Page 29 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

I had to admit, while storms rarely bothered me, I would have preferred to have a sister or two at home. I pulled the blanket closer around me and stared at the laptop screen. Margaret was waiting for me to finish her story. I’d talked about the soul-crushing death of her beloved Chester, and I was getting into the nitty gritty details about her death. She was really more a victim of circumstance than a victim of a curse. If she’d been born just a few decades later, a good dose of antibiotics would have taken care of the wound on her leg. It likely would have healed nicely, and she wouldn’t have had trouble on stairs. All of it was so hopelessly tragic, and I supposed that was how I’d connect it to a curse. It was a string of circumstances that led to the death of an admirable young woman.

Lightning lit up the room and the black sky outside the kitchen window. An unsettling clap of thunder followed closely, letting me know the heart of the storm was right overhead. Another bolt of lightning and clap of thunder caused me to burrow deeper in the blanket. Technically, it was the perfect storm, so to speak, to lend ambiance to my story, given the subject matter. But the noise and constant shaking of the cottage made it too hard to concentrate.

Another clap of thunder startled me, and the lights in the cottage flickered off and on again. I distracted myself with an assignment. I knew that Magnum Grimstone had lost basically everything he owned at the gambling tables. But what happened to Margaret’s heir after he signed over the manor? Fortunately, the man had a unique name, and the documents floating around online due to the multitudes of ancestry searches made quick work of the question. A search produced a faded picture of a death certificate for Magnum Arnold Grimstone. According to the certificate he died of liver disease in 1914, just a few years after losing the house. He was only forty years old. Forty years was a pretty good age back then, and it made sense that someone who was constantly draped over a hand of cards may also consume a lot of alcohol and eventually suffer liver disease. None of it was terribly implausible, but was he destined to die young and without his fortune because of the curse? Seemed like a stretch. The research was taking my mind off the storm, so I kept going. Wallace Brimfield was the next owner and presumably the man who won the house in a poker game. To me that made him one lucky dude.

His name was also unique enough that it took only a few minutes, two claps of thunder and a few light flickers to find his death certificate. This one caused me to sit up straight. The blanket slipped from my head.

Wallace Brimfield died on April 14, 1912. He drowned in the North Atlantic. He and his wife, Beatrice, had been first-class passengers on the ill-fated maiden voyage of theTitanic. Beatrice initially survived after being rescued from one of the crowded lifeboats, but she developed pneumonia and died a week after the wreck.

“Now that is bad luck.” The lights went out the second I said it. I glanced around the dark room. The creaky walls seemed to be closing in on me. I sat forward, grabbed a flashlight and turned it on. Suddenly, huddling like a vulnerable little mole under a layer of blankets didn’t sit right with me. I put aside my laptop, armed myself with double flashlights and got up for a round of patrol. Not outside, of course. It was way too wet and cold and … scary. Lightning lit up the house, and the glow lasted several seconds before dropping everything back into a dark, shadowy world. I swept the flashlight beams around like two headlights, and as they passed the front door and the sheer curtains over the window, I gasped. A dark figure was standing on the front stoop. A knock followed. I dropped one of the flashlights and quickly stooped down to pick it up. The person knocked again. “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.

Still armed with two flashlights I hurried across to the door. A woman was holding her hands on both sides of her face shielding her eyes from the wind and rain as she peered inside. She was wearing a gray raincoat with a hood pulled up over her hair.

I opened the door and motioned her inside quickly before the entryway was sprayed with cold rain. Not that it mattered because she brought in plenty with her anyhow. She busily rubbed her feet on the mat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring in such a mess.” She finally looked up and pushed back the hood. She had blonde hair that had been plaited into a longFrench braid. Her eyes were nearly turquoise, and her lips, while possibly not all natural, were beautiful and plump.

“I apologize for bursting in like this. I’m Monica, your new neighbor. I’m staying in the cottage next door.”

“I’m Ella. Yes, we were surprised to learn that Audrey had rented her cottage. This time of year, it usually sits vacant.”

Monica wiped some rain off her forehead. She was wearing a gargantuan diamond on an expensively manicured hand. “Just taking a little time away from the rat race, you know. I saw photos of Whisper Cove online and thought it was so charming.”

I laughed. “Just not during a squall.”

“That’s what I came here for. I hate to bother you, but do you have an extra flashlight or maybe a candle? I’m completely in the dark over there with the exception of my phone.”

“Of course. I have a flashlight you can borrow. If you’d like to stay for a bit, I have some cookies in the kitchen. I’m sure the lights will come back on soon.”

Her jewel-toned eyes rounded. “That is so sweet of you to offer. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Not at all. My sisters are out, so I welcome the company.” I handed her a light, and we navigated our way to the kitchen. I carried the cookie jar to the table. “I’d offer tea, but the stove is electric. I do have some milk.”

“No, I’m fine thanks.” She sat down. “Audrey mentioned that there were four sisters living next door.” She swept her gaze out to the living room. “All four of you live here, in this cottage?”

“It’s a bit cramped, but we’re all in and out so much that it’s not too bad.”

“I don’t think I could live with my sisters even if we were staying in a mansion with twelve rooms and two wings.”

I heard the same comment often. “I guess we’re a bit out of the ordinary, but we are very close. Of course, we have our share of arguments, too. How long will you be in Whisper Cove?”

“Not sure. I was thinking a month or so, but truthfully, I wasn’t expecting it to be so cold and damp and foggy and …”

“You’re definitely not seeing Whisper Cove at its finest hour. You should come back in summer. It’s absolutely glorious under an August sun.”

“I’m sure.” The lights came back on. “Well, that wasn’t too bad. I guess I’ll head back home. Think I’m going to take a hot bath.” She lifted the flashlight and looked at it pointedly.

“Of course, take it with you. That might not be the only power outage of the night.” I walked her to the door. The wind burst inside and nearly ripped the front door from my hand. Monica pulled up her hood, ducked her head and waved before forging out into the bad weather. She used the flashlight to navigate her way across the drive and over to the next property. A line of trees, a patch of grass and two gravel drives separated the two cottages. I watched to make sure the beam of light reached the cottage, then I closed the door.

My phone rang as I locked the door. I hurried across to the sofa where I’d left it. My heart did a nice little pirouette when I saw Rhett’s name on the screen. “Hello.”

“Hey, Ella. The lights went out here, and I thought I’d call to make sure you were all right.”

I could feel a smile stretch across my face. I sat down and made a blanket cocoon again. “I’m fine. Thanks for checking. I’m used to a fickle electrical grid around the cottage. We’ve got an entire box of candles and flashlights ready to go. What about you? I’ll bet that big, drafty house takes on a whole new persona when the power is off and there’s thunder outside.”

He chuckled. It was a nice, mellow sound. “You could say that again. If there are ghosts in this big house, then tonight seems like the perfect chance for them to make nuisances of themselves, but no luck on the ghost front so far.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Most people would consider a lack of ghosts a good thing.”

“Hmm, yeah, guess you’re right. I think they’d add character to the place.”

---