Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(55)

She toasted a bagel, made coffee, and with her tablet sat at the table answering emails and texts.

A check on her weather app told her they’d likely see snow—two to four inches—by midafternoon.

Hopefully, Cleo would arrive about noon, as planned.

After filling her water bottle, Sonya went back up. She’d shower, put on actual clothes, then work until Cleo got there.

The made-up bed and fluffed pillows barely gave her a jolt this time. Ignoring it, she went into the bathroom, firmly closed the door.

She needed to talk to Cleo, she thought as she showered. If anyone stood wide open to … ghosts, spirits, poltergeists—whatever the hell—it was Cleopatra Fabares.

Or maybe just having someone else in the house for a few days would … disburse things.

Somehow.

She hooked a towel on, started to reach for another to clear the steam from the mirror. And stared at the message written in it.

7 lost



“Seven what?” Annoyed as much as shaken, she wiped it away. “I don’t do cryptic.”

Since the patchy sleep after three a.m. showed, she used makeup to disguise it. She dressed in jeans, a sweater, even added earrings.

And decided she looked fine. Cheerful and sane.

In the library, she set her tablet on the desk, walked over to start the fire.

The tablet greeted her with Steve Holy’s “Good Morning Beautiful.”

“That doesn’t win you points after last night.”

The fire caught with a crackle. Snow might come later, but for now, the sun beamed.

After yesterday’s tests on Anna’s website and social media, she wanted to make a few minor adjustments before she ran another round.

Then she wanted Cleo’s eye on the project.

She lost herself in it, working straight through the morning.

When the doorbell sounded, she jumped, cursed herself, then shoved out of the chair. She rushed downstairs, swung the door open.

And locked her arms around her friend.

“You’re here! I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It took me about ten minutes to shove my eyes back in my head after I saw this house, but I’m here. You okay, Son?”

“Yes, yes. Just really glad to see you.”

Sonya pulled her, her suitcase, and her shoulder bag inside.

“Well, oh my God, wow.”

“I know, right?”

“It bears repeating. Wow. This is like … No, it’s like nothing else. Look at that staircase! The chandelier! The floors, the every-freaking-thing. I know I had a video tour, but holy crap, Sonya, actually seeing it.”

“I felt the same way. I think I’m sort of getting used to it, then I realize, no. Not really.”

“I want to see it all.” Cleo pulled off her hat, and her gorgeous hair sprang free. “Every single inch. And this is the murdered bride. Oh, Sonya, she’s so young and beautiful.”

As she took off her coat, Cleo stepped toward the portrait.

“He must have loved her, really loved her, to have this painted after.”

“And hanged himself as soon as it was finished,” Sonya added.

“Which is awful. Tragic all around. But she’s still here, isn’t she? Young and beautiful. So, where do we start?”

“Turret sitting room. Coat closet.”

She hadn’t started a fire in there, or in the front parlor. But in both rooms fires burned cheerfully as she guided Cleo through.

“I have to come up with better than wow, but I’m sticking with it for now.”

“Let’s take your bag up so you can see where you’re sleeping. We can go through the rest down here later. I picked out your room,” Sonya continued as they started up, “but you can pick another if you want. We got plenty of ’em.”

“You’d have to in this place. The library! Oh yeah, it’s just perfect. What a work space. I’m crazy about it.”

“Me, too.” Or it was making her crazy. Take your pick. “I’m on the other side, end of the hall.”

“Let’s start there, work our way back. Jesus, the length of this hallway! The color, that incredibly rich rose, the arches. Is this his art?”

“A lot of it,” Sonya said as they walked. “But apparently art runs in the family. I’ve found some signed Arthur Poole, Jane Oglebee—who was a Poole—a Leticia Poole Bennett, and so on.”

“Talent in the genes. And you’ve got double doors. Pretty freaking grand.”

Cleo nodded as she wandered Sonya’s room. “Collin Poole knew how to honor the history of this place, and live well while he was at it. And the view. I’d stand here and picture myself as the heroine in one of those old Gothic novels. You’ve got your own sitting room, which is both classy and adorable, and this very classy bedroom with a changeable painting for a view.”

She turned, grinned. “Score. Let’s see where you put me.”

“You’ve got choices.” Sonya led her back down the hall. “But I started with this.”

“A sitting room? Oh, look at the wallpaper.” Cleo traced a finger over a bluebird in flight.

“This is listed as Bluebird. The rooms have names.”

“Of course they do. This is just gorgeous. The little curved divan, those sweet lamps. And the bedroom. I’ve got a canopy bed! And a view.”