Gypsy of Spirits: Prequel to So Fell the Sparrow (6 page)

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, reaching for the next sheet and tearing it away to reveal a glossy mahogany coffee table with inlaid floral designs. A few more sheets revealed an end table, a few lamps, and a stunning matching mahogany grandfather clock.

She stared up at the towering clock in bewilderment. “And here I thought they’d just left me an empty house.” Her hands trailed over the carved wood, admiring the precision and care the creator must have taken to make such a masterpiece. The face of the clock was inlaid with gold, the dials ornate with intricate floral patterns. Never in her life had she seen something so beautiful.

“I don’t even
like
antiques,” she muttered, surprised by her reaction to the clock. Something about it charmed her in a way that her ridiculously overpriced designer furniture back home never had.

A smile spread over her face as she stepped back and admired her discovery. She didn’t know why her father had left these things in the basement, but she had every intention of bringing them to the surface. They were beautiful, amazingly preserved despite their age.

“And now they’re mine.” Excited for the first time in weeks, she hurried upstairs to get her phone. She had a favor to call in.

Within the hour, Johnny Hayes and two of his best men arrived at her house, ready to hoist the furniture up from the basement. Grace talked with him as he carried one of the lamps down the hallway.

“I appreciate this. Let me know how much I owe you,” she said, the other lamp in her arms as they walked.

“I’ll let you know after we see about bringing that clock up here,” Johnny replied easily. “Gotta be careful with antiques like that.”

“I understand. Whatever it takes, just get it up here.” Grace set the lamp on the dining table, admiring the loveseat that had already been brought up. Johnny set the lamp he carried beside hers, then wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. He was a young man, early-thirties with chestnut hair and kind blue eyes. He was exactly what she imagined most small-town men were like—faithful, well-mannered, simple-minded.

And, naturally, a gossip whore.

“The whole town’s talking about you,” he told her with a toothy smile. “The newest Sullivan to come to Mad Rock Harbor.”

Her left eyebrow shot up. “I’ve barely been here a day.”

“Word spreads fast around here.” He leaned against the kitchen island, lifting his ball cap and running a hand through his hair. “Everyone’s curious if you’re gonna be a permanent fixture or not.”

“Well, I’m not. You can tell that to all your bar buddies so they can tell their wives, and then you can all get over your little fascination with me.” Grace crossed her arms in a gesture of finality. “Now, go get my clock.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Johnny tipped the bill of his baseball cap and grinned again as he left, leaving her to brood in silence. She frowned, irritated at having her privacy shattered. All she wanted was peace and quiet, and as generous as the townspeople had been to her, she still wasn’t ready to make that trade just yet.

Perhaps it was best if she kept to herself from now on.

HOURS LATER, GRACE
stood before the grandfather clock in the living room, wine glass in hand. She had just finished setting the time, and was busy watching the minute hand tick closer and closer to the twelve. If it still worked and she’d set it right, the hour strike should chime at six o’clock. She mentally crossed her fingers as the minute hand inched closer to the twelve. Enraptured, she awaited the telltale gong as the hand slowly but surely met its fate.

The doorbell rang as the hour struck, causing Grace to nearly jump out of her skin. She gripped her wine glass to keep from spilling red liquid everywhere, cursing under her breath as her heart galloped from the shock. Annoyed at both herself and the intruder, she stalked into the entryway. The sound of the gong quieted as she opened the door.

Nellie stood on the other side, a large, round dish in her hands and her smile bright. “I brought you some dinner.”

“I can see that.” Grace sighed, eyeing the dish. “What is it?”

“Beef stew.” Nellie lifted the dish as if to show it off. “You’re too skinny, child. You could use some meat on those bones of yours.”

Grace snorted. “I’m a vegetarian.”

“Not tonight, you’re not.” Nellie pushed past Grace and made her way into the kitchen, cheerfully setting the dish down and unearthing two bowls from one of the cabinets. When Grace followed her in, Nellie nodded at the dining table. “You sit down. I’ll bring it to you.”

“What service,” Grace grumbled sarcastically, tossing herself into one of the dining chairs. She rested her chin in her hand with her elbow on the table, and watched Nellie dish out the food and bring it over.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” Nellie warned, handing Grace a fork before taking a seat across from her. When Grace only stared down at the bowl with a questionable look on her face, Nellie sighed. “It’s not poisoned.”

“It’s red meat.”

“So what? You’re a carnivore, aren’t you?” Nellie snapped, though there was humor in her tone. “Now eat it and be grateful.”

Grace sniffed at the bowl of stew, warring with herself over whether or not she could tolerate it. It had been years since she had eaten beef, though it did smell incredible. Her stomach rumbled, low and hollow, so she shoved aside the thoughts and dug in.

The first bite had her groaning, her tongue burning though she found she didn’t care. Her ingrained thoughts of slaughter house animals, injected hormones, and coppery blood fell to pieces in an instant as she savored the incredible flavor.

Across the table, Nellie looked pleased with herself. “Not so bad, is it?”

Grace groaned again, scooping up another bite. Her mouth full, she met her neighbor’s eyes and shook her head. “I don’t eat meat.”

“So you said.”

She swallowed. “Why am I still eating this? Ugh, I can feel my arteries clogging.”

