The Shadows Trilogy (Box Set: Edge of Shadows, Shadows Deep, Veiled Shadows) (2 page)

The house had been empty for years. The “For Sale” sign creaked in the slight breeze coming off the lake. Joe Klein put his hand on the signpost to stop the movement, purposely keeping his back to the house. Between the creaky sign and the empty house behind him he was getting the creeps. He glanced at his watch for the tenth time since arriving at the house and getting out of his car. It was six p.m., less than a minute since the last time he looked. He felt foolish waiting on the lawn, but there was no way in hell he was going near the house alone.

There was a chill in the air. It was a cool spring evening, and Joe wondered if there would be a late season snowstorm. Minnesota weather was unpredictable, especially during the transition between seasons. He just wanted to get this showing over with. If Joe was honest with himself, he was the least successful agent in his office, which is how he drew the short stick to show the place when the call for a showing came that afternoon.

The Bradford mansion had only been shown a handful of times in the last ten years. It was bank-owned. The last owner had disappeared under “mysterious circumstances.” If the expected expense of renovating the place didn’t turn potential buyers away, the history of the place usually did. Joe glanced at the house behind him and then quickly looked back at the road. He felt like he was being watched, and goose bumps crawled up his arm.

Joe had grown up in the area, and he was intimately familiar with the stories that were whispered about the old Bradford mansion. He remembered riding past it on his bike with his buddies and being dared to go up and ring the doorbell. Joe had never been brave enough to do it. Even during the brief periods when the house had been occupied, it still had a high freaky factor. He was embarrassed that even now, in his mid-forties, the place still gave him the creeps.

He saw a car approach and breathed a sigh of relief as it slowed and turned into the circle driveway. The headlights illuminated the windows of the house as it pulled up the gentle slope of the driveway and stopped just shy of the path that led up to the front door. Over the roof of the car, he thought he saw a flicker of movement in the huge bay window that faced the front patio and his stomach did a flip-flop.

“You didn’t see anything. It’s all in your head,” he whispered to himself. He held back from making a sign of the cross. That would really give a bad first impression.

The car was a dark blue Jaguar with tinted windows. The driver’s window lowered two inches, and a slim hand emerged with the index finger straight up in the air. The fingernail was painted a deep red. Joe interpreted this as a sign that he was being told to wait and felt a tinge of annoyance. It was bad enough to be stuck with this assignment, but dealing with a rude client would make it even worse. He couldn’t see anything else in the darkened interior.

He shifted his feet slowly and rubbed the arms of his jacket, wishing he had thought to bring gloves. It seemed to be getting chillier by the minute. After what seemed like an eternity, the car door opened. A foot emerged, dressed in what he was sure was an expensive black leather heel. It was followed by a slim leg, and then the woman rose gracefully out of the car. Joe’s breath caught in his throat.

The lines on her face indicated she was older than Joe, but she was stunning. Blond hair was swept back into a tidy knot at the back of her neck, and she appeared dressed for a dinner party in a fitted black dress with a red wrap. She wore black driving gloves. Her lips matched her wrap, and as she approached him her hips swayed seductively. Even in heels she was still several inches shorter than Joe. Her skin was fair, and he could just detect a smattering of freckles across her nose. She put a cell phone into her clutch and looked up at Joe expectantly.

“Mr. Klein?” she said softly. Her tone was amused. “I’m Linda Jordan. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

Joe blushed as he realized he was staring. He had been married for twenty years, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such an immediate rush of heat seeing a desirable woman. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts.

“Yes, yes, ma’am. Joe Klein, from Polson Realty.” He held out his hand. She looked at it for a moment before carefully sliding her hand into his for a small pump, and then she drew her hand away.

“I’m sure you are eager to get out of the chill and see the property. It is a lovely home that needs just the right owner,” Joe said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Would you like to step inside, Mrs. Jordan?” he asked, gesturing toward the wide front patio.

“Of course,” she said, but she didn’t move. Slowly she turned in a circle, taking in the house and grounds, finally settling on the view of the lake stretching out before them across the road. “I’m not from around here. This is quite a lovely area, yes?”

“This is a great area with lots of local history and culture,” Joe said, switching into sales mode. “I actually grew up in the neighborhood myself and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” Focusing on the job at hand helped keep his mind off the house and woman in front of him. He quickly reviewed some of the facts he had pulled from the file on the house that afternoon.

“The house was built in the early 19th century by an entrepreneur named Joseph Bradford. This area was the place for the well-to-do businessmen and industrialists who were looking for quiet living away from the city, but still close enough to the conveniences. There is a sense of exclusivity being so close to the water. Of course, the city grew up around the neighborhood, but it still maintains that solitary feel given all the properties that border the lake feel more like small estates.”

Mrs. Jordan nodded as she followed him up the concrete steps and onto the wide patio. It ran the entire length of the front of the house. She seemed entranced by the house, drinking in the architectural detail. She placed a hand on the stone railing and gently slid her fingertips up to the top. Joe thought he saw a small smile creep across her face, but when she looked at him again her face was still. He cleared his throat and continued.

“The Bradfords owned the home for only a couple of years when Joseph fell into some bad financial troubles. He was forced to sell the house to help pay off his debts. The house has passed through several owners since then. Given its rather impressive size, it drew interest from some local businesses. It was used for a time as both a home for orphaned children as well as an art school. The house has been vacant since the most recent owner relinquished it several years ago.” Joe didn’t add that other than the Bradfords, none of the subsequent occupancies lasted more than six months.

“I see,” Mrs. Jordan said. She was looking at the lake again.

