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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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And in that split second Cass knew she did not mistake the sheer hatred she witnessed in her sister's eyes. But then the instant was gone. Tracey had turned her attention to Antonio.
Cass could not breathe.
Oh, God.
Tracey saw her as a threat.
But then, shouldn't she? Not because Cass could actually steal Antonio away, but because she'd had those terrible thoughts about doing so.
“Half an hour,” Antonio was saying. “I suggest you wear closed shoes.”
“No problem,” Tracey said, strolling over to him and wrapping one arm around him. She was wearing short shorts, studded thongs, and a tiny T-shirt. Most men would be going bananas around her. For the first time, Cass realized that Antonio was not returning her affection; instead, he stepped aside.
Cass had no idea what that gesture meant. She fled.
 
 
“This was once a thriving monastery,” Antonio said. “It was finally abandoned about sixty years ago, not due to lack of religious devotion, which my country has in excess, but for economic factors.” He parked in what had one been the car park of the monastery, glancing at Cass in his rearview mirror.
“How interesting,” Tracey said brightly—too much so. Cass knew she was bored and pretending interest in their expedition.
“I thought you didn't know very much about this area,” Cass said as they all stepped out of the Jeep. A few old stone buildings faced them, the largest a rectangular one, windowless. There was a well to her right, and some abandoned farming equipment.
“I've been reading my father's files and research material since I arrived at the house earlier in the week,” Antonio told her. “He was a brilliant man, but like most brilliant men, he was very disorganized. I wish he'd filed everything methodically.”
“That would make our search so much easier,” Cass agreed.
“What search?” Tracey demanded as they walked past the wall of the long, rectangular stone building with its sloping roof. Gravel crunched underfoot.
Cass wished she'd phrased her words differently.
“Since when are the two of you searching
together
?” Tracey asked again.
A cemetery was ahead, numerous weather-stained marble and granite headstones rising up out of the grassy earth, a mausoleum with a temple pediment in their midst. Cass was aware of her pulse beating somewhat erratically. Their mission had seemed intriguing when they'd discussed it in theory—suddenly Cass realized what they were about to do.
Good God
, she couldn't help thinking. Were they really going to go inside a crypt?
Antonio said, calmly, “I have asked your sister to help me research. After all, she shares my love of the past.”
Tracey looked from him to Cass with wide-eyed disbelief.
Cass sighed inwardly, not in the mood for further conflict with her sister. “It's just research,” she muttered, irritated. She eyed Tracey. “And only for the weekend. Remember, I'm going home on Monday.”
Tracey did not visibly relax.
“You're welcome to stay,” Antonio said.
Cass turned to look at him, surprised.
“I could use your help,” he said.
“She's leaving,” Tracey said firmly. She appeared determined, and confused. The look of confusion in her eyes made her seem young and vulnerable. “She's made her plans.” She looked back and forth between them again.
They entered the overgrown cemetery in silence. A few misshapen trees guarded the perimeter of the plot, and the grass brushed up against Cass's knees. It was very still around them, still and silent. She wished a bird would sing, at least. “Who's buried here?” she asked, her voice sounding loud and abrasive to her own ears.
“Noblemen. Monks. Lesser family members.” His gaze found and held hers.
Cass found it difficult to look away. She thought he could sense her slight unease. When he smiled at her, she turned to quickly study one magnificent marble stone, years of dust and grime marring what otherwise would be a smooth white surface. Seventeenth-century dates were etched on the stone, with an inscription she could not read. “A de la Barca,” she murmured.
“This is madness,” Tracey said, hugging herself. “Wandering around a damned cemetery.”
Antonio did not reply, leading them through the graves, he and Cass pausing to read the dates and inscriptions on the stones they passed. They finally paused outside of the mausoleum, a building that now seemed imposing. Four thick columns supported the pediment, a series of stone steps led up to the front door—and a huge padlock was on the lock.
“It's locked,” Cass cried—hearing warring notes of relief and disappointment in her tone.
Antonio grimaced. “I should have guessed. Of course the crypt would be locked, in order to discourage vandals.” He frowned.
“I have a great idea,” Tracey said, tugging on his arm. “Let's drive into Pedraza for a cool drink and some tapas.”
No one answered her.
Cass was torn. What if the answer they were looking for was inside
that mausoleum? And she didn't want Antonio to think her a coward. She inhaled. “Maybe we can jimmy the lock,” she said, and with determination, she walked up the dirty marble steps.
“My thoughts exactly.” Antonio was behind her. His breath feathered her ear. This was not, Cass knew, a good time to start noticing small details like that.
Cass grabbed the padlock and pulled as hard as she could. It broke so easily that she went flying backward, landing on one of the lower steps and tumbling back to the ground below.
“Are you all right?” Antonio rushed down the steps, kneeling beside her, his large hands closing over her shoulders, which suddenly seemed ridiculously small.
Cass looked into his eyes, saw the concern there, realized how she must appear, and started to laugh. “Eureka,” she said.
He laughed, too, shaking his head. Then he held out his hand. Cass took it, and he helped her to her feet.
Then she dropped his hand and turned to face Tracey. Two bright spots colored her cheeks. The sisters locked gazes. Cass meant to soothe her as Antonio moved away, but she said, “I can't help it if we both love the past.”
Tracy's jaw tightened. “You sure can't.”
Cass wished she'd said anything else. Why had she thrown fuel on the fire?
