Behind The Veil

“Tables are all taken,” a buxom blond waitress said as she sashayed by them, “but there’s room at the bar.”

“The bar’s fine with me,” Jonah said, “as long as the beer’s cold. How about you ladies?”

“I can handle that,” Becca said.

“I’ve been known to straddle a stool,” Kat agreed, slipping out of her wet jacket and tossing it over a hook by the door. The others followed suit as a couple of guys moved over to give them four seats together. Becca and Kat took the inside seats so they could talk to each other over the music and loud voices.

The middle-aged bartender wiped his hands on a stained apron and leaned over the counter. “Looks like you got caught in the rain. You must have been at the carnival.”

“Yeah,” Jonah answered. “Poor planning on our part, Jake. If we’d started at the far end and worked our way back, we’d have been at the car by the time the rain hit. As it was, we were at the end by the wharf.”

“Well, at least you got to see it all. Not that it changes much from year to year. What’ll it be?”

They gave him their orders, and Becca and Larry showed their IDs. Jonah and Kat didn’t bother. Jonah’s cousin had owned the bar across the street before he died, and both Jonah and Kat had been in Wheels often enough that the bartender knew they were legal age.

Becca propped her booted feet on the foot rail and let her gaze scan the dim bar while Larry excused himself to go to the men’s room.

The wharf area always intrigued her. The environment stripped away pretense and social niceties. What you saw was what you got, and no one bothered to mince words just to spare someone’s feelings. Like the two men who were sitting a few seats down from them. She wasn’t eavesdropping, but their gruff voices carried easily.

“I’m not afraid of no damn ghost. Not after what I face day in and day out. I say if that Leary fellow rises from his grave, put him on a fishing boat and send him out into a raging storm. One giant wave, and the man will go running back to his safe spot six feet under.”

“Well, someone killed that girl. Matt Jackson was the first cop on the scene and his old lady told mine it was as gory a sight he’d ever seen. Blood everywhere. Hardly had a drop left in her.”

A guy in faded jeans and a worn leather jacket banged his fork on the table. “Would you guys keep it down? Some people are trying to eat in here.”

Kat waited until the bartender set the beers in front of them. “What is this about a murder?”

He leaned in close. “A young woman, late teens or early twenties. Some boys out on their mud bikes found the body in the bushes off of Old Mountain Road just before dark. The police are trying to keep a lid on it until they find out more about it, but you can’t keep anything quiet around this town. You know that.”

“Did they identify her?”

“Not as far as I know. She’d been dead awhile. That’s all I heard.”

Becca felt herself getting sick and wished she hadn’t eaten the chili-soaked hot dog at the carnival.

The man two seats down from Becca broke into the conversation. “It’s that Bryson fellow that done it.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that when you have no proof,” Kat warned.

“I got all the proof I need. The man sits up there in his castle all day, supposedly brooding over some lost lover. Then he comes snooping around town at night. I’ve seen him plenty of times. If he wasn’t up to no good, he’d show himself in the daytime like a real man. He did it. I’d bet my Harley on it.”

Jake slid a foamy beer toward him. “Your Harley? Put up a night with your woman, and I’ll take your bet.”

“Marie wouldn’t have you, you beer-splattered buzzard.” He took a long drag on his beer. “So are you on the side of the beast?”

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Jake answered, “but I don’t think the man’s dangerous. He’s just a little addled, that’s all. You’d be, too, if you lost your fiancée the way he did.”

“Humph!” The second man slapped a beefy hand on the counter. “I say he was the one who murdered Tasha Pierce. She went up to that haunted house of his to break up with him, and he killed her. Almost killed himself in the process.”

“He’s crazy, all right,” the first man added. “Should be locked up in that same hospital where they put that poor Cavendish girl when she was kidnapped from the graveyard.”

The words ground into Becca’s mind, and David Bryson’s face appeared in front of her, so real she felt she could reach out and touch it. The beer almost slipped from her hands as she set it back on the bar.

“This talk is getting to you, isn’t it?” Kat said, turning her attention to Becca. “You’re shaking, and perspiration is popping out on your forehead.”

