Page 24 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

I snuggled back farther into the cushions, looking for more warmth in the drafty room. “I don’t know. He certainly is a man who is full of secrets. Dark secrets, at that.”

Ava laughed. “Maybe he has a crazy wife living up in a secret wing on the top floor. You’ve always dreamed of a Mr. Rochester type. And didn’t the story end with Rochester getting severely scarred in a fire that his nutty wife started?”

I raised a brow at her. “I think I would have heard her cackling and lurking around upstairs. So, no, I don’t think he has a crazy wife hidden in the house. But something happened to him, something that messed up his previous life, something he obviously doesn’t feel comfortable telling me about.” I yawned. “I got up at the crack of dawn. I think I need a nap and then I’m going to start my story. I’m going to push everything else out of my mind. I need this piece to be brilliant, so I can wow the editors … and the readers.”

I walked into the bedroom, hopped onto my bed and pulled up the quilt, ready for the earlier drowsiness to sink back in. Instead, I tossed and turned for twenty minutes before finally throwing back the quilt and sitting up. The morning had started brilliantly, and the afternoon ended gloomily. I was still stinging from all of it, and I’d found that sometimes I did my best work when my emotions were running high. I hurried out to grab my backpack and laptop. Ava was on a video call with a friend. I tiptoed out of the room and settled back under the quilt as I sat up against the green wooden headboard. Layla had covered it with unicorn and pony stickers when she was little, and we’d never peeled them off. I sat right between Sparky, a glittery white unicorn, and Emmie, a black-and-white pony with pink ribbons in her mane.

I opened the computer and a new document. More often than not, I’d stare at the blank page and chew my lip deciding how to start, but not this afternoon. I knew exactly where to start my article about Margaret Grimstone:

We’ve all grown up hearing urban legends. Stories about things like Chupacabra, an odd creature with leathery gray skin and a bony spine, lurking in the dark, sucking the blood of livestock. What teen hasn’t at least once stood in a dark bathroom and repeated "Bloody Mary" into the mirror, only to run screaming in terror after seeing their own reflection? Or what about the most famous urban legend of all—the giant hairy creature who strolls through backwoods and forests, and whenever he’s caught on film, he manages to make even the best, most professional camera equipment spit out blurry, smeared photos.

Urban legends can also take the form of a curse, a superstition born of a repeating pattern of unfortunate events, like the Curse of the Bambino, the only rational explanation that baseball lovers could come up with to explain why the champion Red Sox started a decades-long losing streak after they traded the incomparable Babe Ruth to the Yankees. While diamonds are generally considered to be spectacular and certainly bring joy and happiness to people all over the world, the Hope Diamond was said to be cursed because it was rumored to have been stolen from a spiritual Hindu statue. Some curses have historical names, like the Curse of Tippecanoe, which follows a pattern of presidential deaths through history. And then, of course, there is the most famous of all, mostly due to Hollywood and old-time horror movies—the Curse of the Mummy. When the fifth Earl of Carnarvon died of a blood infection just months after funding the discovery of King Tut’s tomb, word instantly got around that the whole team was cursed for disturbing the tomb.

A curse may also be localized, but that doesn’t make it any less worthy of note. Take Whisper Cove, for instance—a scenic, sleepy coastal town wrapped around a cove. Its steep cliffsides jut out over the Pacific. Visitors flock there in summer and early fall to enjoy some of the best views on the coast. In the center of town, atop a well-sloped hill overgrown with dune grass, snowy aster and violet and purple wildflowers, sits Grimstone Manor. The old house’s shingles now hang sloppily like an ill-fitting suit, and its windows are gray and dingy with time, but it once stood tall and proud and elegant, an architectural masterpiece whose every detail had been painstakingly planned and chosen by a woman—something unheard of at the time. This woman suffered a heartbreak that changed the trajectory of her life—a heartbreak that brought her to Whisper Cove.

Voices pulled my attention from the keyboard, and the spell was broken. I’d gotten a good start, but I heard Luke’s deep voice in the living room. I hadn’t seen him in a week, and I had a question to ask him. I closed my laptop and hurried out to the front room.

Luke and Isla were still both bundled in their winter gear. He was wearing a sharp black coat and leather gloves and, as always, looked dreamy. Isla spotted me first as Luke helped her off with her coat.

“Hey, Ella, how is the story coming? Find anything interesting in that old house? What’s the owner like?”

Isla’s hurricane of questions was the perfect springboard for my own question. “The story is going well. Yes, I found lots ofinteresting stuff, and the jury is still out on the owner. But I’m hoping Luke can help me with that.”

Luke looked over his shoulder as he hung up the coats. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” I waved my hand at the empty couch. Isla shrugged at Luke, and they walked over to sit down. Ava was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book on her lap. I sat behind her on the big chair.

“How can I help?” Luke asked.

“The new owner of Grimstone Manor is an acquaintance of yours. Rhett Lockwood.”

Luke looked confused for a second and then his face smoothed with recognition. “You mean Edward Lockwood? I think Rhett is his real name, but he used his middle name, Edward, when he started his business.” Luke paused and sat forward. “Rhett Lockwood bought that old wreck of a house?”

“So, you do know him,” I said.

“Not well, but we traveled in some of the same social circles, at least, back when we were in our twenties.”

It was my turn to sit forward with surprise. “The same social circles—as in the billion-dollar boys’ club circles?”

Luke chuckled. “Not that we called it that, but Rhett is worth a great deal of money, especially now. He sold his company, Lockwood Navigational Software, last year for three billion dollars.”

I sat back so hard a puff of air blew out of my mouth. “Three billion dollars?”

“That’s what I’ve heard, anyway”—Luke lifted a brow at me— “through the ‘billion-dollar boys’ club.’”

“What on earth is a billionaire doing with Grimstone Manor?” Ava asked.

Luke rubbed his brow in thought. “Hmm, my information is less clear on the rest of his life, but I do know that there was a car accident. His business partner died in it. They werebest friends growing up, and they started the business together.” Luke nodded as if he remembered something else. He did. And it was a doozy.

“The police arrested Rhett on suspicion that he’d caused the accident. It was all very vague and, of course, the rumors ran rampant.” Luke looked pointedly at me.

I finished the sentence for him. “In the billion-dollar boys’ club. Yes, I’m regretting that phrase now. But continue. I’m mortified and, at the same time, beyond intrigued.”

Isla laughed. “You’re intrigued that you’ve been hanging out with a possible murderer?”

“That’s right. I’m a journalist now. Can’t think of a better way to earn respect in the business than by endangering myself on my first assignment. Wait. He’s not really a murderer, is he?”

Ava laughed. “And the shine wore off that moment of intrigue very quickly.”

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