he would ever call any place home.
The only reason he’d come to Wisconsin had been to reconnect with Megan Anders, an old girlfriend, the daughter of a commissioned officer. He’d dated her off and on for a couple of years, and the last he’d heard, she’d settled in Milwaukee. Unfortunately, he’d had no clue she’d gotten married since he’d last seen her. Still, he liked the area, and having nowhere else to go, had stuck around, taking a job with Lake Shore Security, the company that had placed him in his current undercover job.
Getting to know the other employees on the estate was essential. It was day two and he’d barely met any of the help, so Rick decided to go inside the mansion and get cozy with them. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of the three full-time staff alone. Maybe he could get something out of one of them that would put him on the right track. The only person on the property who knew his real mission was the housekeeper, Cora, who’d been with the Phillips family for decades. He assumed that she was loyal and would keep his identity to herself, or the owner wouldn’t have told her who he was.
He entered through the huge kitchen, which still had an old-fashioned feel despite the new appliances. The large cabinets looked original to him, though they’d been painted white and sported new hardware. Gray-threaded white marble counters gave the cook several large preparation surfaces. Right now, however, she was busy at the stove, stirring something in a big pan. The smell made his mouth water.
He sized up the woman. Probably in her early forties, Kelly Bennett wore a white chef’s coat over gray trousers and had tied her red hair back from her face.
“Smells great,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Oh, Rick, good morning. I’m making carnitas, a southwestern pulled pork. You can try it later, at dinner.”
“I’ll be looking forward to that.”
Actually, he was looking forward to any meals he could catch here. He wasn’t a very good cook himself. And eating in a mess hall had never been much of a treat. So he was grateful for Phillips’s invitation to catch lunch and dinner with the other full-time employees on weekdays. On Saturday and Sunday, the cook only made brunch and only when there were guests.
“It’s pretty quiet here at this end of town,” he said. “Not much action.”
“Well, no, not now. There will be shortly. We have two guests arriving tomorrow. More on the weekend. We won’t be full seven days a week until mid-June, when school lets out. After that, all eight guest rooms are booked solid for most of the summer.”
Rick waited a beat, then said, “I thought I heard something last night.” If someone had been out in the garden as the fresh footprints indicated, the person must have made some kind of noise. Unfortunately, Rick hadn’t heard anything because he’d been too far away, sound asleep in the coach house.
“Heard something?” Kelly repeated. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. But it woke me.” A small fabrication.
“Maybe you had a bad dream.”
“I would have remembered. Well, usually I do.” He waited another beat. “So you didn’t hear anything?”
Phillips had told him that the cook, housekeeper and concierge all lived in the mansion.
“No. And I’m a light sleeper.” She went back to stirring her carnitas. “Nothing last night.”
“Another night, then?”
Keeping her back to him, she shrugged. “Old houses have strange noises sometimes. Is there something else you need?”
Rick wanted to ask her more, but he got the idea she wasn’t about to elaborate. At least not yet.
“Actually, I came in to see Cora.”
“She said she wanted to do some reorganizing in the library.”
“Thanks. See you when it’s chow time.”
He left the kitchen via a hallway that took him to the rotunda. The large, round multistory room in the middle of the building separated the two wings. An original mural of the heavens covered the domed ceiling and extended to the upper walls, where a balcony ran full circle, allowing guests to admire artwork on the walls or look down to view the activity on the first floor. The lower walls were enhanced with a rich wood wainscoting, and a carpeted stairway with hand-carved railings led to the second floor.
The rotunda did double duty as the check-in area for guests and as the concierge office. Behind the antique mahogany desk hung a large portrait of a thin, wiry man with wild red hair that stuck straight up. The man stood next to an elaborate seven-branched silver candelabra complete with glowing flames.
Red Flanagan himself, Rick assumed. Odd that Phillips would showcase a portrait of a mobster. Then again, that a mobster once owned the estate might be part of its appeal to visitors and the reason they called it Flanagan Manor rather than Phillips Manor.
At the moment, the cavernous room was empty, so he sailed right through. Phillips had given him a set of plans of the mansion, so Rick knew that the kitchen, dining room, drawing room and music room sat below two floors of guest rooms with baths, and the library, main entrance and conservatory sat below the owner’s private quarters. The Phillips family had a drawing room and huge master suite on the second floor and four more bedrooms with individual baths on the third.
Entering the library, he saw Cora Stanton on a rolling ladder, straightening some books on a high shelf. Sections of every wall were lined with shelving from floor to ceiling, all filled with books. He cleared his throat to get her attention. She glanced back and saw him.
“Ah, Rick, there you are. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same wavelength.” When she arched her eyebrows in question, he said, “That’s why I’m here.”
She immediately descended the ladder.
As Flanagan Manor’s housekeeper, Cora was, in effect, in charge of the estate. All employees answered to her. An attractive older woman of around seventy, she wore dark trousers and a lace-trimmed white blouse. Her silver hair was cut in a short, modern style, and designer glasses hung from the chain around her neck.
“Benjamin told me why he hired you, of course, and I must say I’m relieved. I admit that I’ve been a bit spooked by some of the things happening in or around the house lately, and I hope you’ll get to the bottom of whatever is going on. I’m at my wit’s end worrying.”
“Phillips gave me the short explanation, but I need to know more from someone who is actually living on the property full-time.”
“Let’s sit, shall we?”
She indicated the upholstered sofa and leather chairs before the massive ceramic-faced fireplace with an equally massive wood surround and mantel, where a small fire had taken the chill of the spring morning from the room.
They took the two chairs, so they were facing each other.
Concern furrowed Cora’s brow. “I’ve run this estate for more than thirty years, and I’ve never had to worry until recently. I don’t feel safe anymore, what with the noises and sightings and attempted break-ins.” She
