But it all started to blur.
“You’re about to zone out,” he observed, “but I really need to go over some practical things with you before I take off and let you settle in. How about we go over those things in the dining room? Not the scary one.”
“Okay. I think I need a cookie. Do you want cookies?”
“I trust no one who answers no to that question.”
She got the cookies, and the champagne.
“From my friend Cleo. We’re going to FaceTime later, drink champagne while I give her a virtual tour.”
“Tech keeps the world close,” he said as he picked up a soft-sided leather briefcase that looked, like his boots, as if it had put in plenty of miles.
“You still don’t look like a lawyer,” she said as they walked back to the family dining room. “Your father didn’t either, not really. My mother works for lawyers.”
“So I’m told.”
“They look like lawyers. Armani suits and Hermès ties. Tag Heuers and Rolexes.”
Not just a slow smile, she thought, but a quick grin when he wanted. And it was a zinger.
“In court I wear a tie with my flannel shirt. To show respect.”
“I bet it looks good on you.” In the kitchen, she opened the fridge to put the champagne in, goggled. “Holy shit. You seriously stocked.”
“Doyles do nothing halfway.”
“I think I need coffee.” She stared at the coffee maker. “I have no idea how to work this machine.”
“Happily, I do. Collin really liked a good cup of coffee.” He set down the briefcase. “Watch and learn—consider it the first on the practical things.”
She watched his wide-palmed, long-fingered hands work their magic. And sincerely hoped she learned.
They sat at the table with coffee and cookies.
“On the snickerdoodle scale, these hit a solid ten.”
“They’re her specialty. They’re wonderful neighbors. I hope the tenants moving into my place appreciate them. And it suddenly occurs to me I’ve never not had neighbors.”
“You can consider everyone in Poole’s Bay a neighbor. No, we’re not next door, but”—he hitched up to take a card case, leather and battered, like the briefcase, out of his hip pocket—“that’s got my cell and the office numbers. Just a call or text away.”
“I appreciate it.”
He opened the briefcase, took out a folder. “More numbers.”
He handed her a paper with a list of names. “Hal Coleson, chief of police. The manor’s considered part of Poole’s Bay. Also the number for the county sheriff. You’ve got Ace, Deuce, and Trey on here, too, along with names and numbers of a plumber, electrician, a general handyman, cleaning service, yard service, a mechanic and towing service if you have car trouble. John Dee’ll be plowing your road, clearing off your deck, walkways. You can expect to hear him out there before dark, and again in the morning if we get enough to warrant it.
“He also likes a good cup of coffee if you’re open to it.”
“I can be.”
“You’ve got the names of restaurants, the grocery, the pharmacy, laundry and dry cleaning. The mail carrier, if you get any, hits up here around noon most days. Doctors—we’ve got two in the village—same with dentists. And there’s a small urgent care. The two local banks. The one Collin used is bolded. There’s Jodi’s Salon—they do hair and nails.”
“Oh.” Instinctively she reached for her hair. “I’ve used the same stylist for five years.”
“That’s what my sister said you’d say. But it’s on the list. Liquor store. Collin had a nice collection of wine, and there’s sipping whiskey and so on. Butler’s pantry.
“Cable company,” he continued. “Service can be iffy up here in a storm.”
He took out another sheet. “Wi-Fi password—you can change that.”
“LBManor,” she read. Lost Bride Manor. “This is fine.”
“Password for Collin’s computer. The combination for the safe in his office.”
“Six-twelve-nine-six.”
“The month, day, and year his wife died. Johanna.”
“You’d have been too young to remember her, or that day.”
“I was about four. I was there, so was my sister. She’d have been a newborn. But no, I don’t really remember.”
“It’s terrible. On such a happy day, a wedding day. Just a stumble, a trip on the stairs, and—”
Somewhere in the house, a door slammed.
“You’ll have this.”
“I guess. Old house.” Sonya rubbed her arms at the sudden chill. “I thought, when I first saw it—in person—it looked like a house in a classy horror movie. And, of course, I thought I saw someone at one of the upstairs windows.”
He said nothing for a full beat.
“Do you spook easily, Sonya?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She tried a smile. “It’s the kind of house where things go bump in the night, isn’t it?”
“It’s all that. You’ve got my number if you need it.”
She angled her head. “Your father said it’s haunted.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s right he said that, or that’s right it’s haunted?”
He gave her a long look and that quiet smile. “Both. I’ve never known any … entities, we’ll say, in the manor to be more than sort of playful.”
“Playful. You’re serious. You actually believe in ghosts?”
“It’s more what you believe, or don’t. You strike me as someone who decides for herself.
“So … Collin never put in a security system—never saw the need. But we can arrange that for you if you decide you want one.”
“A lot of good that’ll do if I’m going to need Ghostbusters.” Then she shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”
“Have another cookie.”
“Do I look like I need one?”
He surprised her by reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Have another cookie.”
Then he took a cigar box—an actual cigar box—out of his briefcase.
“Cookies and stogies?”
“If only. Keys.”
When he opened the box, she sat back. “Oh my God, there are so many.”
“They’re labeled, color coded. See—exterior doors. Front, south side, north side, back, apartment. The little shed. I didn’t take you out there. You’ve got the lawn tractor, the snowblower, shovels, chain saw, various tools.
“There’s a generator out there. Power goes out, it comes on. You won’t be in the dark.”
“Hallelujah.”
“Door opener for the detached garage. And the key fob for the truck.”
“What truck? There’s a truck?”
He took another cookie himself, studied her as he bit in. “Did you read the inventory list?”
“I got lost in it.”
“You’ve got his Ford F-150.”
“What is that?”
“It’s the same model I’ve got.”
“That big, burly thing?” Horrified didn’t quite cover it. “I’ve never driven a truck in my life.”
“Your Hyundai’s got all-wheel drive, but you’re not in the city now. Even with John Dee, you might find a big, burly thing useful.”
She pushed up, walked to a window.
Everything outside held quiet, all sound muffled by the gently falling snow. It was a picture, a painting, a postcard.
And her nerves had boomeranged back.
“You said there was wine.”
“There is.”
“I think I could use some. Do you want some?”