Page 73 of From the Darkness

“I had another dream about Daddy. I haven’t seen him in a long time, but in the dream, he came here and hugged me.”

Bree crossed to her and knelt beside the couch. “That’s good,” she managed, then asked, “What did he say in the dream?”

Dinah’s expression closed up. “He said he has to go away. But he said you’d take care of me.”

Oh Lord, that was what she’d been expecting. “I will!” she murmured, knowing she had to reassure the child.

Tears glistened in the little girl’s eyes. “I don’t want him to go away.”

“Neither do I,” Bree answered, fighting her own tears.

“He told me to stay in here until you come back for me. He told me there’s going to be a bad storm—but I shouldn’t be afraid, because nothing is going to happen to me.” The child swallowed. “He says he needs to talk to you. He says to meet him out in the grove.”

“When?”

“Now, I think.”

For a moment, Bree thought about taking the girl with her. But Troy had been very explicit in his instructions—even if they had been delivered in a dream. And she had no doubt that the incident was “real.” She gave Dinah a quick hug, then slipped out of the room and headed for the backstairs, keeping an eye out for Graves or Mrs. Martindale.

Outside, she hurried through the gardens and strode onto the headlands. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, and the wind from the ocean whipped back her hair as she hurried along the path, wondering where Graves had caught up with Nola and then Abner.

Angling toward the grove, she crossed the last open stretch and stepped among the trees.

Immediately, she felt the familiar deep vibration. And she saw the whirlwind pick up, gathering more and more leaves and other debris as it swirled between the tree trunks.

She held her breath, waiting, then sighed out a mixture of relief and anxiety as Troy stepped out of the debris fluttering around a tree trunk.

She ran to him, clung, reassured by the solid feel of his body even as she began to speak in a strangled voice. “I heard Mrs. Martindale and Graves talking about murder. They say he killed Nola and Abner this morning. They say it was part of a plan Helen concocted to sell the estate. They say . . .” She stopped, struggling to get the words out. “They say they killed you!”

His hands soothed over her back. He bent his head so that his lips could brush her cheek. “It’s so wonderful to hold you,” he murmured. “It was wonderful to make love with you.”

She tipped her head back, her gaze fierce as she met his eyes. “Troy, stop it! Tell me the truth this time!”

She felt his deep sigh.

“I’m sorry. If I could go back and change things, I would.”

“Troy—what happened to you?”

He began to speak, gathering force as he went. “At first I didn’t really remember. Then I didn’t want to remember. But it’s all there now. All the nasty details. I had a fight with Helen—about the property. She bought that damn Enteck stock after I told her to stay away from it. She didn’t need the money. But I know why she bought it. She wanted to have more than I did. Everything was always a contest with her. Sibling rivalry like you can’t imagine.”

She gripped his shoulders, needing to hang on to him as she waited to hear the rest of it.

“When she lost everything, she came to me—wanting to sell this property. The location alone is worth millions. But I didn’t care about the money I could get. I’d sunk the past seven years of my life into this place, and I wasn’t going to just walk away from it. When I said no, I knew she was angry. I didn’t realize how far she’d go to get back at me.”

“After that, Edith Martindale came back looking for a job. I hired her to take care of Dinah, but I didn’t know that Helen had sent her here. Foster Graves was already working on the estate. Apparently, it wasn’t difficult for her to play on his sense of disenfranchisement. He felt like he took care of Ravencrest, but I got all the benefits. Well, I worked here, too! I worked damn hard to supply the money Grace needed to make this house into the showplace she wanted for a home.”

“But what . . . what happened to you,” Bree interrupted.

“That scene I showed you. I know now it wasn’t the Sterlings. It was Martindale and Graves. I started thinking they were up to something. So I set a trap for them. At dinner I was talking to Dinah about Aunt Helen, about how she used to leave valuable papers in the bedroom where you slept—because that was a room she liked to use when she was here. But I said I kept forgetting to look for them, so I wanted Dinah to remind me after lunch the next day. Then I went out sailing. Only I doubled back and took the passageway to the room.

“I found Graves there. I didn’t know Martindale was with him. She hit me over the head with a vase. While I lay there unconscious, I heard them talking. They had planned to kill me all along. But not so soon. Not until after Helen got back to the States. So, I messed up their timeline. Because they couldn’t have me dead yet, they pretended I was still alive.”

She only half heard what he was saying. Instead, she gave him her own version of the story. “Yes, they hit you over the head. And you had a concussion. You lost your memory. You were wandering around the estate—coming in through the tunnel and scaring Martindale and Graves.”

He sighed. “I don’t think that’s true. I think they killed me and took my body out here.”

He looked over his shoulder toward the grave, and as she followed his gaze, her whole body began to tremble. Her knees buckled, but he gathered her to him, lending her his strength.

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