The Ghosts of Cragera Bay Read Online Free Page A

woman—had taken her own life a few weeks after her arrest.
    So, twisted ankle or not, Carly Evans had no reason not to be safe and sound in her hotel room.
    Yet all his rationalizations couldn’t ease the cold knots squeezing his insides.
    He could call her, set his mind at ease. And say what? Just checking in? He wanted to discourage her, convince her she didn’t have a hope at getting to The Devil’s Eye. Calling her to see she got back to her hotel okay wouldn’t exactly drive home that particular message.
    In the kitchen, the housekeeper was pulling on her coat, finished for the day. Iola Voyle stopped moving with only one arm through the sleeve when she spotted him. “I wrapped your dinner and left it in the refrigerator for you since you weren’t here when I served.”
    The faint recrimination in her voice made his mouth twitch. The woman did not like to have her schedules interfered with. When he’d first arrived, he’d instructed the woman not to cook for him. It was ridiculous for her to prepare an entire meal just for him, when he could cook for himself just as easily. But she’d pursed her thin lips the way she did whenever something displeased her, informing him that she also cooked for Hugh Warlow, so Declan had relented. But he still wasn’t comfortable with the situation.
    He pulled open the fridge door. “Thank you. Have a good night.”
    She nodded, her gaze shifting uneasily about the room. “Has there been any interest in the estate?”
    Maybe she’d heard that Stella had called, or like Warlow assumed he’d gone to the village to meet with her earlier. He closed the fridge and turned to the women. Her narrow face was pale and combined with her dull, brown hair tied in a severe knot at the base of her skull made her sharp, thin features more prominent somehow. She’d pulled her coat all the way on and held the lapels closed with white-knuckled fists.
    Of course, she’d be anxious. Her job was on the line.
    “Nothing yet,” he told her, shooting her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “If there is, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
    The anxiety tightening her features didn’t ease. She glanced at the door. “You shouldn’t stay too long. Even if the estate doesn’t sell right away, you should go home.”
    That was the plan. Still, Mrs. Voyle’s words caught him by surprise. He’d been easy to get along with, making few demands on the woman. Why would she be so eager to see him leave?
    He forced a rueful grin. “Am I that hard to work for?”
    “It’s not that,” she said, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper and stepping toward him. “There’s something wrong with this place, and the sooner you’re away from it the better.”
    The soft urgency of her words combined with Carly Evans’s questions sent a chill scuttling down his spine. It was all bullshit, of course.
    How had Carly known about the red eyes?
    “More than one thing’s wrong with this place,” Declan said, playing dumb. “But nothing a good contractor can’t fix.”
    Mrs. Voyle stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good night, Mr. Meyers.”
    “Declan,” he called after her, as she hurried out the back door in the utility room.
    He sighed and turned back to the fridge. His appetite had shriveled and Mrs. Voyle’s plate wasn’t very appealing.
    A dry scraping filled the quiet. Declan frowned, straightened and let the fridge door swing closed. What was that?
    The sound came again, frantic scratching like an animal inside the walls. Mice, perfect. Now he’d have to set traps and put out poison. He followed the sound toward the utility room. Whatever was in those walls had to be bigger than a mouse. Rats? He shuddered. God, he hoped not. He’d have to hire someone to fumigate the place—
    He stopped inside the utility room. The scratching continued loud, relentless and not inside the walls, but outside the door.
    His pulse kicked up. What the hell was that? Some kind of wild