As if enjoying the unexpected company, Ellen happily gave her attention to a silver teapot and china cups that were already sitting on a nearby small table.
“I was enjoying a cup of peppermint tea myself,” she bubbled. “Cream? Sugar? Lemon?”
Ashley just nodded as if making a choice was too demanding. Brad took the cup of tea from Ellen and carefully placed it in Ashley’s trembling hands.
“I expect you would probably prefer a highball, Officer Taylor,” Jonathan spoke up as if he’d already anticipated Brad’s answer.
“I never drink on the job,” Brad answered evenly. He’d learned earlier in life that it was better not to socialize with any of the island’s wealthy inhabitants.
Even as a teenager growing up on Greystone, he’d viewed the Langdons’ social whirl from afar. Since he’d been back, his contact with the parade of wealthy visitors who rented cottages at the southwest tip of the island had been purely in the line of duty. Only the disappearance of a woman in the Langdon household had gained him entry into this pseudopolite rich society.
After taking a few sips of tea, Ashley said firmly, “Now, I would appreciate hearing from all of you anything you can tell me about my sister’s disappearance.”
“I’m sure Officer Taylor has filled you in,” Jonathan responded smoothly. “We know little more than what we told him.”
“And what was that?” she asked pointedly.
Jonathan looked at Brad as if he expected him to speak up, but Brad deliberately kept silent. Sometimes people tripped themselves up when they tried to repeat the same story in the same way.
Jonathan cleared his voice. “We have arrangements with one of the local housewives to bring fresh produce and seafood to the house every day. She found a woman’s belongings on a cliff not far from here. She brought them to the house, and our housemaid, Clara, recognized them as belonging to your sister. The circumstances seemed dire and we quickly reported her absence.”
“It’s just too awful,” Ellen sighed.
In the weighted silence, Clayton Langdon cleared his throat. Then he barked, “Prepare a room for Miss Ashley. She will be our guest.”
Mrs. Mertz shot Jonathan a questioning look. At his nod, she turned on her ugly shoes and left the room like a soldier with marching orders.
Brad made a mental note to interrogate Mrs. Mertz again. In her position, the housekeeper was bound to know a hell of a lot more about what went on in the house than she had admitted.
“I’ll bring in your suitcase and check back with you in the morning,” he told Ashley as he prepared to leave.
She cleared her voice and took a deep breath. “You need to ask for help,” she said bluntly as her trembling hands held the fragile tea cup. “Surely the Portland police should take some responsibility. They could send someone.”
“Like a rookie cop?” he suggested curtly. It rankled him that she had clearly classified him as a local yokel who couldn’t find his own dog tied to a post. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
THE BEDROOM the housekeeper had prepared for Ashley was on the ocean side of the house. The sound of the surf assaulting the rocky cliffs could be heard above wailing gusts of wind. By the time Ashley had followed Mrs. Mertz through a complex of halls and curved staircases leading to the second floor, she was totally disoriented. The rambling mansion seemed to be a weird maze of rooms and additions to the main structure throughout the years. The housekeeper stopped at the far end of a long hall and opened a bedroom door.
“We’ve already closed up this side of the house for the winter,” Mrs. Mertz informed Ashley without any hint of an apology for the cold and musty smell inside the room.
A large bed with a massive wooden frame stood against one wall, and an old-fashioned chiffonnier matched a free-standing wardrobe and vanity. Even though the furniture was rather massive, there was an air of youth about the faded decor on the walls and the feminine furnishings.
In addition to the overhead light, there was a bedside lamp. Ashley’s small suitcase sat in the middle of a faded, fringed rug; she assumed that a servant must have brought it up earlier.
“Would you like me to turn down the bed?” Mrs. Mertz asked with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
Yes, please, and bring a hot water bottle to warm the covers, Ashley retorted silently. She wished she had the courage to play the spoiled socialite guest and order a housekeeper around.
“I put out an extra comforter and turned on the heater in the bathroom. Is there anything else?”
“Where does that door lead?” Ashley asked, pointing to a door flanked by two tall windows on the ocean side of the room.
“The widow’s walk. It’s a long narrow balcony that runs the length of the original section of the house. Amelia Langdon, the first mistress of the house, is reported to have paced it night and day, hoping for some sign of her husband’s clipper ship coming back from trade in the Indies. This was the master bedroom then.”
“I see.”
The housekeeper’s thin lips curved in a faint smile. “Amelia’s lonely watch never brought him back that last time. His ship was wrecked at sea. Some say she’s still waiting and watching. Sometimes on moonless, stormy nights, the poor lady’s ghostly form has been seen walking right outside that door.”
“Really? How exciting. All these old mansions have their own delightful ghost stories, don’t they?” Not for all the world would Ashley let the housekeeper spook her. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Mertz. I appreciate it.”
“Good night, then,” she replied in a tone as crisp as burnt toast.
Ashley closed the door after her and then leaned against it, struggling to control her emotions. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. Never had she felt so close to being totally out of control. Slightly panicked, she drew in long, shaky breaths to steady herself. It wouldn’t do herself or her sister any good if she fell apart.
She bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and went into the small adjoining bathroom. It had obviously been renovated; the fixtures were modern, and the tile was an expensive mosaic pattern.
She stripped off her damp clothes, turned on the shower and held her breath until the spray changed from cold to a satisfying warm temperature. Grateful for scented soap and shampoo, she showered and washed her hair. As she dried herself, she caught her reflection in a gold-framed mirror above an oval-shaped sink. Worry and fear were etched in her face. Yesterday she’d been immersed in the challenges of her business. Now the success of Hollywood Boutique seemed hollow.
Lorrie. Her sister’s name caught in her throat. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes. I’m here, Lorrie. I’m here.
THE STORM passed over during the night. Ashley thought she must have slept a bit, even though she had twisted and turned restlessly. She was aware that sometime in the night, the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Darkness outside the door and windows began to lighten to a dull gray. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in designer jeans, a cotton blouse and a jacket.
Despite
