Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(70)

“I like it, but it doesn’t sound simple.”

“My job’s to make it simple—for you, and for the potential client shopping for a lawyer. Take your business cards. The one your father gave me is slightly different than yours. They should all have a look, a consistent Doyle Law Offices look. And instead of black on white, I’d suggest a warmer color. Ecru maybe.”

“Ecru.” His lips curved in that slow, easy smile. “That’s not a word you hear every day.”

“You do in my line. Coordinate your business cards, letterhead, the works. One cohesive look for one cohesive firm. Right now, your website’s a white background with bright blue font, blue backgrounds on the photos. It’s too staid.”

“Staid.”

“And you’re not. None of you are. Let it reflect who you are and what you do. Your father traveled to Boston, sat at my table, and changed my life. And he was so kind, so patient. You came here on your weekend and moved furniture for me.”

“Neighbors do for neighbors. And Collin was family. Family does for family.”

“Yes.” She beamed at him. “Exactly. You’re the neighborhood law firm. You’re the people a family can trust to take care of them.”

“You’re good at this.”

“I am.”

“Can you work up a proposal?”

“I can. And if you decide against, no harm done. You’ll be making a mistake, but that’s on you.”

He laughed, sat back. “Anna’s over the moon.”

“I’m really glad.”

“She told me she’s sold more since the new site went up than she had in the previous month. What I’m looking for isn’t really to generate more business—or not primarily. It’s to keep up.”

“You’re not looking for slick. You’re looking for a fresh look that reflects the firm and the people in it.”

“That sums it up. So that’s done. How are things going here? Any problems?”

“A lot of what’s become the usual. I’ve started documenting, just to have a record. There’s the in-house DJ, but that’s gotten to be almost entertaining. Hell,” she admitted, “it is entertaining. There’s doors opening, closing. And Yoda hears that, too, which is oddly comforting. Something on the third floor.”

The thought of it had her rubbing a chill from her arms.

“The dog kept stopping by the servants’ door on the landing, so I finally went in with him. I’m trying to talk myself into using the gym anyway.”

To keep her hands busy, she poured more coffee. “Do you work out?”

“Little bit.”

“I had a routine in Boston. Went to the gym three times a week. But, well. Anyway, after a poor excuse for a workout, Yoda’s sniffing around. And those bells—the ones people used to signal one of the staff to a room? One of them rang. The Gold Room. Third floor. We went up to check it out, but I couldn’t remember exactly which room it was. So we walked down the hallway with the bedrooms—everything’s shut. We open this door, look, move on. Then we’re at the end of that hall, and Yoda starts growling at the door. Serious growling, and I swear his hair’s standing up. When I opened the door—This is going to sound crazy.”

She had his full attention. “I doubt it.”

“It’s crazy to me. It wasn’t just chilly because that area’s closed off. It was frigid, and … It was like a wind going through an open window. I could see the sheets over the furniture moving. Like … rippling. I could see it. And Yoda’s barking like a maniac, growling, snarling. I was afraid he’d run in there, so I shut the door. I brought him down to the kitchen, and all the chairs at the small table were lying on their backs on the floor.”

“Why don’t I go up, check it out?”

“Now?”

“Sure.” He pushed up. “Give me a couple minutes.”

The idea made her throat go dry, but …

“No, if you’re going, I’m going.” She stood up. “I have to live here. I want to live here,” she corrected. “And, well, all these weird rooms are mine to figure out.”

He smiled at her. “I think Collin knew what he was doing when he left the manor to you. Looks like the troops are with us,” he added when the dogs stood and stretched.

“Have you heard anything up there since?” he asked as they started up.

“No. But I want to say, whatever I did hear or feel wasn’t benign. Not like the invisible DJ or housekeeper. I think—and here comes crazy again—I think it’s Hester Dobbs.”

“The half-assed witch who killed Astrid Poole.”

“Killed her, and took her ring. And lured Catherine, the second bride, out into a blizzard on her wedding night. And took her ring. And—”

She broke off when they reached the third floor. “Do you mind?” She reached for his hand. “Yeah, that’s better.”

“Dobbs died a couple decades before Catherine.”

“Yeah, I said crazy, but I know it. Don’t reach for the straitjacket, but I saw it. I dreamed it—or think I dreamed it. Everybody dreams, but these were so lucid. Then last night…”

“Last night?”