crept back to the staircase and put a tentative foot on the first step. It squeaked. With her hand skimming the carved wood banister, she jogged up the remaining steps to the second-floor landing. One more floor to go.
When she hit the top step of the third floor, she dug into her purse and withdrew the necklace Mom had always worn—up to and including the day she killed herself.
Clutching the necklace in one clammy hand, Kylie set the flashlight on the scarred wood floor, pointing the beam of light at the ceiling. Her purse slid from her shoulder, and she let it drop to the floor next to the flashlight.
She took two steps forward and tripped to a stop. She’d been plotting and planning this moment for so long, her reluctance surprised her. Not that she ever believed it would be easy. That’s why it had taken so long for her to get around to it.
Gripping the balustrade, she shuffled toward The Spot. How long had it taken Mom to climb those stairs? Had she done it with fear? Confidence? Desperation?
Time to find out.
Kylie faced the house. Creating two white-knuckled fists, her hands curled around the railing, crushing the chain of the necklace against her palm. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the musty, sea-dampened air that permeated the house.
Breathing deeply, she rolled back her shoulders and loosened her grip. She had to let down the guard she’d perfected over the years. Topple the barriers her mother had taught her to erect, barriers Mom wasn’t strong enough to maintain herself.
Kylie allowed the sensations that had been hovering on the brink of her consciousness all day to take over. She took another deep breath through her nose and sidled to the left a few steps—right to the place where Mom had slipped the noose over her head and jumped.
She gulped around the lump in her throat. “Why, Mom?”
A gush of cool air swirled past her, and she hunched her shoulders. With her senses on high alert and her mind an open portal, all manner of otherworldly phenomena had access to her very being. But she wanted to focus on just one tragedy of the past. She let the others roll across her mind and body, filtering with every ounce of her will, squeezing the necklace in her hand so hard, the imprint of the chain burned into her skin.
A jolt of terror stabbed her chest, and her body bucked. Fear so strong she could sense the metallic aftertaste in her mouth swept through her limbs, weakening her knees. She sagged against the railing.
“Were you afraid before you did it, Mom?”
A cold presence pressed against Kylie’s back, forcing her against the railing. She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t turn around…couldn’t breathe.
She sifted through the images and messages cascading through her brain. She scrambled to locate her mom’s spirit. This thing behind her, this malevolent force had nothing to do with Mom’s tragedy. Did it?
The wood railing digging into her ribs creaked. The noise pierced the fog of her self-induced trance. She shook her head, choking and gasping for breath as if she’d just hauled herself out of deep water. She pushed toward the surface of her consciousness, infusing her limp body with strength.
As she gained control of her muscles, she twisted around to confront the force behind her. As she turned, the balustrade cracked beneath her weight.
She teetered on the edge of the landing, her arms flailing at her sides like a pair of useless wings. As she pitched forward, she made a last desperate grab for the railing. Her palm slapped against one of the decorative slats of wood that comprised the balustrade and she clutched it, her fingers wrapping around the wood.
Her body fell and then yanked to a stop. She dangled over the tiled hallway, her body swaying slightly as her arm twisted. She tilted her head back to stare up at the empty landing.
What did she expect to see, a grinning ghost? A flesh-and-blood person? Something or someone had forced her against that railing so hard it broke. She would’ve cracked her skull on the tile floor if she hadn’t come out of her trance and made a last grab for the slab of wood she now clutched like a lifeline.
Glancing down, she bicycled her legs, trying to judge the distance to the floor or at least the next landing. Could she swing in and make it to the second floor?
She licked her lips. She might get her feet to the next landing, but then what? If she let go and tried to jump, she’d hurtle to the tile.
With her sweaty palms, she tightened her grip on the slab of wood. She swung her legs toward the second-floor landing to test the distance. The toes of her sandals skimmed the balustrade. Maybe…she gasped. During the Tarzan stunt, her piece of railing shifted. If that came loose, she’d be toast.
She gulped back a sob. If she’d stashed her cell phone in the front pocket of her jeans, she could make a call to the Coral Cove P.D., but she’d tucked her phone in the side compartment of her purse.
Was this why Mom had called her to Columbella House, to meet the same fate? Not quite the same. Mom had engineered her own drop from the landing.
Or had she?
The presence behind Kylie had been evil. If she’d channeled Mom’s spirit, maybe that same presence had been with her mother up there, too.
Her shoulder ached and her fingers were cramping. How much longer could she hold on?
Her gaze shifted down again and she caught her breath. A glow of light had appeared on the second-floor landing. Maybe she’d been in such a deep trance, she only thought the presence behind her had come from the spirit world. Maybe a human had stood behind her—a human who had come back to protect the secrets of Columbella.
Her heart pounded and her hand slipped a little more. Then she saw it—a grotesquely huge shadow on the second-floor landing, its arms reaching out for her dangling legs.
Chapter Two
The scream ripped through the house and tore into Matt’s chest, just like the scream from that drug bust in the club.
Focus, Conner. You’re hundreds of miles away from that club and someone else needs you right now.
He turned his flashlight to the denim-clad legs pumping for purchase against thin air.
“It’s okay. I’m going to help you. Stop struggling.”
A woman sobbed. “Oh, my God. Please, hurry. I’m slipping.”
He pressed against the balustrade, leaned over and cranked his head to the side. The woman was holding on to a piece of broken railing from the third-floor landing, her body suspended over nothing but a long drop to the hard tile floor.
Judging by the scream, she didn’t have time for him to search for a phone or a ladder. He had to act now. He was good at that—acting first, thinking later.
“Can you swing your legs toward me?”
“Y-yes, but what are you going to do, grab my feet? That’s not going to help. You’ll probably be left holding a pair of sandals.”
Was she trying to tell him how to execute the rescue? Matt straightened