“This would be a great patio for entertaining, almost like an Italian veranda, I think. I can easily picture a group of people here sipping wine and watching folks on the bike path or canoeing on the lake,” he said continuing on, hoping to draw attention away from any further commentary on the house’s history. Mrs. Jordan didn’t reply.

Joe studied the contours of her face for signs of her initial impressions as she looked out on the water. On the outside chance she would consider buying it, all of the less savory details would be disclosed later. One thing Joe knew from experience: if someone loved a house they were willing to overlook almost anything to have it. All that trouble happened so long ago that it shouldn’t matter now anyway. Of course, that didn’t ease Joe’s anxiety about being there one bit.

He wasn’t sure what to do next, but if she was interested in the view he thought it would be better with light. He slipped the key into the lock and pushed the tall glass doors open. They groaned in protest, and Joe wondered when the last time was someone had been in to clean up the place. As a matter of practice, the real estate office usually sent someone in to clean and dust once a month and before every showing since the house was unoccupied, but the call had come in so late in the day Joe was certain no one had a chance to get there before the appointment. He hoped that there weren’t rats or spider webs or anything else lurking in the corners.

He shivered as he stepped inside and flipped on the light switches next to the door. A chandelier above him flickered and then caught, lighting up the entryway; the lights on the porch went on as well. He was standing in a massive entry hall that led to a huge staircase. There were rooms on either side of the hall and a long hallway on both sides of the staircase that led into darkness. A plush rug covered the floor and was the only furnishing in the house that he could see aside from the window treatments.

Mrs. Jordan slowly walked into the house and stood next to him. He watched her face light up like a kid in front of a loaded-down Christmas tree. She took a deep breath and did another turn, gazing up at the opulent chandelier. He wasn’t the best sales guy out there, but he knew that expression. She was completely into the house.

Joe pulled out the file folder from under his arm and opened it. “There are four bedrooms on the second level, two on the third, and two small bedrooms in the back, so eight bedrooms total. There are nine bathrooms, two parlors, a library, a formal dining room, kitchen, and solarium leading out to the enclosed pathway to the garage. There’s also a small apartment above the garage. It’s a pretty big place,” Joe said. He looked up and saw that Mrs. Jordan was looking at him again and her blue eyes seemed to bore right into him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. Joe was suddenly uncertain if she meant him or the house. The excitement in her voice made Joe’s heart start to pound. Her obvious delight was contagious, and he suddenly wondered if the commission on the sale of this house would be enough to pay his mortgage for a year. It could be his lucky day.

“Well, there is quite a bit of work to be done to bring it up to date,” he said quickly. He had to calm down and take it slow. He didn’t want to scare her away. The hope of a sale now balanced out the creepiness of being inside the house and Joe started to feel more confident.

Mrs. Jordan giggled like a schoolgirl and clasped her hands together. “Mr. Klein, I can’t tell you how long I’ve been looking for this house. I am thrilled.” She pulled off her gloves and slipped them into her clutch, and then wound her arm through his. “Let’s take a look at the rest of it, shall we?”

All thoughts of the house flew right out of Joe’s head as soon as she touched him. He found himself gazing down at her and nodding at everything she said with a huge grin on his face. She was beautiful and fascinating. He hadn’t felt so thoroughly charmed by a woman since he’d met his wife. He wasn’t sure he had even felt it then.

As they made their way around the first two floors, Mrs. Jordan kept up a constant dialogue about her charity work and her husband’s investment business that gave them their fabulous lifestyle. Her stories were witty, and Joe's roars of laughter echoed off the walls of the huge empty rooms. Time seemed to stand still.

Joe thought that Mr. Jordan was a lucky man. Mrs. Jordan’s voice was mesmerizing, and he could smell her light perfume. He had to stop himself from leaning down and inhaling the scent of her hair. He felt lightheaded and drunk.

It was only after they reached the third floor, and she unwound her arm from his, that his mind started to clear. They were standing in front of two bay windows that took in an impressive view of the lake. Joe could see houses across the lake lighting up as dusk closed in. It was breathtaking. If he didn’t know the history of the Bradford mansion, at that moment he’d have mortgaged his soul to buy it. There was nowhere else he wanted to be except here in the twilight with this beautiful woman.

Mrs. Jordan sat down on the window seat and moved close to the glass. She traced her finger along an ornate design etched in the pane’s center. Then she slid closer still and looked out into the gathering darkness. The glass fogged up from her breath. She looked up at Joe with a sly smile on her face and patted the seat next to her. He sat down automatically.

“You’ve been too kind, Mr. Klein, coming out here on such short notice to show me this lovely house and listen to me prattle on and on.” Her voice was low. Now she slid her fingertip up his tie to the top of his collar.

He gulped as he felt the slightest prick of the point of her fingernail against his Adam’s apple. “It was my pleasure, Mrs. Jordan.” He felt lightheaded again, and he thought for sure his heart was going to burst right out of his chest.

“Please. Call me Linda,” she said as she inched closer to him.

Joe thought that it was possible she was going to kiss him. He was married, but he couldn’t even think of his wife’s name at that moment. He also knew he wouldn’t stop her. All he could think of was drowning himself in her blue eyes, and then her lips were crossing the small span between them.

Just as her lips brushed his, he heard a heavy, loud thump from somewhere at the back of the house. Joe jumped to his feet. Whatever spell had come over him was immediately broken, and reality came crashing back. He was inside the haunted Bradford mansion.

“What was that?” he said.

Mrs. Jordan remained seated. The expression on her face was unreadable. She sighed, and Joe thought he sensed frustration in it.

“I’m sure it was nothing. It’s an old house, right? Bumps and creaky boards are to be expected,” she said, sounding bored now.

Suddenly, Joe felt like he was suffocating. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and peered at the back of the hall where he thought the noise had come from. The house was silent.