Chapter Nine

Sara was dreaming.

Right away, she recognized the dream as one of her Gifts from Above. Or maybe this one was a gift from Lachlan House and its spirits. In her long writing career, this had happened only three times. She knew she was dreaming, and that what she was seeing and hearing was a compilation of her hundreds of thoughts and observations. All of it was converging to make itself into that greatest of blessings: a story.

Smiling at her good fortune, she looked about with intensity. She was trying to memorize everything she saw so that when she woke up, she could write it all down.

She was hovering, not a real person, but just an observing entity. She knew from experience that no one could see or hear her. It was a rural area, with trees and grass and a rough, unpaved road. Oh goody, she thought. An historical. She looked down the road, hoping to see men in armor. She could stand to write her twelfth medieval novel.

A woman came into view. She was walking along the far edge of the road, as if she didn't want to be seen. Her head was turned, but Sara could see that she was young, maybe even a teenager. She had on a long pinafore over a flowered dress that had puffy sleeves. Sara noticed a couple of palm trees. Rats! she thought. It looked like the story wasn't set in England and wasn't a medieval. By the clothes, it seemed to be the 1940s. Sara did not want to write something set in WWII.

When the girl turned her head, Sara gasped. Uh-oh. This wasn't a heroine so beautiful that she made a duke fall in love with her. This girl's looks were...well, unfortunate. She had a big nose, teeth so protruding that they distorted her lower jaw, and there were half a dozen large brown moles on her face. She wasn't thin.

A good gym and a year with a couple of surgeons would help, Sara thought.

The girl was carrying a basket of pears, and she was walking slowly. She kept glancing over her shoulder.

Abruptly, the girl halted, then smiled in a way that made her chest rise and fall. Sara thought that if she were describing this in a book, she'd say the girl "smiled down to her very soul."

Only love can do that, she thought. The girl was in love with whomever she was seeing.

Sure enough, a young man came strolling down the road. He was tall, early twenties, and good-looking. Not hero-gorgeous, but nice. When he turned, she saw a red birthmark on the side of his neck. It went up to his ear lobe and was very noticeable. In a romance novel, it would be called a "port-wine stain."

He had on a blue cotton shirt, those loose 1940s trousers, and very clean brown and white oxfords. His clothes were simple but of good quality. From the look of the two of them, he was much richer than she was.

Ah, Sara thought. The plot thickens. The impoverished girl would be in a car accident, and he'd pay for her reconstructive surgery. She'd emerge as beautiful. She did have nice eyes. They'd marry and...

Plotting had to wait. Sara put her attention back on what she was seeing.

The young man—certainly not a boy—smiled when he saw the girl. Sara feared the girl was going to melt. When she spoke to him, there was no sound. He replied, and again Sara heard nothing.

She cursed. Who wanted a soundless dream?! But that's what she was getting.

The girl handed him a pear, he took a bite, and they walked side by side along the road. He wasn't like her in skulking along the edge, but he walked down the center. He did all the talking—not a word of which Sara could hear.

The girl laughed a couple of times. But then, from the way her eyes were dripping with love that was close to worship, she would have laughed no matter what he did.

There was a patch of little blue flowers beside the road and when he threw the pear core away, he bent and plucked one.

Both Sara and the girl held their breaths. Would he give her the flower? Was he a hero who could see past looks and into a soul? Would he love her in spite of those teeth? Those moles?

Before the questions could be answered, the sound of a horse on the road made them stop and turn. The happiness on their faces disappeared. For all the expression they wore, they could have put on masks.

A young man on a beautiful horse came into sight. He had on clothes that cried Rich! The son of the lord of the manor? He wasn't haughty or arrogant, just self-assured in that way that being born into money gave a person.

From his higher-up position, he looked down at the girl and seemed to be genuinely confused. It was as though he wanted to say, "Why are you with her?" When he said something that Sara couldn't hear, the first man stepped in front of the girl in a protective way.

This idea came from seeing the nursery for two boys, Sara thought.

She'd been so dazzled by the man's elegant clothes and the beautiful horse that she had only glanced at his face. When she took a closer look, she was startled. The two young men looked very much alike. Except for the big birthmark on the first man, they would be hard to tell apart.

Sara smiled. Oh yeah, I can plot from this. Of course the two men had the same father. But one was a legitimate son and the other a bastard. The marked man—yes, that was a good nickname—was torn between the rich world of a father who didn't acknowledge him, and the poor world of the girl with the pears. There'd be lots of jealousy and many dramatic scenes. And of course many false accusations. Since she was always looking for a way to make a story different, she thought, What if, for once, the rich guy was good and the poor one evil?

