uncared for, resembling something more fitting for a horrible B slasher movie than a wealthy Southern family at Christmas time. No festive decorations spruced up the place. No sign of celebration at all. A stark contrast to her parents’ home with twinkling lights, a glittering tree visible through the front bay window, and a nativity scene on the front lawn.
A shiver of disquiet skated across her flesh. Maybe she really had made a mistake in coming here. This felt all wrong—nothing at all as she’d imagined when she thought of coming here. Maybe she should have left well enough alone.
No. She squared her shoulders, determined not to back down now.
Don parked at the foot of a set of crooked stairs leading to the front entrance. “This isn’t exactly the prosperous Southern estate I expected.”
More misgivings stirred. “I don’t get it. Someone tried to kill me for this?”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“True.”
“Not too late to turn back.”
Keeping her gaze on the house, she shook her head. Now was not the time to lose her courage.
“Okay, then.” He shrugged into his water-resistant coat. “You ready?”
Not really. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Nervous tingles made her feel a bit queasy. Pushing her anxiety aside, she quickly buttoned her jacket to protect her blouse from the steady stream of rain.
Forcing herself to appear more confident than she felt, she nodded. “Yes. I need to do this.”
They exited the car and hustled up the stairs to the porch under the overhang. Humidity hung in the air, making her rethink the buttoning of her coat. Empty wooden rockers creaked in the blowing wind. The faint noise of dogs barking unchecked somewhere in the distance accentuated how different this country setting was from her life in Boston, where animal control would be called for such a racket.
She shook out her loose hair. Water dripped down the collar of her coat, the sensation causing a chill despite the mild temperature. She must have shuddered because Don stepped closer, his protection as enveloping and unspoken as the warmth radiating off him.
The wide, wooden front door swung open with a creak that gave her the same creepy feeling as if she were watching a horror movie and the unsuspecting hero and heroine were about to find themselves in peril. What utter nonsense! She gave herself a mental shake.
A tall, lean man stood on the threshold. He wore a sorely outdated dark suit and a white dress shirt that needed some bleach. His gray eyes studied Caroline as if she were a piece of artwork and he sought the flaw.
She smiled, though she felt more like squirming. “Hello. I’m Caroline Tully. You should be expecting me.”
Solemnly, the man nodded and stepped back. “Come in. I’m Horace,” the man said in a nasal drawl. His gaze flicked to the sky. “Nasty weather we’re having. The weatherman says the rain will continue on ’til New Year’s.”
Not sure what to do with that tidbit of information, Caroline stepped inside. Don kept his hand at her back, the pressure soothing.
“I’ll tell Mr. Maddox you’ve arrived,” Horace said with a deferential nod before quietly disappearing down the hall.
“Interesting place,” Don muttered.
Caroline nodded in agreement. “Most of the furniture looks like it’s been here since the house was built.”
Despite the graceful and refined lines of the Federal style furnishings, the pieces did little to impress or offer welcome. The rose-colored damask material covering the horseshoe-shaped seats on two fiddleback chairs had faded to a lackluster hue. Everything looked worn and threadbare, including a thick and tattered leather-bound Bible that sat on an oil varnished table. The gold lettering on the cover was nearly worn away.
A hutch loaded with dusty books sat against the wall beside an arched doorway. She noticed there were no signs of Christmas here, either, regardless of the presence of a Bible.
Not even a hint of the commercialism of the season, no mistletoe in the arched doorways, no tree, snowmen or Santas, even.
No nativity set commemorating the true meaning of the holiday.
The strange sensation of being watched raised the fine hairs at the nape of Caroline’s neck. She tensed and searched for the source.
Scarred hardwood floors stretched across the entryway and fed into a wide staircase with an ornately carved banister leading to the second story where two teens, a boy and a girl, waited at the top. Both had raven hair and light hazel eyes.
Caroline smiled a greeting. Neither teen smiled back.
Creeped-out, she glanced at Don. He’d been watching the teenagers, too. He met her gaze and shrugged.
The butler returned. The teenagers scurried out of sight. “Mr. Maddox will see you now.”
A flutter of nerves hit Caroline as they followed Horace up the stairs and down the hall to the other end of the second story. He opened a door and stepped aside.
The room was shrouded in shadows. The curtains were closed and only a small table lamp in the corner glowed near a full-size bed where a wizened old man lay. Thinning silver hair covered his head. He stared at her with bloodshot eyes and lifted a hand, beckoning them closer. “Isabella?”
Heart hammering in her chest, Caroline walked forward. She wasn’t sure what to say to this obviously ill man. Her grandfather. Compassion filled her, as it would for anyone brought low by sickness. She took his hand in hers. His skin had darkened on his arm and felt clammy, and the bones were so fragile. “No, I’m Caroline. And this is…my fiancé, Don.”
The old man seemed to shrink a little. “I’m sorry,” Elijah Maddox said in a raspy voice. “I shouldn’t have brought you here, child. It’s not safe.”
Stunned, Caroline glanced at Don. Good thing she had him to protect her.
A thundercloud of anger darkened Don’s expression. He stepped closer. “So you know someone has tried to kill her?”
Elijah’s eyes widened. “No!” He closed his eyes for a moment, a spasm of pain crossed his bony features. When he opened his eyes, real fear shone bright in the amber depths. He looked toward the door then back to Caroline. “Someone’s killing me!”
TWO
Don’s blood pressure skyrocketed. His fists clenched. He’d known coming here was a bad idea. “Why would you summon Caroline if you knew she’d be in danger?”
“I didn’t know. Not when I sent Willard to find her,” Elijah insisted.
“Who’s Willard?” Don asked.
“A local private investigator.” His rheumy gaze pleaded for understanding. “I thought I was dying so I sent for you. But by the time I realized that someone wanted me dead, it was too late—you were already on your way.”
