Deception. Carol Ericson
over the summer, most of it occurring at Columbella House, which had given her further incentive to take some action. She hadn’t needed Kylie-the-fortune-teller’s email about her sister to make a journey to Coral Cove.
She pointed her car toward the Coast Highway, but turned right toward Columbella instead of left toward her motel. She’d lingered in the coffeehouse and on the sidewalk chatting to Dylan a little too long, and now the sun had dipped halfway into the ocean. But meeting up with Dylan had been worth it.
Chewing her lip, she squinted into the headlights of an oncoming car. She should’ve called the electric company from New York so she wouldn’t have to stumble around with a flashlight in the house. Maybe it would be better to view the house and assess the damages in the light of day…when the ghosts were sleeping.
She pinned her shoulders against the car seat. No time like the present. She’d take a quick peek and then return tomorrow.
She’d put off dealing with the eyesore, as that shopkeeper had called it, for several years. Might as well dive right in.
She took the turnoff to Coral Cove Drive and rolled down the darkened street. Since Columbella took up a huge portion of the street and no light came from the house, it cast most of the block in darkness, giving it an eerie vibe.
The Roarkes lived in Hawaii now, visiting only sporadically. A light glowed on the porch of the Girard house. Michelle had stayed on in the house after her father died. Michelle was a teacher, so maybe she was still enjoying the last few weeks of summer before school started. Lights also dotted the Vincents’ place—looked like they might be home.
Mia blew out a breath—not as deserted as she’d feared, not that she feared Columbella House. After all, most of the wacky people who had done wacky things in this house were her wacky people.
She pulled into the long driveway and cut the engine. The house had been built into the rock and a portion of it hung over the ocean. Her great-grandfather had harbored some strange notions of what an appropriate beach house should entail. Stepping out of the car, she soaked in the sound of the waves crashing below, and she could almost feel the salty sea spray on her face.
She’d put the key to the house on her key chain, which she swung around her finger as she walked up the steps. She stumbled on a portion of the crumbled porch and flicked on her flashlight, sweeping the beam of light across the entrance. Mia hunched her shoulders. Old Leon had hit the nail on the head—eyesore.
The key scraped as she shoved it into the rusty lock, the sound sending a chill zigzagging down her spine. Don’t be ridiculous. She pushed open the door and straightened that same spine, banishing the chill.
She was a St. Regis. This house belonged to her. Even the ghosts belonged to her, and she was ready to take names and kick some spirit heinie.
Stepping into the entrance hall, she bathed the walls and ceiling with the beam of her flashlight. A chandelier tinkled above her—dusty, but still a beautiful antique. The staircase twisted in front of her, and she scanned the two landings for signs of any more hanging bodies. Apparently, Columbella House had become the de rigueur place to commit suicide.
She trailed her hand along the wall and turned the corner into the sitting room. A couple of men had been killed in here a few months ago. Kieran Roarke had saved Dylan’s sister’s little boy. Where had Dylan been on that one?
Sheets covered most of the furniture. Some had slipped off here and there, and dust blanketed the exposed pieces. Wouldn’t Leon love to get his pudgy hands on this stuff?
Mia wandered into the library, and her light played over the scorched wall, a grim reminder of another death in the house. She’d known about the secret room off the library, but the house hadn’t given up all its secrets to her…or anyone.
Creeping into the hidden room, she clutched her purse to her chest. A serial killer had died in this room, one of her second cousins once or twice removed. Not removed enough. Why did this house attract all the kooks and weirdos?
A board creaked on the stairs and she spun around, dropping her flashlight. The flashlight rolled, throwing distorted shadows on the walls. Mia gulped in a few breaths and lunged for the flashlight. She scooped it up and charged into the library.
Hadn’t that sheet been covering the chair in the corner when she’d walked in here? Had that mirror been cracked?
She sped out of the library, keeping the line of light in front of her, looking neither left nor right. She glanced over her shoulder once at the spiral staircase. Something was hanging from the third-floor landing, but she had no intention of investigating.
She blew out the front door and slammed it behind her. Then she raced to her rental car and locked all the doors. Breathing heavily, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
Then she laughed. She’d allowed the old place to get to her, even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t. She started the car and backed out of the driveway. What kind of lunatic visited a haunted house at night on her own, anyway? The seeds of madness in the St. Regis family must’ve sprouted in her head, too.
She careened back onto the highway and accelerated, buzzing down the window so she could breathe and think. She’d head back tomorrow and assess the condition of the house. Maybe she’d clean up a bit, and then talk to a couple of Realtors in town, starting with the mayor’s wife, Linda Davis. Mia might restore the old place to its former grandeur, or she’d demo the whole thing and start over with a modern hotel.
The car picked up speed downhill, and she pumped the brakes a few times as she hugged the curve in the road. This little rental jobby sure didn’t perform like her Lexus. She squeezed the brake pedal again, and the car barely responded. Her tires squealed as they gripped for purchase on the road, churning up gravel from the shoulder on her right, which descended to the rocky cliffs above the ocean.
As she came out of the turn, the car zoomed forward, and she jammed her foot on the brake. The car lurched and shuddered, and she gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands. It didn’t want to stop.
A turnout for a viewpoint loomed ahead, its steel guardrail acting as a barrier to the cliffs. Mia eased the wheel to the right, glancing in her rearview mirror. A car coming the other direction honked. She aimed the car toward the turnout, and it jostled as it left the smooth asphalt. Mia stomped on the parking brake and the car skidded into the wide turnout.
Her back wheels fishtailed, sending the car into a spin. The right side of the car slammed into the guardrail. The air bag exploded, pinning her against the seat and knocking the wind out of her. Mia gritted her teeth against the scraping, tearing noise of metal on metal. A shower of sparks flashed outside the passenger window.
The car heaved to a stop, but she could still hear something spinning. Her nostrils flared at the smell of burning rubber.
She pushed against the air bag, and the car tilted to the side. Turning her head, she rested her cheek against the air bag and peered out the passenger window. Her heart slammed against her rib cage and she managed a small whimper.
The right side of her car was hanging over the edge, and she was looking at a sheer drop onto some vicious rocks before they tumbled into the ocean.
One more inch and she’d be getting the view of her life…the last view of her life.
Chapter Two
As he strode toward the mangled car, Dylan swore, the adrenaline pumping the words to his lips. One side of the car that had just been parked illegally in Leon’s spot, Mia’s rental car, now hung precariously over a cliff. His gaze scanned the ground—no body. So that meant Mia was still in the car…over the edge.
The radio in his car crackled—a 911 emergency call to this very spot. Someone else must’ve seen the crash.
“Mia?” He edged closer to the car and the open window, not wanting to upset its precarious balancing act.
“Dylan?” Her word came out on a sob.
“It’s