She watched as the man on the horse extended his hand down, meaning for the other man—his half brother?—to climb on the horse behind him. In what was obviously a practiced movement, the first man easily and swiftly got on behind him.

This reinforced her idea that the boys of the nursery had been raised as brothers.

The two young men looked down at the girl, then the rich one tossed her a coin. She made no effort to catch it and it landed in her basket. She didn't look at it, and for a second there was a flash of pure hatred in her eyes. The man saw it too and he seemed startled by it, seeming to not understand her animosity. He turned away, leaned forward, and patted his horse's neck.

Behind him, the marked man leaned down and held out the flower to the girl. As she reached up and took it, the love returned to her eyes.

In the next second, the horse took off and the girl jumped back to keep from being hit by the hooves.

The girl stood in the dust that rose up and watched until they were out of sight. She tucked the flower into her blouse, against her breast, and, smiling, started walking.

Sara woke up.

She looked at the clock—2:00 a.m. Good! She'd slept long enough. There was no time better for writing than when the surrounding world was asleep, their loud thoughts not echoing in an introverted empath's mind.

Ever since she had written her first novel, Sara kept a notebook and pens on her bedside table. She turned on the light and began to write down what she'd seen. Physical descriptions, gestures, plus all that Sara had felt, she put into her notes. Her dream was enough for her to start plotting a new book. She'd been retired from writing for years, but obviously, she'd been thinking of plots and that had made all this come out. Maybe this dream was an omen, letting her know that she should start writing again.

It was 6:00 a.m. when she put her notebook down. She'd written pages. It was just beginning to be daylight and she thought she'd walk about the estate. Maybe more ideas would come to her. She needed character names and more of the plot. Did the marked man get together with the girl? Or did he marry someone else and the girl killed them both?

No!she thought. For the last years, she'd been involved in too many murders. She needed to go back to thinking about romance.

But how did she make a heroine out of a girl who looked like the one in her dream?

A challenge!Sara thought. This book would be a challenge to write. She just needed to figure out how to do it.

She got dressed, put on light makeup, picked up her notebook, three pens, and left the Palm Room. She was glad to see that all the bedroom doors were closed. An introvert's happy place. She tiptoed down the stairs and went outside.

She began walking toward the cottage. Cal's house, is how she thought of it. They were just kids but they'd loved each other without reservation. But then they'd shared a lifetime of abuse: his father; her mother. Cal's mother, a beautiful woman, had endured all her husband dished out so she could protect her son. But she died young.

Sara shook her head to clear it. Now wasn't the time to think of the bad of her life. Or of a skeleton found in a closet. She needed to remember the story the dream had hinted at and expand on it. Who were the people? She had to pin down a setting. Since there were palm trees, maybe it was meant to be in Florida. She should reread Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings's Cross Creek and watch the movie again to put the Florida of that time in her mind.

She needed to—

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she saw Jack and Kate walking through the wet grass. He had on jeans and a T-shirt, while Kate had on a silk blouse, carrying her briefcase. It looked like she had a house to show and was going to work. They weren't far away but they were so absorbed in each other, they saw nothing or no one else.

Sara watched them, eyes wide.

Finally, she thought. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back in silent prayer. Thank all that was holy, Jack and Kate had done it! At last they'd given in to what every other person who saw them knew: Jack and Kate were deeply in love. On his part, it had been from the first, but Kate had taken longer. She had enough pride that she wouldn't give herself to a man who was notorious for being a playboy with a bad temper. Kate didn't want a bad boy. She wanted a good man. When Jack returned from his isolation in the wilds of Colorado, they could see that he'd changed.

Jack kissed Kate goodbye and she headed to the front of the house. Jack followed the path toward the cottage and was soon out of sight.

On impulse, Sara looked toward the window of the room where her brother was staying. He'd want to know this about his daughter. But the window was dark. A movement caught her eye. The next window had a light on and standing there was her brother. He gave a salute to his sister, letting her know that he'd seen Jack and Kate and he was very pleased.

When Randal closed the curtain, Sara realized that he was in Lea's room.

"Well, well, well," she said as she began walking again. What an extraordinary night it had been. Jack and Kate together at last, and it looked like Randal was with Lea. Plus, Sara had had one of her Magic Dreams. The other times they'd happened, those books had been top sellers. She remembered them well. There'd been the ghostly encounter at the monument. It was so powerful that she'd fallen to her knees. Later, the plot came to her in one big lump. She'd spent days in isolation as she wrote a hundred pages of dialogue.

