he were an artist, he believed he could paint her portrait from memory.
Janice possessed a small delicate nose and long-lashed green eyes set in a smooth ivory skin with a hint of roses in her cheeks. Her chestnut-brown hair was short and straight. She was of average height, about five feet, six inches tall, and she had a well-proportioned body. She could be considered a beauty, except for her stubborn chin and a grim expression that spoiled the loveliness of her full, curved mouth.
As soon as Lance had dialed her number, he’d suddenly hoped that Janice wouldn’t answer, or that she’d tell him she wasn’t coming to Stanton. Still, his heart had lurched with excitement when, in her husky voice, she’d said she would arrive in Stanton tomorrow. Why did it matter to him?
Was it because he was worried about Janice’s reception in Stanton? The Reids in the area were known as shiftless and dishonest, usually staying a few steps ahead of law. Would the local residents welcome two more Reids? He prayed that people wouldn’t condemn Janice and Brooke because of their relatives.
The next morning before he went to work, with Janice’s interests in mind, Lance drove to her property. He put on heavy leather boots and carried a sturdy walking stick to push aside brush that blocked the pathways, and for protection in case any poisonous snakes had infested the vacant property. It had rained the night before and fog drifted down from the mountain peaks.
Stepping from the car, he surveyed Janice’s inheritance anxiously. As the house peeked in and out of the wispy fog, he was reminded of the illustration on the cover of a mystery novel he’d read recently. He couldn’t imagine Janice and Brooke living here. He wasn’t sure that he would contemplate living in such an isolated area. But it wasn’t his concern.
Knowing that he should back off and let Janice Reid make her own decisions, Lance approached the metal gate blocking the entrance to the property. The hasp on the gate had rusted shut and Lance went back to his car to get a screwdriver out of the toolbox he carried in the trunk.
The hasp shattered and fell to the ground when he pried on it with the screwdriver. He pushed the gate open and stepped into a jungle of shrubbery that had once neatly lined the driveway but had spread into a wilderness during recent years. An untrimmed yew hedge partially concealed the house from the highway. In his effort to get close enough to judge the house’s condition, Lance blundered into a thicket of multiflora rosebushes. A sharp thorn tore his shirt and pricked his shoulder. Disgusted with himself for sticking his nose into Janice’s business, Lance knew he’d have to go back home and change before he went to the school. And how was he going to explain the torn shirt to his sister, who watched his activities like a hawk?
Veering to the left and climbing the hill, he saw a corner of the house several yards beyond him. He turned in that direction. Several hardwood trees and a couple of spruces marked the border of what must have been the lawn. If the tall hedge along the foundation was trimmed and the underbrush cleared away, the house wouldn’t seem so depressing.
Experiencing the strange feeling that he was being watched, Lance stopped abruptly and looked carefully around him. He had a good view of the house and the hill beyond it from this point. It would be easy enough for someone to hide behind any of the big trees or behind the outbuilding to the right of the house. Determined that the disturbing stories he’d heard about the house wouldn’t affect his common sense, Lance strode forward purposefully. He heard a sound to his left and jumped behind a tree. Slightly amused at himself when a rabbit ran under a large bush, he walked on and paused before the three steps that led to the front porch.
The steps looked sturdy enough, but he put one foot cautiously on the first step to be sure it wouldn’t collapse under his weight. Suddenly, Lance heard someone groan beside him, and he stumbled to the floor of the porch. Goose bumps popped out on his arms as sounds of thunder and the roar of hurricane-force winds swept around him. Did he hear bells ringing or had the stories he’d heard about Mountjoy caused him to imagine these sounds? Lance hadn’t watched a horror movie for years, but this sudden assault on his senses reminded him of the movies he’d watched when he was a teenager.
For a moment he was stunned, unable to move. His flesh crawled and his palms moistened with sweat as the sounds faded into the distance. Lance jumped off the porch and ran for cover in the dense shrubbery beside the porch. His heart thudded in his chest and he gasped for breath.
What, or who, had made those sounds? Not for a moment did he believe that ghosts inhabited the house, but he knew now that the stories he’d heard about people being scared away from the area had been true. Something was wrong at Mountjoy. It was no place for Janice Reid to live.
When his pulse steadied, Lance returned to his car. If he reported this incident to the police, he’d be ridiculed like other people who believed the house was haunted. But as he drove into Stanton, he questioned if he should tell Janice what had happened. Or was it time for him to stop involving himself in Janice Reid’s life?
When they left Willow Creek early Friday morning, Janice learned that cutting her ties with the Valley of Hope was more difficult than she’d anticipated.
During her childhood, Janice’s parents had moved so often that she hadn’t gotten attached to any one place, and she’d made few friends. She had since realized that her parents lived in one house until they couldn’t pay the rent, then moved to a new area and rented another house. She hadn’t attended any school long enough to get a basic education and she was behind her peers when she’d gone to VOH. With special tutoring, she’d soon caught up with her classmates and had graduated from high school with average grades.
All of the residents at VOH had come with problems of some kind, so she hadn’t felt inferior there as she had in the other schools she’d attended. At the Valley of Hope, Janice had the assurance of a warm bed at night, all the food she needed and no fear of what the next day would bring.
Janice’s car pulled the heavily loaded trailer better than she expected, and they arrived in Stanton about two o’clock. When they passed the convenience store where they’d bought gas on their previous visit to Stanton, Brooke shouted, “Look, Janice, there’s that dog I fed last time.”
Slowing for a red light, Janice glanced in the direction Brooke pointed and saw the dog standing beside the road. He looked worse than he had the last time.
“Poor doggie,” Brooke said. “He’s still hungry.” The light turned green, and Janice moved forward slowly. Brooke rolled down the window and tossed the hamburger she’d been eating toward the dog. He snatched the sandwich in midair and disappeared from sight.
“He must not have a home, either,” Brooke said, and the pathos of her words stabbed Janice’s heart.
She started to say that Brooke had a home now. But not knowing the condition of the Reid house, she remained silent.
The motel was located several blocks from the convenience store, and when Janice checked in, she received permission to park the trailer until she could make further plans. While Brooke was in school on Monday, Janice would find a place for them to live.
Hoping to make some decision about the property over the weekend, Janice took Brooke with her and went to Loren Santrock’s office. She was fortunate that she not only found the man in his office, but that he was willing to talk to her.
Mr. Santrock was a fatherly man, whom Janice liked at once. Miss Banner was talking on the phone, and he personally escorted Janice and Brooke into his office, which looked as if it hadn’t changed for twenty years. His old, comfortable furniture was a stark contrast to the reception area.
Perhaps interpreting Janice’s appraising glance, he said with a smile, “Miss Banner persuaded me to update her equipment and office furniture. She insisted that I should make a better impression on prospective clients. She’s been my right arm for over fifteen years, so I let her have full sway in the outer office, but I balked when she tried to change my office.” His eyes twinkled like a mischievous child when he added, “I’m too set in my ways to want a lot of new furniture.”
From a small refrigerator concealed behind a screen, Mr. Santrock brought a pitcher