“Oh, shut the hell up and stop being so dramatic.” Nellie chuckled, taking a bite of her own stew. She wagged her fork at Grace. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll polish off that bowl and let me serve you seconds. Then you’ll enjoy a nice glass of wine before turning in for the evening. No wonder you’re so famished, eating nothing but carrots and that tofu crap. That’s no way to live.”

Grace laughed despite herself. “I eat more than carrots and tofu.”

“Oh sure, and I’m a belly dancer from India. Keep eating, I’ll get you some more wine.”

Grace scooped up the last of the stew from her bowl before shoving it across the table to get it away from her. Her hands fell to her stomach as she moaned, satisfied yet hating herself. “That was awful. I’m so full. I’m never going to eat again.”

“Yes, you will.” Nellie poured more wine into Grace’s glass then corked the bottle and took her seat again. “So tell me about your life in Chicago. Do you enjoy being a doctor?”

Grace toyed with her wine glass as she gave it some thought. “It’s in my blood. Every Sullivan before me going back four or five generations has been in the medical field. The last three of us surgeons.”

“Yes, but do you like it?”

“I guess. It’s rewarding.”

“So they say…” Nellie trailed off, amused. “What about a boyfriend?”

Grace grimaced. “Not anymore.”

Nellie’s face fell. “Oh. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Grace met eyes with the older woman, her temper smoldering just beneath the surface. “Why did my father buy this house? Surely he must have told you.”

Nellie blinked in confusion. “Buy the house?”

“Yes.” Grace leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “What was the point of this place? My parents had a townhouse in Manhattan and they never mentioned vacationing to this speck on the map. So why did he buy it?”

“He never told you about The Sparrow House?”

“No,” Grace snapped. The wound of knowing her father had kept something like this from her was still fresh.

Nellie sighed. “Well, that explains why you’re so confused.” She reached across the table to grasp Grace’s hand firmly in her own. “Your father didn’t buy this house—he inherited it. It has been in the Sullivan family for over a hundred years. Since 1865.”

Hearing that only made Grace more angry. “Then why is this the first time I’ve heard of it? That doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

“I don’t know.” Nellie shook her head sadly. “It’s been many years since any member of your family lived here permanently. They all seem to prefer to keep a distance.”

“Then why not just sell it? Why hold on to it?”

“It’s been rumored for a long time that the house was an addiction your family could never shake. They tried to run from it, but they always came back, generation after generation. And now you’re here.” Nellie tried to smile, though her expression was oddly haunted.

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to believe that my father was
addicted
to this house, and that’s why he didn’t sell it?”

Nellie nodded. “It’s not unheard of. Many people become attached to places and things in ways they can’t explain.”

“That’s stupid,” Grace retorted, more than a little frustrated. “That still doesn’t explain why he kept this place a secret.”

“Maybe he wanted to save you from the same addiction he had.” Nellie shrugged, rising to her feet to clean up the dishes. “Either way, you ended up here, didn’t you? I’d say that’s fate.”

Grace paused, absorbing the woman’s words carefully. She realized that she hadn’t even hesitated in going to Mad Rock Harbor. The old version of herself would have gone overseas to the beautiful streets of Paris or to the hills of Tuscany, maybe even to the coasts of Ireland. Instead, she drove to this little seaboard town. Why? What had pulled her here?

Absolutely nothing except a desire to know the truth, Grace decided, feeling foolish. She was letting the old woman’s superstitions cloud her judgment. She’d come to Mad Rock Harbor to feel closer to her dead parents, and there was nothing odd about that at all. But something still prickled at the back of her neck, causing her skin to crawl with uncertainty.

“I’ll be going now. You enjoy the rest of that wine,” Nellie said suddenly, appearing beside Grace with her coat over one arm and the empty pot in the other.

Grace looked up at her, blinking. “Oh, okay. Thank you for the red meat.”

Nellie smiled. “You’re most welcome.” She glanced around the room, taking in the antique furniture. “These old things really look lovely in here, don’t they?”

“Didn’t you know that furniture was down in the basement?” Grace asked, turning in her chair to stare at Nellie. “Seems odd that you didn’t mention it.”

Nellie hesitated. “I don’t go down in the basement. Fear of the dark.”

Grace sensed the older woman’s discomfort. “Right. Well—”

The gong resounded from the grandfather clock as it struck seven, the noise startling them both. After the seventh gong, Grace sighed. When she noticed that Nellie’s face was white as a sheet, she got immediately to her feet.

“Are you alright?”

Nellie’s eyes shot from the clock back to Grace, her hand fluttering over her rapidly beating heart. “That startled me, is all,” she tried to laugh, though she looked around the room nervously.

Grace folded her arms and gave the clock a cross look. “I may have to disconnect the gong. It’s too loud.”

“Don’t you feel that?” Nellie asked in a murmured whisper, rubbing her free hand over her arm as if to chase off a chill.

Grace frowned. “Feel what?”

Nellie said nothing for a moment then shook her head. “Nothing, child. Goodnight.”

She took off before Grace could respond. Grace stared after her, more than a little confused, then turned to the clock again.

“Stupid clock,” she muttered, though part of her oddly missed the sound of the gong now that it was gone.