side window, pressing a finger to a button on the intercom. She waited for someone to speak to her. However, without a word the gate swept open. She had to admit she was curious to see what awaited her on the other side of the wall. She’d done an internet search, but it hadn’t turned up any pictures of the estate.
Gabrielle eased her father’s vintage red convertible onto the overgrown grounds. It certainly wasn’t the grand estate that she’d been anticipating. Perhaps at one time this place might have been beautiful, but now it was woefully neglected. The grass appeared not to have been cut in ages. The bushes were overgrown and gangly. The flower gardens were overrun with weeds that were strangling out the few remaining flowers.
The internet sites said that Deacon Santoro had become a recluse since he’d been involved in the deadly accident. Apparently for once, the paparazzi hadn’t been totally wrong. There was definitely something amiss on this estate.
The Malibu beach house was a stunning piece of midcentury architecture. Gabrielle slowed the car to a stop to have a better look around. Feeling as though someone was staring at her, she glanced up at the massive white mansion. There was no one standing in any of the windows. But there was a window on the top floor where the sheers moved. Cold fingertips inched down her spine.
Stop it. You’re just being melodramatic. It’s not like this is a haunted mansion.
No matter what she told herself, she couldn’t shake her uneasiness. If it wasn’t for her father, she’d turn around and leave. But a deal was a deal.
When she’d handed in her immediate resignation at the library, they’d refused to accept it. The staff was small and they were all close, like a family. So, she was on sabbatical leave until her deal with Deacon was concluded. She was so grateful to have a job to return to. It was one less thing she had to worry about.
However, when she’d resigned at the tabloid, she’d made the mistake of letting Deacon Santoro’s name cross her lips. That spiked everyone’s interest. She’d been passed up the chain of management until she’d been sitting across from the managing editor. And when the whole sordid truth came tumbling out, the editor had assured her that she didn’t need to quit. In fact, they’d increased her pay.
The editor was putting Gaby on an assignment. The money was most welcome as her father’s mounting medical expense were beyond her means. She had been shocked until it became clear that they wanted her to feed them every bit of dirt she could dig up on Deacon Santoro. She’d initially refused. Finding out the truth about her aunt’s death was one thing. Digging up information about his private life just for sensational headlines was something else.
In the end, they’d all agreed that she would remain on the payroll and submit a daily report with information regarding the deadly accident. After all, if the legal system wouldn’t do anything about it, someone had to seek justice in whatever way possible. And so Gaby had come here not only to protect her father, but also to uncover the truth about the accident and to expose Deacon’s actions to the world.
At the time, the plan had seemed so easy. She’d play along as his assistant and befriend the man, which from the looks of the desolate place wouldn’t be hard. Then she’d get him to open up about the accident. She would prove that he was responsible for her aunt’s death. At last the world would know the truth, just like her father had wanted for so long. And then she could return to her life—a life that was temporarily on pause.
Gabrielle wheeled the car into a parking spot next to a late model gray sedan. She’d arrived early this morning as she’d wanted to make a good impression on Mr. Santoro. She didn’t want to give him any reason to go back on his agreement to drop the charges against her father, and that included keeping her connection with QTR magazine hush-hush.
She climbed out of the car and lifted her head to the blue sky. There was a gusty breeze. The forecasters said there was a storm brewing over the Pacific, although it hadn’t reached them yet. But there was an ominous tension in the air.
She turned to head inside, but she wasn’t sure where to go. There was yet another fence surrounding the building. There were numerous gates but no signs indicating where each led.
A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Her gaze strayed across the outline of a figure in the distance.
“Excuse me,” Gabrielle called out as she rushed forward.
The man’s back was to her.
She called out again.
The man straightened from where he was bent over a rosebush. He was wearing jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt and a ball cap. He didn’t turn around. Did he hear her?
“Hey, could you tell me where to go?” Not about to continue screaming across the grounds, she started down to a set of stained concrete steps leading to the garden.
By the time she reached the bottom step, the man was gone. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. He could still be around here somewhere. She started walking around in hopes of spotting him again. However, he was nowhere to be found. How was that possible? He was just here a second ago. She turned around in a circle. Where had he gone so quickly?
She sighed and was about to walk away when she paused to take in her surroundings. She stood on the edge of an expansive rose garden with a winding footpath. Unlike the rest of the overgrown yard, this section was neat and tidy. She found this shocking. What made this garden so special? It was just one more question that she had for Mr. Santoro.
Gaby headed back up the steps to the parking area. If worse came to worse, she would try all the gates and open all of the doors she encountered until she found where she belonged. You really would think Mr. Santoro would greet her or at the very least call her.
Time was getting away from her. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to start off this arrangement by being late. Talk about making a bad situation worse. She picked up her pace.
At the top of the steps, she glanced around. On both sides of the parking area were doors. There was the large main house and there were six garage doors with what appeared to be a guesthouse atop them. Would he have put the office in the guesthouse?
Her gaze moved back and forth between the two structures as she tried to make up her mind. Just as she decided to try the main house, a gate swung open. At last, Mr. Santoro had come to greet her.
She rushed toward the door, but she came to a halt when an older woman with white hair and a round, rosy face came hurrying out. The woman was muttering something under her breath and shaking her head, but Gaby wasn’t able to make out what she was saying.
When the woman’s gaze met hers, a smile softened the woman’s face. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. “Ah...hello, dearie. You must be Mr. Santoro’s new assistant.”
Gaby smiled back at the woman. “I am. My name’s Gaby Dupré.”
“Welcome Ms. Dupré. And you can call me Mrs. Kupps. Mr. Santoro, he likes formality.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kupps.” Gaby held out her hand to the woman. “But please feel free to call me Gaby.”
The woman giggled and placed her hand in Gaby’s for a brief shake. “I’m pleased to meet you, too,” she whispered, “Gaby.”
“Will you be showing me what I need to do?”
The woman shook her head. “Not me, dearie. I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m the housekeeper and cook.”
Gaby was disappointed. Working with Mrs. Kupps would have certainly made her workday interesting. “Do you know who will be showing me what I need to do?”
“I assume that would be Mr. Santoro.”
“Oh, will he be out soon?”
The woman clucked her tongue. “Mr. Santoro does not get out much these days.”
“Not even on his own estate?”
The woman shook her head as a serious look came over