Darkwood Manor. Jenna Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ the original plaster falling from the ruins of a coffered ceiling.”

      “And a six-inch layer of dust on every visible surface.” Katie yelped as her ankle turned on a piece of broken board. “The word visible not being applicable to the floor. This isn’t a project, it’s a death trap.”

      “It has good bones, though.” Isabella zeroed in on the staircase. “That banister’s spectacular. Carved mahogany.” She took two shots. “The newel post’s some kind of leaf and vine depiction. And don’t say poison oak.”

      “I was thinking hawthorn. Bella.” Katie caught her arm. “You can’t seriously plan to stay here.”

      If this was the habitable section David’s lawyer had mentioned, even Isabella wasn’t that adventurous.

      When her cell phone rang, she answered with a preoccupied “Isabella Ross. Hi, Aunt Mara…Yes, we’re here…. Uh, well, it’s—”

      “Amityville,” Katie declared. “And I’m being generous.”

      A protracted creak overhead had both women raising their eyes.

      “Not sure—maybe,” Isabella allowed in response to her aunt’s question about ghosts. She squinted into a cobwebbed corner. “Either that or a really big rat.”

      “Like there’s a difference?” Several yards away, Katie blew on a carved molding, then stood back, triumphant. “Behold your resident gargoyle, Bella, trapped in a sea of hemlock.”

      Grinning, Isabella returned to her call. “It gets better the deeper you go inside, Mara, which suggests a secondary entrance.” A parlor drew her forward—until she caught a movement on the floor. “I’ll get back to you when I’ve seen the rest.” Slapping her phone closed, she dropped it in her pocket. With a wary eye on the rubble to her left she hopped onto a length of rolled carpet. “Why is there always a snake?” she muttered, shivering. “Katie, can you hear me?”

      A branch scraping the window was her only response.

      “Oh, good, so it’s you and me, snake, and I’m betting you’re poisonous.” She backed along the dusty roll until it ran out. “Katie?”

      Her cousin didn’t reply.

      Spying the movement again, Isabella gauged the distance between her and the stairwell. Grandpa Corrigan said she should face her fears. No problem, she could do that. She’d face the spot where she’d seen the snake from the far side of the entry hall.

      She glanced over her shoulder. It wasn’t in Katie’s nature to play games. If her cousin wasn’t answering, that meant she couldn’t hear, ergo, she’d probably left the house for a smoke.

      Still walking backward, Isabella retraced her steps to the front door.

      “Going on a diet tomorrow,” she decided, squeezing through. “Katie, are you out here?”

      But there was no one on the porch or in the weed-choked yard. And nothing to see or hear except gusts of wind, a sky full of purplish clouds and several thick branches pressed against the windows to her right.

      “Terrific,” she murmured and ran the list of possibilities.

      Katie never smoked indoors, so, yes, she’d have come out here to light up. But she wouldn’t leave the property without a word, and they’d only been apart for a few minutes, so she couldn’t have gone far. On the other hand, the floor inside was a minefield of rubble and broken furniture. She might have ventured into a room, tripped and hit her head.

      Isabella slid damp palms along the sides of her pants. Grandpa C swore snakes wouldn’t bite unless distressed. But then Grandpa C had marched up to and fearlessly across enemy lines numerous times in the Korean War. His idea of danger varied greatly from that of his granddaughter.

      Easing back inside, she hung her shoulder bag and camera on the newel post and started for the room with the carved molding. It wasn’t a gargoyle as Katie had suggested, but an angel, one with vacant orbs for eyes and an expression that sent an unexpected chill fluttering over her skin.

      Because the space ahead was shuttered, she had to feel for a wall switch. A weak light appeared at the far end of the room. Directly ahead, however, the shadows remained virtually impenetrable.

      “Not quite so much to love about my job at the moment,” she reflected, then raised her voice. “Katie, can you hear me?”

      Something shifted behind her, and she spun. But there was no one in the doorway or beyond that in the entry hall.

      Exasperated by her overreaction, she regrouped and made her way carefully along the wall.

      Wind whistled through cracks in the shutters. A branch banged against the siding at random intervals. The floorboards sagged and protested.

      Ahead of her, a chunk of plaster toppled from a mound she could barely make out. Next to it, she spied what looked like a huddled body.

      Her heart spiked. Keeping her hand on the wall and her sights fixed, she approached it.

      A door at the far end of the room creaked, causing her to look up.

      She realized her mistake instantly. With her concentration thrown forward, she had no time to react when her foot landed on air—and her momentum sent her tumbling into the blackness below.

      FROM THE SHELTER OF a damaged shutter, the man outside watched the woman inside stumble and fall. Served her right, he thought, twitching an irritable shoulder. Now maybe she’d leave.

      He couldn’t do business with a snoopy female hanging around. Bad enough that big galloot from the coach house kept tromping around the perimeter of the property. With luck, he’d topple off a cliff and, if she didn’t die here, take the blonde and her camera with him. Maybe some clever third person could make that happen.

      On the other hand, he might not be thinking this through quite right. Lose the woman, lose the chase rabbit. Was that the best-case scenario for him?

      A slow grin lit his face and made his black eyes glitter. Bad luck for the rabbit might be a lucky stroke for him. Let the woman be the focus, the diversion, the target. Leave him free to go about his business.

      As he melted into the thickening twilight, the man found himself hoping the pretty blonde rabbit wouldn’t die too soon.

      ISABELLA’S MIND REELED. What kind of moron put a single step in the middle of whatever this room was? Ballroom, grand hall, dining room? More to the point, why hadn’t she brought a flashlight from the car?

      As her vision cleared and the pain of her hands-and-knees landing receded, the shape ahead resolved itself into a filthy tarp. Which relieved her because it wasn’t Katie and set her nerves back on edge because there was still no sign of her cousin.

      An obvious thought occurred as she pushed herself upright. Katie never went anywhere without her cell phone.

      She pulled out her own cell phone and punched in Katie’s number. Waited. Hissed at the pain in her left ankle when she stood, then reminded herself she deserved it for not paying attention to her surroundings.

      Four rings later, Katie’s voice mail СКАЧАТЬ