Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (3 page)

With
silent agreement, Nicole turned and ventured deeper into the house. 

She
quickly became distracted by her surroundings.  The living room, in its
yellow-glazed walls, held a vibrancy of color that usually existed only in
memory.  The sofa was bright and cheerful with tiny flowers in the pattern. 
The chairs were fat and indigo with mismatched throw pillows.  The fireplace
was a sheltering mosaic of chunky stone.  Across the room, on a weathered
sideboard was a pitcher filled with orange roses. 

That
gave Nicole pause.  She walked closer and saw that the rose petals were silk. 
Odd—Nina had always loved fresh flowers from her garden. 

Pursing
her lips, Nicole paused and wondered if the garden was in disrepair and for how
long.  At the thought, a familiar weight settled on her chest.  Resignation
slacked her features.  Pulling on her was that inescapable sense that time was
streaming past her.

She
continued exploring the house, passing through the nook Nina used to call her
“coffee corner.”  Like an elbow, it connected the living room and the kitchen. 
It was a small space lined with red brick; a tall hutch stood along the wall. 
To the right was an open archway to the kitchen.

Nicole
approached the French door beside the kitchen table.  As she reached for the
handle, she noticed a white box set beside the door frame.  It was identical to
the one that secured the front entrance.  Cedric Davy had given Nicole the
10-digit code for the alarm when he went over the details of her inheritance. 
Using a mnemonic device, she pretty much had it down. 
4 seasons – 7 sins –
3 wishes – 2 cities...

Finally
she heard a soft
click
and the door's hinges crooned as they were set
into motion. 

The
back porch blazed with light.  Effortlessly, the sun ducked beneath the
overhang and billowed out, spreading over the wood like a pale sheet of fine
thread.  She realized at once something obvious: it was not just the house
she'd been given.  It was the stretch of grass behind the house that eventually
sloped into sand.  And the two big oak trees that still stood.  Idly, she
remembered that one of those oak trees had held a tree house; Aunt Nina had had
it built for Nicole and her sisters when they were kids.  Nina used to call the
girls her “princesses,” and at their request, she had painted the interior of
the tree house powdered-blue and pink.  Looking at the trees now, Nicole couldn't
tell which tree it was or if the tree house was even still there.  The oaks had
filled out so thickly over the years that their hefty branches seemed lost in
each other, twisted and pressed by their own weight, braiding downward in reams
of color. 

“Hey.” 

She
turned and saw Alyssa descending the porch steps.  “So one thing I will say,
this place seems safer than your apartment.”

“Seems,”
Nicole echoed.  “The security code was a paragraph.” 

“Just
make sure you actually use it.  I'm serious.  Don't be all trusting and
gullible, okay?”

“I'm
not!  Why do you guys always think that?”

“Um,
can anyone say ‘Roger’?”

“Don't
start with Roger.  That could have happened to anyone.  He had a drug problem,”
Nicole said, referring to the break-in to her apartment two months ago.  Roger,
her troubled neighbor, had been the agreed-upon culprit.  “Anyway, there are
dead bolts on the front and back doors, in addition to the alarm.  I'll be
fine.”

The
truth was, she was touched by how protective Alyssa was of her, especially
after the robbery.  But she was really paranoid if he thought she was in danger
here
.  There was something reassuring about this place.  It was so
peaceful, like stepping into a postcard or a painting.  It would almost be
impossible to envision any danger, to suspect that trouble could be lurking
beneath the sheer blue sky—or amid the turquoise ocean.

When
she and Alyssa went back inside, they seemed to be alone.  “Where's Linda?”
Nicole asked, walking from room to room. 

“I
don't know, she was in the living room when I left...” Alyssa began.  “Linda?”
she called out when she got to foyer.  “Linda?”  Nicole trailed behind her,
then put her hand on the banister, poised to go upstairs.

Abruptly
Linda appeared at the top of the stairs.  “What's up?” she said casually. 

“Nothing...we
just didn't know where you went,” Nicole said. 

Linda
shrugged.  Her tone was vague.  “Nowhere, really.  Just exploring.”

That
night Nicole lay awake listening to wind tousle the trees and rattle the glass
door that led to the balcony. 

In
the dark, she could almost make out the frilly comforts of the room.  The
floral duvet, the lace-trimmed pillows, the oak blanket chest at the end of the
bed.  She had picked this guest room because it reminded her of Aunt Nina.  It
was cozy and feminine, and brought back that intrinsically safe feeling she'd
had as a child.  Her sisters were in guest rooms down the hall. 

Now
Nicole peeled back the covers and sat up in bed.  She let her legs dangle off
the edge for a few meaningful moments before she hopped onto the floor.

She
had not been inside the library yet.  As a child, Nicole had often played in
her aunt’s library, pretending to be a tour guide at a “book museum.”  She supposed
she had avoided the room because a part of her was afraid of what she might
find.  Like the silk flowers, Nicole dreaded finding some change, something
different—another one of time's little betrayals.

Quietly,
she crept down the stairs, feeling the stillness of the house. 

When
she reached the doors, she pushed them open and flipped the switch.  The bronze
sconces on the walls lit up, setting a cavernous glow on the room.  Emotion
flooded her chest. 

The
library still held its coppery spell.  The bookshelves that lined the entire
left-hand wall shone like lacquered caramel.  In the center of the room stood
an elegant sofa and two silk-covered chairs.  Along the right-hand wall, a
brick fireplace with a heavy mirror above the mantle.

Quite
naturally, she walked closer to the bookshelves.  Nicole had always felt akin
to books, feeling that her life was similarly contained, in the way a spine
bound a book.  Her eyes scanned the rows, one by one, when she suddenly noticed
a book that looked out of place.  She stepped closer and realized what was off. 
It was facing the wrong way; the pages were facing out.