Then there'd been the single sentence she read in a guidebook. A man wrongly executed in Elizabethan times. That night, she'd dreamed about him.

Sara stopped walking. Ghosts. All the dreams had spirits in common. Did last night's dream have ghosts? Or was it sent by them?

She looked up to see a young man, his back to her, mowing the tall grass along the back fence. His mower was quite old, with no electricity or liquid fuel. It was silent. It's what would have been used when the house was built.

I bet Randal arranged that, she thought. Or maybe Billy. But where did they find someone who knew how to use such an old-fashioned machine?

The man stopped mowing and ran a big blue bandanna over his sweaty face. Pushing the mower was hard work. When he glanced at the house, he halted, cloth over half his face.

Sara could only see his eyes, but they widened in shock. She looked toward the house. In the window was Barbara Adair, fully made up and wearing a pretty flowered top. He was probably shocked to see the famous actress.

Barbara leaned forward and squinted, as though trying to see something. She reached down, picked up a pair of glasses, and looked again.

Sara turned in the direction of Barbara's gaze. It was where the young man had been, but now he was gone. She frowned. Barbara wasn't one of those women who pursued young men, was she? How embarrassing! But then Sara saw the old-fashioned lawn mower, something that you'd see in a museum, and thought maybe Barbara was staring at that. She truly hoped that's what interested Barbara.

Sara wanted to sit down with her notebooks and get busy. It had come to her that the name of the girl in her dream should be Alice. She felt that the first young man's name started with a G. First letters of names were oh so important. Hero names had to start strong: R, M, S, T were best. Women had more variety. G was in the second tier of hero names but she could work with it. As for the guy on the horse, he needed a rich man's name: Nigel or Clive would do. Personality and background were told in one word.

There was a stone bench nearly hidden by a tall, overgrown hedge, and Sara hurried toward it. She could almost disappear there and no one would bother her. Don't these people sleep? she wondered. Usually, she was the only one up at this hour, but today everyone seemed to be awake.

She slid back on the bench, letting the branches nearly engulf her, and opened her notebook. Florida with Alice and G, she wrote. How did they meet? Sara knew she had to deal with the girl's looks. They lived next door to each other? A long-term association would make him see past her face. Ah! Sara thought. What if she has a smashing body? Exaggerated hour glass? She could—

The sound of a woman's voice interrupted her thoughts. Sara scooted back into the hedge, trying to hide.

"I'm sorry I woke you," the voice said, sounding urgent. "But it's important."

The frown left Sara's face. Gossip and overheard conversations were good writing fodder. The woman was on the other side of the hedge so Sara quickly leaned into it, spit out a couple of leaves, and listened.

"There are things you didn't tell me," she said, then paused.

It's Rachel, Sara thought.

"I don't know how I can do this. I thought I could, but you—" Pause. "All right, but you have to tell me all of it. You know this involves murder!" Pause. "Where are you? I think—" Rachel stopped talking for a moment, then said, "She hung up on me!"

Who is she talking to?Sara wondered. She set her notebook aside, then parted the branches with her hands. She got scratched, but what did a little blood and pain matter? She looked through the hole she was holding open.

Rachel was alone, holding her phone, so she'd made the declaration to herself. Obviously angry, she jammed her phone in her pocket and started to walk away. She'd only gone a few feet when Reid came to her.

"Is nobody sleeping?" Sara muttered.

The two of them were too far away for Sara to be able to hear what they were saying. What's with the audio today? Sara thought. The dream and now this. Maybe I'll title my book A Silent Romance, or Quiet Love.

Reid was leaning toward Rachel in a way that suggested intimacy.

Sara was surprised. She'd seen no evidence that they even knew each other. And what about Rachel with Gil and Quinn? Was that an act?

Reid reached out and put a strand of Rachel's hair behind her ear. It was a universal show of lovers.

But are they still lovers?Sara wondered.

The answer came in the next second when Rachel gave Reid a hard slap across his face.

Sara's eyes widened. If they used to be lovers, it didn't appear that Rachel wanted to continue it.

She saw the anger that filled Reid's face and for a moment Sara thought he might hit her back. She prepared to yell, scream, whatever it took to stop that.

But Reid just turned on his heel and walked away.

Rachel stood there, her hands made into fists, then she took her phone out of her pocket and angrily finger-punched the screen. She listened but there appeared to be no answer. The second time she punched, she left a voice message. From the look on her face, her message was of fiery anger.

