to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Once the water heated, he stepped into the ancient iron tub beneath the weak spray. The hot water dribbled over his skin in a sad piss trickle.
Lousy water pressure—one more thing that needed fixing.
As he washed, a faint smoky scent tickled his nose. He frowned. What was that? The smell thickened, charred, burned. Was there a fire? Was Stonecliff burning down while he showered? Except for the potential danger to his person the idea wasn’t all that terrible. Maybe the place was insured.
The smell worsened, taking on a nearly putrid odor like burning garbage.
He shut off the taps, pushed back the shower curtain and climbed out. The stink filled the room so strongly he could taste it. God, maybe the house was burning down, after all.
He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, then froze, his heart lodging in his throat. In the fogged mirror a steam-smeared blur stood next to his own reflection as if there were someone beside him. He wiped the glass clean and the air sucked from his lungs.
A grotesque figure stood next to him in the reflection. A woman, maybe, burned unrecognizable. Stringy, dark hair fell past her shoulder on one side. The hair on the other side had been burned away. Flaked, blackened skin with oozing red flesh visible between the cracks covered her face and neck. Wide lidless eyes stared out from the glass. Her boney hand reached out for him.
Declan jumped back and swung around. The vanity’s sharp corner jabbed his hip, but he barely noticed. There was no one behind him. He was alone in the small bathroom.
But the smell lingered.
“Screw this,” he muttered. He jerked open the door and rushed out of the room, careful to avoid glancing at the mirror.
In his bedroom, he dropped the towel and dragged on a T-shirt and jeans, the latter sticking to his still damp skin.
There had to be an explanation. Yet his overwrought brain couldn’t seem to come up with one. He couldn’t blame what he’d seen on a dream like he had with the red-eyed shadow man; he’d been wide-awake.
Maybe he was losing his mind.
Cautiously, he approached the bathroom. The steam had dissipated. Tiny beads of moisture dribbling down the mirror all that remained. No sign of the burned woman. Not in the room, not in the mirror.
The pine scent of his soap hung in the damp air, mingling with something else, something burned.
* * *
By the time Stella Bahl arrived, Declan was on his second cup of coffee, his hair had mostly dried and he was almost feeling normal again. He’d even managed to talk himself into believing the burned woman he’d seen in his bathroom was merely a stress-induced hallucination, the result of not sleeping or eating properly—or the beginnings of schizophrenia.
Stella looked like most real estate agents he’d dealt with. Probably about his own age, he would have been hard pressed to say for sure. Impeccable makeup, cloud of sable hair falling past her shoulders without a strand out of place and a stylish gray suit over a red blouse gave off a mature attractiveness that left her age difficult to guess.
“Mr. Meyers.” She held out her hand to him, which he took. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. What a spectacular home. I’m sure we’ll find just the right buyer in no time.”
He doubted it. Not unless the Addams Family was in the market looking for creepier accommodations than their current residence. “I hope so.”
She flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m from Cragera Bay, you know, but have never had the opportunity to see inside Stonecliff before. This is a real thrill for me.”
You should get out more.
“I was at school with your sister, Eleri,” Stella told him. “But I was a few years ahead of her. Terrible thing she went through.”
Declan raked his hand through his hair. He didn’t like to think too much about Eleri and Brynn. Only one sister had turned up when she’d heard their father was dying, to see what she could get. The other had left the man to die alone after he’d protected her for years from the police, making him a virtual pariah in the village.
But wasn’t he just as bad, taking this property from a man he hadn’t wanted to know in life? Guilt twisted in his gut. He wished he’d asked his mother about his father before it was too late. Maybe then he wouldn’t be dealing with all these conflicting emotions now.
“About the house,” he prodded.
Stella’s face reddened. “Yes, of course. Is there somewhere we can sit down? I’d like to discuss some potential strategies, then you can show me around.”
“Sure.”
Declan led her into the study, sat behind the heavy wood desk while she settled on one of the chairs opposite him.
“As you can imagine, finding comparable houses to a property like Stonecliff is difficult. Still, a property this size, and on the water, makes it fairly desirable.”
Declan perked up a little. It was the best news he’d had since he’d arrived. “Really?”
She nodded and tilted her head, eyes squinting a little. “Unfortunately, the estate’s history will have a large impact on the price.”
“I have no issue listing under market value.” Hell, if he didn’t need the money at all he’d give the thing away, donate it to some worthy cause.
She flashed a brilliant smile. “We’ll discuss price after I’ve had a chance to look at the house. Can you tell me the state of the electrical, plumbing, if there’s been reconstruction work done and when?”
“I have that information here.” He pushed the stack of paper Warlow had put together for him across the desk.
“Perfect.” Stella slipped the pages into a folder and took a spiral notebook from her bag. “You currently have staff?”
“A butler and a housekeeper. They’ll remain here to run the house when I go back to the States at the end of the week.” At least until the money ran out and he had nothing left to pay them with.
She made a note in her book. “Good, having someone here to keep the house in good condition will help to sell quickly. Now, there is a second dwelling on the property that I’m not sure you’re aware of, Morehead Lodge.” She tapped her pen on her notepad. “I know the house has been let in the past. I’d like to suggest severing the property and selling it separately.”
According to Hugh, Stonecliff had been a much larger estate, stretching down the coast and even onto the opposite side of the road. Over the years Arthur James had parceled off the property to live on the proceeds. Even this past summer, his father had sold off tenanted properties he’d owned in Beaumaris, and the money from those sales was keeping Stonecliff running now—and there wasn’t much left, maybe enough to keep the lights on until Christmas if they were careful.
“Even priced under market value Stonecliff could take some time to find the right buyer. The estate is isolated, large and old. You are already dealing with a limited market. Trying to find someone who isn’t put off by what’s happened here…”
“What if I razed the house, filled in the bog with concrete?” He wasn’t sure either suggestion was feasible, but he was open to any possibility.
Stella chuckled. “I don’t think it will come to that. Let’s have a look at all this then.”
He took her from room to room. Except for the ones used daily—the study, parlor, kitchen and his bedroom—the others were dark, covered in a layer of dust and smelled musty.
“These rooms need a good tidy,” Stella said, making a note in her book.
Declan glanced around the bedroom and nodded. Even the covers on the bed looked faded and dusty. “The house is too big for Mrs. Voyle to keep all the rooms