At
first she ignored it and continued browsing the shelves.  But she found that
her eyes kept wandering back to that one book, high up on the second shelf.

Now
it was nagging at her.  Apparently she was a hopeless librarian.  Being 5’2,”
she could not reach the book on her own, so she stepped gingerly upon the
rolling ladder and pushed off with one foot. 

The
wheels squeaked as they careened over, and Nicole brought herself up two steps
and pulled out the book. 
The Selected Works of Edgar Allan Poe
.  When
she flipped the book around, a sheet of paper suddenly slipped out of it.  A
bit startled, she watched it float out of her reach and drift to the floor. 

With the book still in hand, Nicole stepped down from the
ladder and picked up the loose sheet.  Page 93.  Printed on it in small type
was the poem “Annabel Lee.”  She surveyed the words:

It was many and
many a year ago,

In a kingdom by
the sea,

That a maiden
there lived whom you may know

By the name of
Annabel Lee

She
vaguely recalled this one.  It was sort of a tragic love story.  In it, the
narrator speaks of his one love, Annabel Lee, who was taken from him by death. 
Ironically, he blames the angels in Heaven, accusing them of conspiring against
him out of jealousy and spite.

Just
then, a harsh clacking sound startled her. 

She
paused.

Then
she heard it again. 
Clack
.
 
A few beats passed—
CLACK
.

She
thought it might be coming from outside.  Curiously, she crossed to a narrow
window that stretched alongside a chair in the corner of the room. 

Through
the criss-crossed glass, she saw her own blurred reflection.  She cupped her
hand over her eyes and pressed up against the window.  From here, the ocean was
a scatter of glittering jewels.  The night wind blew with vigor.  Like an army
of tiny shadows, dark leaves charged across the air—whisked around, appearing
angry and—

A
massive black bird sped straight toward her and crashed into the window. 
Nicole jumped back, startled, and slapped a hand over her galloping heart. 

Splayed
on the wet glass, it looked almost like a crumpled leather glove.  Then, with
confusion, she watched the bird peel itself off the glass and move backward. 

Her
breathing slowed.  And her face began to relax as she realized that it wasn’t a
bird at all.  No, that wouldn’t make sense, she decided.  Surely it had been an
optical illusion.  The leafy end of a tree branch blowing against the glass,
she reasoned.   

With a sigh, she sank down, curling her body inside the
chair.  She set the Poe book on her knees, flipped it open and began to read. 
It wasn't long before she started to feel drowsy.  The ocean wind kicked up
again and a branch began tapping at the window—a faint, almost rhythmic sound. 
As her eyes drifted across the page, the lines of the poem swirled in her
mind...

With a love that
the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and
me.

And this was the
reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom
by the sea
...

That the wind
came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing
my Annabel Lee...

Intermittently, the branch stopped
tapping and seemed to hover, its leaves flitting gently, as if anticipating. 
On the other side of the glass, someone was waiting.

On
Monday morning, Nicole was sitting on the dining room floor, with her file
cabinet wheeled by her side, writing down all the pieces in Aunt Nina's tea
set—trying not to miss her sisters who had left the night before—when the
doorbell rang. 

The
sound surprised her, especially as she hadn't left the house all weekend and
didn't know anyone in town.  Maybe it was the mailman?

When
she pulled open the front door, there was no one on the other side of it.

Curiously,
she stepped outside.  She looked around and paused, confused.  She saw no one
on or around the property.  The street was quiet.  Only as she turned to go
back inside did Nicole notice the potted plant sitting on the right side of the
porch.  The pot held three white flowers in bloom and had a bow around its
base.  Almost tentatively, she approached it. 

There
didn’t appear to be a card attached to it.  Nicole had to assume it was a
“welcome to the neighborhood” gift.  Or perhaps it was part of a regular
delivery service that Nina had participated in prior to her death.  That would
be likelier, considering how much Nina loved flowers.  Besides, weren't
“welcome” gifts usually an excuse to meet someone more than anything else?  It
wouldn’t make sense to ring the bell and then leave. 

As
she brought the flowers inside, Nicole checked underneath the pot.  No note
there either.  The only tidbit at all was the plastic tag sticking out of the
dirt that identified the plant:
Hydrangea arborescens
.

As
she pushed the front door closed, she had to struggle against the force of the
wind, suddenly ferocious, pushing back on her, almost as if it were determined
to get inside.  

***

Several
hours later, after the sun had set and the moon had risen, after the rolling
files had been abandoned for the day, after she had called both her mother and
her father, she poured herself a glass of wine.  She’d found a bottle of Merlot
standing unopened in the mostly bereft walk-in pantry.  Possibly it had been a
gift, because as Nicole recalled, Aunt Nina drank only white. 

Next
she dialed her sister, Linda, but got no answer.  She was hoping to talk to her
and smooth over whatever weirdness had apparently emerged after the reading of
the will.  She could understand if her older sister felt slighted since Nicole
had inherited so much more than anyone else in the family.  But there was more
going on, she was sure of that.  And Nicole wanted to find out what;
unfortunately, Alyssa, who was usually a charming buttinski, was clueless on
this one.  

Obviously
it would have to wait.  She set her phone down on the counter and went to deactivate
the security alarm.  Nicole was developing a nightly routine of a short walk
down by the water.  Now, as she stepped onto the back porch, she savored all
the perfect elements of October—the crisp air, the sound of rustling leaves,
the faint spicy aroma of wood burning. 

Once
the grass sloped into soft sand, she slipped off her shoes and continued to the
shoreline.  Even though the sand was cool, it caressed the bottom of her feet
like a fleece blanket.