the new crisis, Janice focused on Lance. The other times she had seen him, he’d been dressed in a suit, dress shirt and tie. Today, he wore heavy leather boots, jeans and a casual long-sleeved shirt. A ball cap covered his light hair.
Janice had dressed in jeans, too, and she wore a sweatshirt and lightweight boots with thick soles.
After he parked by the entrance to Mountjoy, Lance took a machete and a large flashlight from the back of his van. He passed the flashlight to Janice.
At the gate, he paused with his hand on the latch. “I’ve hesitated to tell you,” he said, “but yesterday, I decided to check out your property. I got in sight of the house, and if I was superstitious, I’d say your property is haunted.”
Conscious of the sudden gray pallor that spread across her face and the apprehension in her eyes, he quickly explained what he’d heard the day before.
“Judging from similar experiences others have had when they’ve trespassed on the property,” he concluded, “this must be an effort to scare intruders away. I don’t know if it’s safe for you to go any farther.”
Lance’s words coming on the heels of the slashed tires alarmed Janice as nothing had ever done. She staggered against the gate, and Lance reached out a hand to steady her. She shook her head.
“I’m all right,” she struggled to say. Through tight lips, she told him about the written message she’d received warning her to stay away from Stanton.
“Maybe I should have heeded the warning. I don’t mind risking my own life to claim what belongs to me, but if anything happened to me, Brooke would be all alone!” Swallowing with difficulty, she continued, “And last night, the tires on my car were slashed. Chief Goodman is investigating.”
Lance frowned and his blue eyes darkened with anger.
“Every time I decide I can make a home in Stanton,” Janice continued, “something else happens. I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?” Lance asked.
“Forget I’ve ever heard of this place, take Brooke and move so far away that no one has ever heard of my family.”
A gleam of interest in his eyes, Lance persisted, “But what are you going to do?”
Janice forced herself to remember the biblical promise, “God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power.” If anything happened to her, surely God would take care of Brooke.
“Stay here, claim my property and find out who’s trying to drive me out of town.”
Smiling, Lance opened the gate and stepped aside for her to enter. “Then be my guest,” he said. Swiftly, he stepped in front of her. “On second thought, perhaps I’ll not be a gentleman today. I’ll walk in front—you stay behind me.” He handed his car keys to Janice. “If anything happens to me, run as fast as you can and bring the chief of police.”
Janice laid her hand on his arm. “This is my problem. I should take the risk, not you. Why are you going to all this trouble for me?”
A look of bewilderment in his eyes, Lance shook his head slowly. “I really don’t know.”
Chapter Four
Janice’s face flushed. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m practically a stranger to you. I don’t know why you’d put your life on the line for me.”
“I don’t understand it, either,” he said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Let’s just say it’s because you need help, and it’s my Christian duty to help you.”
“Except for the years I spent at VOH, I’ve taken care of myself and Brooke without any help. I’d like to think I can still do it, but I’m in over my head now. I can’t manage alone anymore.”
“Then let’s check out your property and go from there. Be careful.”
With the machete, Lance cleared a narrow path for them to follow until they came to the copse of evergreens. Dried needles matted the ground and walking was easier. Janice enjoyed a sense of pride to know that this property actually belonged to her. The grounds had been badly neglected and it was almost like walking through a wilderness, but she believed the lawn could be restored to its original splendor.
It was hot and stuffy under the trees, and Lance stopped to wipe his face with a handkerchief. Some of the underbrush consisted of sturdy brier vines that were difficult to cut. Janice felt guilty when she noticed several scratches on his arms. He breathed deeply and took a swig of water from the bottle he carried. Looking around, he asked, “Who’s been responsible for looking after this property?”
“Nobody, apparently. Mr. Santrock was administrator of Uncle John’s estate, but he said he hasn’t been here for years. Perhaps he thought the house was too far gone to need checking, and he may be right,” she added, when Lance hacked down a large multiflora rosebush and she had a sweeping view of the house.
Paint had peeled from the structure, vines grew all over the front porch, and several windows on the second floor were shattered. Branches from a tall spruce tree lay on the porch roof.
“We had a bad storm a week or so ago. Looks like the lightning struck that spruce tree. It will have to be cut down.”
The overall effect was disheartening. Janice wanted to turn tail and run, and authorize Mr. Santrock to sell Mountjoy before she went any farther.
Noting the dismay in her eyes, Lance said, “We’re here, so we might as well look inside. Don’t forget, I didn’t hear anything until I started up the steps. I’ll go first.”
Lance tested his weight on the steps and the top one buckled under him. He leaped on the porch to keep from falling. The porch floor itself seemed sturdy enough, probably because it was protected from the elements by a rusty roof. He half expected a repetition of the raucous noise he’d heard the other time he’d visited this house, but all was silent except for a mockingbird singing from one of the bushes.
He held out his hand to Janice. “Watch your step.”
Janice expelled the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and accepted Lance’s help. In spite of the fear clutching at her heart, as Janice stepped on the front porch of her ancestral home, she had the unfamiliar sense of belonging.
Four windows fronting on the porch were placed symmetrically between a massive, oak door with an oval, leaded frosted-glass window. She put her face close to the cracked window panes, but they were too dirty for her to see the interior of the house. The sun shone brightly, but the towering spruce trees surrounding the house shut out the sunlight, and Janice shivered slightly. Lance tried the door but it was locked. He moved to a window, which lifted easily at his touch.
Taking the flashlight from Janice, Lance stuck his head cautiously through the window and flashed the light around the room. No danger seemed to lurk in the dim interior, so he stepped into the room. He reached a hand to Janice and steadied her as she climbed over the window sill.
Janice’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dark room.
“The house is still furnished!” she said.
Lance’s steps were loud as he walked around the room, the floorboards squeaking under his weight. He stopped beside a dark wooden divan upholstered in red velvet, noting two matching chairs.
“I’ve always heard that this house was luxurious. This was elegant furniture at one time.”
“Everything is dusty, and look at the floor—we didn’t make all of these tracks.”
“I’d noticed that,” Lance said, wishing that Janice hadn’t. “The house hasn’t been as vacant as it looked. Stay close to me and we’ll look around.”
The tracks had been made recently, Lance thought, and that there had been no effort to conceal them disturbed him.
Janice