“It’s the smoke and the stale air,” she lied. “I think I’ll step out the door and get a breath of air.”

“You’ll get wet.”

“I’ll stay under the overhang,” Becca assured her, already climbing down from the barstool.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. Please. Stay and visit with Jonah. I’ll be just outside the door.”

Kat touched her arm. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” She walked away, yanked her jacket from the hook and pushed through the door. Once outside, she leaned against the side of the building for support. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the wind howled around the corners and cut through her light windbreaker.

Only the real chill came from somewhere deep inside her. She’d had the crazy feeling all day that something terrible was going to happen. Now she found out a young woman’s body had been found off the road leading up to the Bluffs.

But how did she know? Why? She buried her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket.

“Rebecca Smith.”

Her heart jumped to her throat at the sound of her name. She spun around and stared at a figure, half hidden in the shadows of the old clapboard building. He stepped toward her. Her knees grew weak and rubbery and she stood frozen to the cement beneath her feet.

Escape would probably be impossible, anyway. The beast from the Bluffs had come for her.

Chapter Two

The voice was hypnotic, almost haunting and emotions thick as chowder churned inside Becca. “What do you want?” she whispered, her throat so dry, she could barely form the words.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, stepping closer.

She stared at him but only saw his profile. He kept his face turned toward the street. “You don’t frighten me. I was only startled because I didn’t realize you were out there.”

“Then I apologize for not making more noise on my approach.”

“Why don’t you look at me when you talk?”

“I have my reasons.”

“If it’s to save me from the sight of your face, you needn’t bother, Dr. Bryson. I’m sure I can handle it.”

“So you know who I am?”

“Of course. Everyone does.” And they’d all tremble in terror if they knew she was alone with him on a dark, deserted street. Yet the strange feelings coursing through her senses right now lacked the stringent sting of fear she’d felt when he’d first called her name. She pulled her windbreaker tighter. “What do you want from me?”

“Professional services.”

“In what way?”

“My house, the Bluffs. Do you know it?”

“I’ve only seen it from a distance. It appears more a castle than a house.”

“A dark castle.”

“I still don’t understand, Dr. Bryson. What does your dark castle have to do with me?”

“I’d like for you to change it. Let in the light. You know, add color.”

“Are you looking for someone to redecorate the Bluffs?”

“Yes.” He exhaled sharply, as if her saying the words gave him some kind of release. “Can you do that?”

“I’m merely a seamstress, not an interior designer.”

“But you do sometimes sew drapes and slipcovers?”

“Occasionally.”

“Then I’d like to hire you.”

His voice seemed to reach inside her and awake some unexplainable eros, which defied reason. Fear edged along her nerve endings now, but she had no idea if it was due to the doctor’s presence or to her own bizarre reaction to him. “I’m not the person you need.”

He drew away and put his hand to his face as if to shield her from the infamous scar that was already hidden from her line of vision. “You won’t have to see me,” he said. “I’ll stay in my lab while you work and you can correspond with me through my butler, Richard Crawford.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? I’ll pay you well.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”

He shuffled and stuck his hands deep into the front pockets of his trousers. “I understand. I’m sorry I bothered you. I promise I won’t do it again.”

Hurt seeped into his voice. She recognized the sound of it but had never expected to hear it coming from his mouth. It humanized him in a way nothing else could have and made her wonder at her own heartlessness.

The door opened behind her and Larry stepped through it. “Kat said you were feeling a little nauseous. Do you want me to borrow Jake’s car and…” He stopped midsentence as his gaze took in the shadowy profile of David Bryson. His hands knotted into fists, and he stepped between the two of them as if blocking her from some type of attack. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Frightening defenseless women?”

David’s muscles tensed. “Something like that,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”

“Yes.” The word flew from her mouth. She didn’t know why or when she’d changed her mind. “I accept your offer.”

David stopped in his tracks. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “I’ll come out to your place tomorrow if that’s convenient.”

“Tomorrow will be fine. I’ll send Richard for you. Would ten be too early?”

“No. He can pick me up at the shop.”

