as Ms. James. ” The housekeeper’s whisper gave way to a shrill squeak. “Who else could she be?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Warlow murmured. “Why would Eleri bring her here now? Why would she come?”

“A father at death’s door? I think we can guess, can’t we? Like mother like daughter. She’s come for whatever she can get her hands on, mark my words. The apple wouldn’t have fallen far from the tree with that one.”

Warlow chuckled softly, the sound cool as a November wind. “Then she’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. And that still doesn’t explain why Eleri would seek her out now.”

“Mr. James is ill. If Eleri isn’t aware there are no provisions for Meris’s girl in his will…” Shrewd implication crept into Mrs. Voyle’s voice. “Perhaps, she plans to finish what she started.”

Unease unfurled inside Reece. What had Eleri started that she might finish now? Based on the stories he’d heard, the possibilities weren’t good.

“She’s gone through a lot of trouble to bring that girl here, I doubt Eleri would do so without knowing who gets what when her father passes. She’s too clever.”

“Crafty, more like it.”

Silence fell between them. Reece tensed, ears straining.

“Do you suppose this has anything to do with Langley?” Mrs. Voyle asked, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

Now that was interesting. In the weeks he’d been working here, Reece had yet to hear anyone at Stonecliff mention the man found murdered on the property less than six weeks ago. Conversely, in the village they spoke of nothing else.

“Don’t let gossip cloud your better judgment,” Warlow said. Given the animosity between Eleri and the butler, Reece was surprised the man would defend her. “But we do need to know just what that girl is up to.”

“Which one?”

“Both, I imagine.”

Footsteps scraped across the tile floor, moving in his direction. He tensed. It was only a matter of time before one of them caught him eavesdropping.

He pushed away from the wall and rounded through the door, bringing Mrs. Voyle to a halt in front of him. The woman’s beady eyes narrowed, as if guessing he’d been listening.

“What’re you about, then?” she snapped.

Reece opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get the words out. “How is it that girl came in with you?”

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Bad enough he had to put up with Eleri constantly looking for an excuse to sack him, but to have to offer up explanations to this tight-faced harridan was almost more than he could stand. “I ran into her at the pub. She was lost, I showed her the way.”

“At the pub again, were you?” Mrs. Voyle said, with a derisive sniff. “No surprise there. Well, if you’re after your dinner, you’ll just have to wait. I serve at six sharp. Not before, not after.”

The thick, meaty scent of whatever vile concoction the woman was cooking filled the kitchen. The pounding in his head increased, and his stomach swirled. He’d pass.

“Eleri wants her sister’s things taken to the guestroom. She said you could direct me.”

The shrill whistle from the kettle cut through the quiet, and his skull contracted. Lips pursed as if sucking lemons, Mrs. Voyle shut off the gas burner, lifted the kettle and the whistle ceased.

“So, I’m to fetch tea and tell you how to be about your own duties, am I?” Before Mrs. Voyle could rant further, Warlow lifted his hand, and the housekeeper’s mouth snapped shut.

With his dark suit and short snow-white hair, Warlow looked fastidious and stately, every part the English butler. Despite the color of his hair, only a few lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled, making his age difficult to guess.

“The front room in the northeast corner,” he said.

Facing the sea? Brynn should love that. He nodded and started to turn away.

“Mr. Conway,” Warlow said. Reece stopped and faced him. “Would you join me?”

As if he had a choice. Not in what Warlow asked of him, or Eleri James, or in working within the walls of this stone asylum. Choice had vanished years ago.

“I really should get these to Br—Ms. James’s room.”

“You can spare a moment.” Warlow’s smile stretched a little wider, blue gaze chilling ever so slightly. He waved Reece to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”

The man wanted something. Normally, he barely spoke to him—unless to contradict Eleri.

Reece dropped into the chair Warlow had indicated and struggled against the urge to check his watch. He had to get back to the pub.

The butler hesitated before speaking, his gaze following Mrs. Voyle as she placed a teapot onto the trolley’s tray next to a plate of biscuits. Once loaded, she pushed the cart out of the kitchen. The dishes clanked together and one of the wheels squeaked intermittently.

Warlow lifted his teacup and asked, “Would you care for some?”

Just get to the point, already. Reece shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll just take up these cases then be off.”

Warlow leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “Meris’s girl arrived with you. Did Eleri ask you to meet her?”

Reece shook his head. “I wouldn’t have bothered with her at all, but Dylis Paskin offered me up when Brynn couldn’t follow the directions Eleri sent her.”