“Let's go inside,” Antonio suggested as if he had not noticed the growing tension between them.
They entered the mausoleum, which was cast in pitch black darkness. Antonio turned on the flashlight he was carrying, but the small beam did not illuminate anything other than a very small circumference of perhaps a foot or two. Cass began to shiver. It was not just dark inside, it was damp and cold, and very, very musty.
“No one's been down here for years,” Cass muttered, espying a pair of tombs on her right. “I hope this is not considered a violation of anyone's rights.”
“We are fine,” Antonio said, excitement in his voice.
“You are both insane. Who would want to go down here with a bunch of dead people?” Tracey cried nervously.
“Trace, everyone down here is dead and buried.” Cass smiled reassuringly, even though her sister could not possibly see her face clearly. And now was not the time to think about the strange sensations she'd
had last night, or about the house being haunted—if Antonio's mother was right—or to wonder whether Isabel was the one lingering about. Tracey was right. They were nuts.
“There's no such thing as ghosts,” Tracey muttered, clearly hoping to believe her own words.
“Ssh,” Antonio said, wandering past the first two tombs. They were magnificent: stone effigies of the dead sculpted atop the stone crypts.
Cass stared, shivering. And then the historian in her got the best of her. She had research to do, a tomb to find. Cass had a very small penlight in her purse, which she took out. She followed Antonio past more tombs, eyeing the engraved dates as she went. “This is fascinating, if a wee bit nerve-wracking,” she finally said to Antonio's back.
He was far ahead of her, and she and Tracey hurried to keep up. “This section is filled with seventeenth-century tombs,” he said eagerly.
Cass came up behind him. She couldn't help but be excited herself. And it wasn't as bad as she had thought, being down there in the crypt. Not once she started to get used to it. “If she was married in 1554, and she was twenty, max—and my bet is she was younger—and she was not burned at the stake, if she lived until fifty or so, she died at the turn of the century.” Oddly, she did not want to speak Isabel's name.
“I have already thought about that. If she did die before Alvarado's marriage to Elena—” He stopped.
“Dios mio.
Here they are.”
Cass almost slammed into his back; she found herself gripping his waist from behind, peering around his broad shoulder-which she was not even eye level with. “Who? Alvarado and … ?” She trailed off.
“Alvarado and Elena,” he breathed.
Tracey came to stand beside them, saying nothing.
Cass felt an absurd disappointment; she had thought it was Alvarado and Isabel he was referring to. Antonio flashed his light over both tombs, and Cass instantly saw that the sculpted effigy of Alvarado was truly a likeness of him. Although forbidding in appearance, he had been an attractive man. He had been born in 1528, he had died in 1575. Elena had been much younger than he, Cass saw, and she had died earlier; her dates were 1544-1571.
Cass trembled. “She was a child bride. Didn't you say they married in 1560?”
“In 1562.” He shone the light around. “She must be here. But where?”
Cass followed the light, reading names and dates. “Maybe she
outlived them both. Maybe you were right. Maybe he sent her off to a convent somewhere, or another estate, and she died and was buried there.”
“Or maybe she was burned at the stake and no one cared to gather her ashes and bury her properly,” was Antonio's disturbing response.
“I hope not,” Cass muttered. And her own tiny penlight went out.
Cass tried to snap it back on, but it would not work. “Hell,” she said. “So much for freebies.”
“Hello? Who cares about that woman? I think we should go. I don't like it down here,” Tracey said, pressing up against Cass. Cass could feel her sister trembling, but then, in her tiny shorts and T-shirt, she was pretty bare.
“I hate to say this, I wouldn't mind leaving myself,” Cass said. “Antonio, you're in the mid fifteenth century. She's not here.”
“You're right. She isn't here.” His tone was heavy with disappointment.
“It's okay. We'll find her. We need to make a dent in all of your dad's paperwork,” Cass said reassuringly. Then she thought of her use of the word “we.”
“You're right. There's so much to do.” He turned and his eyes held hers. “I really appreciate your help, Cassandra.”
Cass found herself staring, not seeing him clearly, and unable to smile. “It's a pleasure, actually.” The words came out of their own accord. They were, barring the unusual circumstances, the truth.
Then, “Shall we go?” Antonio abruptly removed the light from the last tomb.
“You bet,” Cass said.
Antonio met her eyes, and this time their gazes held.
And Cass finally had to face the fact that when he looked at her, her heart raced, her knees went weak, and her insides turned to jelly.
Goddamn it.
“Did you know that my aunt and your father were lovers?” Tracey said loudly.
Cass whirled. Aware of Antonio stiffening, his head jerking around. Her sister's smile was nasty.
And Cass knew she hadn't misheard—but how the hell did Tracey know?
Tracey folded her arms and faced them both. Her expression was ugly. “I overheard Aunt Catherine telling
you
all about it, Cass.” She
smiled at Cass. The smile was cold, menacing. “What an interesting, no,
fascinating
conversation the two of you had.”
Cass's heart had briefly stopped. Sweat trickled down her temples. “Trace, please, don't.” How much had Tracey heard? How much did she know? Surely she wouldn't sacrifice Aunt Catherine in order to hurt her and Antonio?
“They were lovers.” Tracey looked at Antonio. “Right here, at Casa de Sueños.”
Antonio stared at her. Cass took one quick look at him and saw he had gone unbelievably pale. Without thinking, she reached out, found his hand, and held it, hard. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”
He was speechless.

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