Eyes still wide, Sara moved back, letting the hole in the branches close as they scraped her neck and hands. She turned, then gave a startled gasp. Reid was standing there looking at her.

He was wearing such a look of shock and confusion that Sara felt sorry for him. She picked up her notebook, meaning that he was welcome to sit beside her.

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Reid's phone buzzed and he looked at it, read the text, tapped twice, then turned the phone off and held it. "That was from my grandmother. She texts me when she wakes up."

"Every day?"

"Yes. I reply with... Well, hearts." He held up his phone and showed Sara a long line of hearts. He clicked the phone off and tightly held it.

Sara was quiet as she waited for him to speak.

"You saw?" he asked.

She was embarrassed about snooping so she just nodded.

"I came here because I wanted to see Rachel again. When Billy called Grans and asked about me, I said I'd come and help out."

"But it was really all about Rachel."

"Yes. I've fantasized about her. You see, that week when she was slipping out of the guesthouse, it was because we were lovers. We were so young and it was our first real..." He gave a shrug. "I wanted to see her again. I wondered if she'd feel the same way about me." He paused. "In these many years, I've been married, and divorced. I also had a long-term girlfriend, but we broke up. But through it all, I've never loved anyone as much as I loved Rachel. Last night she looked at me as though she was glad to see me. It was quick, but it was enough. I thought..." He stopped.

"Maybe it was just old memories and she was saying goodbye."

He gave her a sharp look. "You sound like you know something that I don't. Is there someone else?"

Sara wasn't about to mention Gil. "Doesn't Rachel have a husband?"

"Did have. I did a search and found out that they divorced three years ago."

"Really? Was he a rich guy in Connecticut?"

"You looked her up too!"

"No. It's just something someone said."

"You think she doesn't want a poor guy like me?"

Sara smiled at him. "Why do I think you're not poor? Hmm. Lots of garden work and no sight of a car."

He smiled. "You are perceptive. What gave me away?"

"It's the way you walk and move. You have great confidence in who and what you are."

He laughed. "You sound like my grandmother."

Sara groaned. "I'd rather have a ‘You remind me of my former girlfriend.' So what broke you and Rachel apart?"

"Back then, I was broke. And besides, I have my grandmother. Grans would have objected." His voice rose and he imitated a Scottish accent. ‘She's above you, boy. She's a spoiled, horse-riding rich girl. You're the help.' And if that wasn't enough, Grans would have made Rachel's life hell. She's always wanted me to marry a woman who can carry wood and handwash clothes in a river."

"That's not easy to find in this day and age."

"It's impossible. And I wouldn't want her anyway. In any case, back then, during that infamous party, Rachel and I hid from everyone, even my sister, Greer."

"She'd be jealous?"

"Worse. She would have told Grans. They were tight. Look at this." He started to unbutton his shirt, then halted. "Do you mind?"

"You're asking a romance writer if she objects to a young man revealing his chest?"

Reid laughed as he continued unbuttoning his shirt. "Okay, for that you get an upgrade. You're like the aunt I never had."

"Skipped a generation in a minute. I'm winning."

Smiling, he slipped his shirt down his shoulder to show a tattoo of two Rs back-to-back. "Rachel and Reid," Sara said.

He rebuttoned his shirt. "I've lied to every female in my life about what that means. I get the most sympathy when I say it has to do with my old grandmother."

"And sympathetic women give sex. An adult aphrodisiac."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You have any of your books that I can read?"

Sara smiled, then turned serious. "So, all these years, you've lived in a fantasy about Rachel."

"You mean I've wasted my life. Maybe it was a love that didn't actually exist. I know she married a tall blond guy who came from money. She didn't want the boy who pulled weeds."

"I did," Sara said. "I wanted Cal, but he married a woman half as smart and half as pretty as me. It sure did crush my ego. But the truth is, that deep pain is what made me start writing. I needed a release. And a happy ending."

"It's horrifying how your life can change in a moment."

"Yes it is," Sara said softly.

They were quiet, sitting side by side and looking across the mowed lawn. In the distance they heard a loud burst of sound, familiar in South Florida as the streets were always being repaired. The swamp was trying to reclaim its land.

In the next second, they heard a man shout, "Look out!" Then came a crash from the direction of the cottage.

"Jack!" Sara said. In an instant, she was running.

Reid, younger and with longer legs, ran ahead of her. Before she got through the massive growth, he shouted, "He's all right."