Larry clamped his hand around her arm as David disappeared into the shadows. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”

Crazy? The term seemed fitting, but she wasn’t going to stand outside and argue with him about it. She owed him no explanation. It wasn’t as if they were more than casual friends. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Maybe not, but you can’t be serious about going to the Bluffs. What did he tell you? Did he threaten you?”

“No.” She pulled the door open and marched back inside the bar with Larry at her heels. She had an idea that it was going to be a long, long night.

BECCA STRETCHED BETWEEN the cool sheets and stared out the window near her bed. The rain had stopped, and the clouds moved across the night sky like black sheets being tossed by the wind. She never felt truly at home, but she usually felt safe and protected in her small, rented nook inside the Cavendish home. Tonight even the familiar surroundings seemed eerily foreign.

Kat and Jonah hadn’t agreed with Larry’s assessment that she was crazy, but even they had warned her to be cautious. A lot of people in town didn’t trust Dr. Bryson. The superstitious rumors of ghosts and warlocks aside, the man was antisocial and decidedly weird. Some even thought he was a killer.

She had no argument for them. If someone had suggested before tonight that she’d be paying Dr. David Bryson a visit tomorrow, she’d have thought them nuts. But there was no denying that she wanted to see him again. She’d liked his voice, or perhaps been mesmerized by it would be the more apt description. Rich, but with a hint of sadness and a whisper of heartbreak.

Hints and whispers. Egads! Now she was beginning to sound like one of the guides giving a practiced spiel to paying tourists. The simple, unadorned truth was that the man was a recluse who dressed in black and only came out of his fortress at night. And she had agreed to go to his castle like some poor sheep being led to slaughter.

The only thing to do was call the man in the morning and back out. Rolling over, she pounded her fists into the pillow before plopping her head back in the middle of it. All she had to say was that she’d changed her mind. What could he do but take no for an answer?

The wind whistled around the corner of the house, and she tugged the covers up to her neck and closed her eyes. “Sorry, Dr. Bryson. I’m not coming,” she whispered.

“Please, I need you, Becca.”

The words slammed into her senses, and her heart thundered in her chest. Opening her eyes wide, she jerked to a sitting position. The room was empty. The voice had been only her imagination working overtime. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, wishing she’d never gone to the carnival and never run into David Bryson. Perhaps it would have been better if she’d never moved to Moriah’s Landing at all.

A town with a history of witch trials and hangings on the town green. A town haunted by ghosts and abductions and unsolved murders. Yet, from the very first day she’d visited Moriah’s Landing, she’d felt as if she belonged here. And she desperately needed to belong somewhere.

Thunder crashed and lightning zigzagged in a blinding display of electric current, and the rain started up again. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the screaming wind and the sound of rain pelting against the windows. Instead, the voice of David Bryson haunted her mind. Smooth, mysterious, seductive.

The storm had passed and the first rays of the sun were already peeking over the horizon before she finally fell asleep. By then she knew that she’d have to make tomorrow’s visit to the Bluffs, if only to satisfy her own curiosity and convince herself that Dr. David Bryson was just a man with no power over her. She would not lose another night’s sleep over him.

CLAIRE CAVENDISH HURRIED down the narrow streets, dodging puddles left from last night’s deluge. Foreboding pooled inside her, much like the water that gathered in the cracks and crevices of the cobbled street. She couldn’t imagine what Becca was thinking, but she knew she had to stop her.

She had liked Becca from the moment she met her, already knew all about her from Elizabeth, Brie and Kat, three of Claire’s closest friends.

It wasn’t unusual that Becca had become part of the same circle of friends that Claire had shared all her life. Once Becca and Elizabeth had become friends, it was only natural that Elizabeth would introduce her to the others. Now they were all friends, and Claire would not stand by and watch while Becca made a horrible mistake.

Becca had no way of knowing the things that Claire knew. She couldn’t know how Dr. David Bryson had bewitched her friend Tasha Pierce, lured her into his life and led her to her death. Claire pictured Tasha as she’d been then. Vivacious, innocent, drunk on life. Both of them had been so excited over beginning their first year at Heathrow College.

