“Might as well make her work for it.” This time he turned the hands to seven-ten. “Owen and I could move the clock out of the house.”
“I don’t think that would stop it, and it’s kind of a warning when it sounds. I wonder if Collin heard it. He didn’t wind the clock, but he kept it here. Not up or down in storage.”
“If you change your mind, we’ll take it out.”
He slid an arm around her waist as they walked back to the staircase.
“She was in there with us, Trey. I’ve felt cold spots before, but not like that, and not like the Gold Room. It’s a mean cold when it’s her. I guess that’s a warning, too.”
“Maybe you get rattled, Sonya, but you don’t stay rattled. My money’s on you.”
In bed, she curled up against him.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“So am I.”
Closing her eyes, she let the steady beat of his heart lull her until she slept.
PART THREE
Spirits
Let us have a quiet hour,
Let us hob-and-nob with Death.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Vision of Sin”
Chapter Twenty-one
On Friday, after Yoda stopped sulking because he didn’t have Mookie, Sonya cheered him up with a trip to the village for scallops, angel hair pasta, and something called unbleached flour.
She hadn’t known they bleached flour.
A quick run left her plenty of time to arrange the tulips she’d bought for her mother’s room. And start her first attempt at making bread.
“We’re not afraid, are we, Yoda? We’re not afraid of some flour and beer and butter and whatever. Not when we live in the haunted manor.
“Maybe a little afraid—but if we fail, we dump it, and she’ll never know.”
After following Bree’s instructions to the letter, she stared at the raw dough in the loaf pan.
“I guess it looks like bread dough. How would I know anyway?”
Fingers mentally crossed, she slid it into the oven, set the timer.
And decided it wasn’t obsessive not to leave the kitchen. Instead, she rearranged the fruit bowl a couple of times, paced, played a quick game of tug.
“Look! It’s sort of plumping up—it’s the beer, I looked it up. And it’s browning some, too. Can you smell that? I can smell it.”
When the timer—finally—went off, she remembered she was supposed to tap the bread and see if it sounded hollow. It made no sense to her, but she tapped.
“I guess it does. Anyway, I can’t stand it.”
After shaking the bread into her oven-mitted hand, she turned it onto the cooling rack. Stepped back.
“Now, I’m asking you, Yoda, is that or is that not the cutest little loaf of bread you’ve ever seen? And made by these hands.”
Her iPad played John Lee Hooker’s “Don’t Be Messing With My Bread.”
“You got that right.”
As the bread cooled, she took the flowers, a polishing cloth, and polish up to the second floor with Yoda at her heels. She’d come back to the linen closet for fresh sheets and towels.
When she got to the room she’d chosen, she smelled the fresh polish on furniture that shined. Fresh, fluffy towels hung in the en suite—which also shined—and more towels stood carefully rolled in a basket.
“Well, thank you. It’s perfect.” She set down the flowers. “She’ll love it. She’ll like the view of the woods.”
She noticed the pretty purple bowl that matched the violets on the wallpaper above the wainscoting and the little crystal clock—with the right time—beside it.
She couldn’t swear they hadn’t been there before, but either way …
“They’re nice touches. Thoughtful.”
As she walked through the spotless house, she decided whoever made it spotless must love it as much as she did.
And since everything looked perfect, she went back to work.
“She’s going to text when she’s thirty minutes out, so meanwhile we’ll get some work in.”
With no Mookie, Yoda contented himself by curling up under her desk.
When she got the text, she shut down, hurried to the kitchen to make the salad. She had a moment of shock when she saw neither bread nor rack.
“Oh, no, I—”
Then saw the loaf shape wrapped in a clean white cloth.
“I guess I missed that part of the process.”
She considered the timing perfect when she tucked the salad in the fridge, and Yoda ran barking to the door. Rushing after, Sonya threw open the door and wrapped Winter in a hug.
From the tablet in the kitchen, Taylor Swift sang “The Best Day.”
“I missed you!”
“I missed you, too. Oh my God, Sonya, this house! Oh, this dog. Look at that sweet face, look at that handsome boy!”
Yoda instantly collapsed, exposed his belly, and looked up at Winter with pure love.
Obliging, Winter crouched down, rubbed, and cooed.
“You came straight from work.”
Trim in her dark suit, Winter gave Yoda’s belly a last rub. “Took off early, as planned, and put my bag in the car this morning. And Cleo’s stuff’s in there, too.”
She straightened to give Sonya another hard hug. “I didn’t want to waste time getting here. You look good! FaceTiming isn’t the same as real timing. And that goes for the house, too. Holy jumping Jesus, Sonya. My jaw literally dropped. It’s so you.”
“It is?”
“This is always what you wanted. Well,” she qualified as she looked around the foyer. “Maybe more than you imagined—or I did. That staircase!”
She wandered forward, stopped. “These rooms. A piano.”
“One of two. Why don’t we go up, see if you like the room I chose for you. I’ll give you a quick tour—a full one would take too long. No, I’ve got your bag.”
“Thanks, baby. You told me it felt like yours.” They crossed to the staircase, started up. “Now I can see it. But there’s so much of it. What are you doing with all this room?”
“I have my spots.” She gestured toward the library. “Such as.”
“Oh, well, wow. How do you ever leave this? It’s like something out of a movie. And look at Xena thriving.”
Turning a circle, Winter studied Sonya’s mood boards. “Doing good, interesting work while you’re at it.”
“I think so, and I’ll fill you in on all that.” And everything else, Sonya thought.
“Collin Poole must have loved this house to preserve and maintain it so well. I’ve been a little worried about that part with you. Now I’ll worry a lot less. Everything just shines, baby. You must’ve found a hell of a cleaning service.”
She decided on: “It’s kind of miraculous. We’ll talk about that, too. We’re in the north wing.”
“Listen to you.” On a laugh, Winter elbowed her daughter. “North wing.”
With Yoda prancing between them, Sonya led her mother toward the bedrooms.
“I’m at the end of the hall.”
“You know I have to look. And it’s just lovely. Oh, seriously lovely. Lady of the manor. Do you watch the sunrise from your terrace doors?”
“I do. I gave you a different view—but you’ve got your pick. You’re a park walker.”
“I suppose I am.”
“So I put you down the hall, and on this side, facing west. It’s quieter, too. I think.”