Even with this reassurance, Sara didn't slow down. Jack was sitting on the ground and beside him was a pile of bricks, both loose and in mortared clumps. One of the chimneys had fallen to the ground. It was easy to see how close he'd come to being hit by the falling debris.

Jack seemed dazed and he was rubbing his head. Sara went to her knees and began pushing his hair back to examine him.

"I'm not hurt," he said.

Reid was standing in front of them and he was looking up at the roof. "I'm going up to see..." He didn't finish, just went into the little house. Sara knew that in the loft was an overhead door that allowed entry to the roof.

She sat down beside Jack. Her whole body was shaking in fear of what could have happened. Falling bricks could be lethal.

He put his arm around her small shoulders and drew her head to his chest. "It was Evan," he whispered.

Evan was Jack's half brother, who'd died years before. Sara'd had too many ghostly encounters in her life to be shocked by his words.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Lenny's scarred face appeared. He looked at Jack, at the fallen chimney, then at the roof. In an instant, he disappeared.

"Tell me what happened," Sara said softly.

"I got a text from Kate saying to meet her by the cottage. I assumed her showing was canceled. I saw one of her cards on the ground and bent to pick it up. Then I heard a shout."

"Someone yelled, ‘Look out,'" Sara said.

"Yes. I turned to look and there was Evan. I froze. I couldn't move. He was..."

Sara squeezed his hand. Jack had never recovered from his brother's death.

"When I didn't move, he ran at me," Jack said. "Just like when we were kids, and I dodged him as I used to do. Then... Then..."

"Then the chimney came down."

Jack nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "Evan promised. When he was six, I ran after a dog that was chasing him. It bit me." Jack lifted up the leg of his jeans to show a scar. "Evan was very upset. He was afraid I was going to die and he said he'd save me back. He just did."

Sara held his hand, her head on his shoulder. When she looked up, she wasn't surprised to see her brother. He had on a bathrobe over blue boxers. That he hadn't take time to fully dress showed how upset he was. He'd heard it all.

Barbara Adair came through the trees. She was beautifully made up and had on a gorgeous silk kimono.

"What the hell?" It was Gil, and he was studying the bricks on the ground. He picked up one that looked like it had been burned on one side.

In silence, Lenny slipped around the side of the house and touched Gil's arm. The two men hurried away together.

Everyone was looking down at Jack and Sara, their expressions asking questions.

Jack recovered first. "Wrong place, wrong time," he said almost cheerfully as he disentangled himself from Sara. He stood up and offered his hand to her. "The cottage is in worse shape than I thought, and a chimney came down. My men and I will do a thorough inspection today and make some repairs. Until then, everyone needs to stay away."

"I agree," Randal said, then offered his arm to Barbara. "May I escort you back to the house? And may I say that you look as beautiful as the dawn?" They were soon out of sight.

Gil came back around the house, his face serious.

"What did it?" Jack asked.

"Old house!" Sara said loudly. "It was an accident. Right?"

Gil grimaced, not sure he should tell.

"Go on," Jack said. He was leaning against the wall. For all his bravado, it had been a harrowing experience.

Gil looked at Sara. "We did inspect this place. It was in good shape. Both the chimneys were solid. But..." He looked at Jack for permission to tell what he knew and was given a nod. "Someone removed some bricks at the base, then set a charge on it."

When Sara's knees weakened, Jack held her upright. "It was deliberate? Someone tried to hurt Jack?"

"Lenny and I think so," Gil said. "And that guy Reid agreed with us. Somebody wants to stop this investigation."

"I can understand that, but why Jack?" Sara's voice was rising. "I'm the ringleader. It should be me who is removed. I—"

Jack put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "If any one of us was taken out, the others would stop. I guess I was just the easiest one to remove." He stepped away from the wall, taking Sara with him. "I have a feeling Kate will be back soon, so let's have breakfast and talk about this."

"Let's all go home and stop sticking our noses into murder," Sara said.

"Too late to stop now," Jack said. "We know that one of our guests is a killer. I doubt if he or she will stop trying to silence us just because we chicken out before the exposé."

"Even if you did quit, the murderer would want to remove all three of you, just to be sure," Gil said.

"Thanks for that," Jack said.

"Anytime," Gil replied. "Think we should repair the chimney or leave it?"

"Leave it," Jack and Sara said in unison.

They heard a car door slam hard.

Jack groaned. "It's Kate and she's going to be mad."

"I agree with her," Sara said.

Together, they walked back to the house, bracing themselves to deal with the anger and fear from Kate.