Within a month of starting at Heathrow, the hopes and dreams vanished for both of them. Tasha had died. Claire had lived, at least that’s what the psychiatrists had kept reminding her. All she knew know was that she would not stand by and watch Becca fall into the same trap she’d stepped into during sorority rush week five years ago. A lifetime ago. Stepped into that dark mausoleum.

Stepped into hell.

Apprehension churned in her stomach. Becca would have to listen to her. She’d make her. The Bluffs was not the same as a mausoleum, but it could prove just as dangerous.

BECCA FILLED TWO MUGS with fresh perked coffee from the large pot in Threads and handed one to Claire. Claire’s hands shook as she took the cup, and Becca’s heart went out to her. She’d been through so much. Still, she’d been steadily improving over the last few weeks and months, and Becca hated to see her as upset as she was right now.

She reached out and laid a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “If you’re having a bad day, it might help to talk about it.”

Claire wrapped both hands around her cup. “I talked to Larry Gayle this morning.”

If Larry had been available right now, Becca would have gladly wrung his neck. “He shouldn’t have called you, Claire. Everything’s fine.”

“He didn’t call. Mother’s old Ford was sounding funny and she asked him to take a look at it. He’s good with cars, and planned to become a mechanic before he went to work in his dad’s hardware store. We talked while he was there and he told me about last night.”

“Larry Gayle talks too much.”

“You can’t go to the Bluffs, Becca. You can’t work for that—that beast.”

“Oh, Claire, he’s not a beast. He’s just a recluse, and if anyone here had reason to become one, it’s him. And he certainly can’t help the fact that he’s scarred. You surely don’t hold that against him.”

“No. This isn’t about the way he looks.” Claire set her coffee cup on the table and walked to the window. She stared through it for long, pregnant seconds before turning back to Becca. “You’re new in town, Becca. You weren’t here five years ago when the evil erupted. You didn’t know Tasha, how beautiful she was, how sweet.”

“I’ve heard you and her other friends speak of her. I know she must have been a very special person.”

“She was. And then David Bryson came into her life. He used his powers to seduce her—mentally, physically, spiritually. He was all she could talk about, all she thought about.”

“They were in love. It’s like that when you’re in love, or so I’ve heard.” She spoke tenderly, trying to ease the pain and fear that still claimed so much of Claire.

“Tasha was too young to be in love, especially with a man like David Bryson. She was naive and innocent, only eighteen. He was thirty-five, polished, sophisticated. But he was a fake. He’d grown up right here in Moriah’s Landing, the son of a woman who sold her body for men to—well, you know…”

“If you’re saying his mother was a prostitute, I’m sure he had no control over that.”

“It wasn’t just his mother. David was a hotheaded kid who was always in trouble. My mother remembers him, and so does everyone else in this town who’s over forty.”

“People change, Claire. David Bryson changed. He’s become a doctor. There’s no reason to think he’s anything like he was as a teenager.”

“Then how do you explain how he got the money to buy the Bluffs?”

“I’m guessing he earned it.”

Claire turned from the window and stared at Becca. Her long blond hair hung around her sunken cheeks and her blue eyes appeared haunted. That, combined with the paleness of her skin and her slim build, made her appear like an abandoned child much younger than her twenty-three years. She placed both hands on the cutting table and leaned forward.

“Please, Becca, even if you think David Bryson is harmless, stay away from him. A lot of people in this town believe he murdered Tasha.”

“I asked Kat about that when I first heard about him. She said there was never any real evidence against him and that eventually the explosion that killed Tasha was ruled an accident.”

“Only because they couldn’t find any evidence that it was a planted explosion, but the Pierces don’t think he’s innocent.”

“Oh, Claire, honey, the Pierces lost a member of their family. You can’t expect them to be objective about all of this. But from what I can tell, Dr. Bryson is just a man who’s had a very difficult life.”

“He’s not what he seems, Becca. Whatever he wants from you, it has nothing to do with redecorating his house.”

Claire’s voice trembled and Becca’s heart went out to her. She knew the story of how Claire had gone with Tasha, Kat, Brie and Elizabeth to the cemetery as part of a sorority initiation. The one who drew the piece of paper with the picture of McFarland Leary on it had to go into the haunted mausoleum. That had been Claire. While inside, she’d been abducted, and whatever had happened to her while she was in the hands of the madman had left her a shattered shell of the young woman she’d been.

It was no wonder she was so afraid of a mysterious man like David. But Becca had to make her own decisions this time, and she couldn’t base them on groundless fear. “I’m sure the Bluffs can use a little updating,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I have no reason to think that’s not the reason he came to me.”

“But why you, Becca? With his money he can hire a professional from Boston to come out and redecorate the Bluffs or hire one of the local interior designers. Why would he seek out a young seamstress without any experience in interior design? And why would he come to you in the dark of night instead of during shop hours?”

The questions Claire asked were all valid. Becca couldn’t deny that. The man could afford to hire anyone he wanted and yet he’d come to her. “I appreciate your concern, but…”

“But you’re not backing out of the job.”

Becca stared into her coffee cup, hating to meet Claire’s worried gaze. “I can’t, not yet, anyway.”

“See, he’s already gotten to you.”

Becca looked up. It was straight up ten o’clock, and a tall, neatly dressed gentleman was headed up the walk. She couldn’t deny feeling anxious and uneasy, but she also knew that she was going with David’s butler. She walked over and gave her friend a comforting hug. “I have to go now, Claire, but I’ll be home early tonight. Why don’t the two of us go for dinner at the Beachway Diner? I’ll tell you all about my visit to the Bluffs and you’ll see that I’m fine.”

Claire turned to the door. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Becca shook her head. “Dinner at seven.” She forced a smile as she escorted Claire to the door. “I’ll meet you at the diner, and don’t worry. Who’s afraid of the big, bad beast?”

“Me,” Claire said, but she squeezed Becca’s hand as she opened the door and stepped around the imposing man without even looking at him.

Becca held the door open. “I’m Becca Smith, and you must be Richard Crawford.”

“Yes. Are you ready for me to drive you to the Bluffs?”

“As soon as I lock up and put the Be Back Later sign on the door.” Luckily the owner gave her permission to set her own hours.

“There’s no hurry, but if I can be of assistance, just let me know,” Richard offered.

“That’s okay. I have everything under control.” She picked up a large sketch pad and a couple of sharpened pencils and dropped them into a canvas tote bag that already held her tape measure and a calculator.

Who’s afraid of the big, bad beast? The chant echoed in her head as she hung the sign over the hook on the door. In approximately half an hour, she’d step inside the massive stone castle on the top of the highest cliff in this part of the state, a structure that no one she knew had set foot in for the last five years. Hidden away from the city, in a world of secrets guarded by a stone fence and an electric gate. Just she and Richard and Dr. David Bryson.

Who was afraid now that the time had come?

She was. That’s who.

FROM A DISTANCE, the Bluffs was impressive and imposing. Up close and personal it was downright formidable. The stone was dark gray, scarred by centuries of gale-force winds, driving rains and the burning heat of summer. The curves and angles of the structure stretched out in all directions, large enough to house a small army, with turrets and parapets along the roof line and hideous gargoyles and ferocious creatures from some imaginary animal kingdom posed as silent, ominous guards over it all.

“Don’t let the size intimidate you,” Richard offered as they stepped to the massive wooden door. “It’s basically just a house.”

Yeah, and the Taj Mahal was just a tomb. Anxiety and anticipation warred inside her as Richard fitted a large metal key into the lock and turned it. This would be her first look inside the edifice that had fascinated her from her first glimpse of it. Her first step inside the bastion of a man half the town thought was a blood-sucking vampire and the other half believed was a murderer.

Her heart hammered against her chest as the heavy door creaked open. Claire’s warning crept into her mind, but she pushed it aside. If she’d been afraid to face the new and unfamiliar, she’d have died years ago.

“This is it,” Richard said as he followed her inside. “Welcome to the home of Dr. David Bryson.”