Page 8 of Hidden Raphael
Chapter 3
Raphael had saved her, and was now offering her shelter despite wanting a winter alone. Kimberly decided that she'd make something nice for him for dinner, perhaps even a cake.
She wandered back into the empty castle library. On the counter, she found a silver candelabrum and lit the candles. Without a flashlight, it was the best she could do. The gray walls danced with the small flames, but a little light was better than none. The hard rain became the steady beat of desolation to her ears. She had never believed in ghosts, but the wind outside and the storm that echoed everywhere almost made ghosts seem possible.
In hopes she’d spot a cookbook, or perhaps to ease her thoughts, she flipped on light switches and discovered more rooms. After she passed through the poorly lit areas, she turned off the lights. She refused to turn around to see behind her, following the shadows that creeped ahead.
The swish sound had to be the wind outside, but she blinked until she realized it was a tree branch that brushed against the windowpane.
Nothing to be afraid of. She glanced out into the blackness. No moon appeared to lessen her anxiety. Night was never this dark in the tropics. She licked her lips to gather her wits. In horror movies, the only one that survived the terror was a virgin. She let out a small laugh and shook her head. No virgins here.
The thought stayed close as she walked closer to the bookshelves. Would she find a recipe book? Tonight, she'd cook Raphael something nice.
Thedongof the grandfather clock pierced the air and she froze. She clutched the candelabrum tighter then released her firm grip. At least this temporary cook thing would pay for the rest of the trip home, and it wasn't for a hotel full of guests. Three people were enough. What would she do with no internet?
Bang. A tree branch beat against the windowpane.
A memory of the gunshot replayed in her head. She sat in her seat with a glass of water in her hand when the dark-haired pilot pointed a gun at Eileen's neck. Kimberly stood up, but then someone or somehow she was thrown backward. Eileen's blood spattered everywhere. Strange foreign words were muttered then a moment later Ali, her husband, was shot multiple times.
The crack of the tree branch resounded in the air and Kimberly breathed. She stared at the window, then wiped her face with her free hand. The memory faded. She let her arms fall to her side and her mind returned to her task. She preferred to follow a recipe. Where would a cookbook be?
She brought the candelabrum to the nearby side table, so she could browse through the books.Murder 101,How to Get Away with Murder,How to Commit Murder and Get Away with it,Deserves to Die,Deadly Intent, andReal Murder. Her heart skipped a beat.
The next shelf had more books on murder. Who was Raphael? She stepped back and listened to her racing heart beat in her chest. No. She shouldn't be here. What should she do? She licked her lips and remembered Eileen and Ali. Their corpses were lying on the beach with a bullet hole. Was there something else?
A headache raged suddenly. She wiped the tears in her eyes back. She ought not to think about this.
So what—Raphael enjoyed macabre topics to read and probably scare himself. She swallowed. No big deal. She straightened her borrowed shirt and closed her eyes. This was her life for the moment. Her old one was over. Her celebrity gossip blog readers would disappear, but now that she was almost home, perhaps it was for the best.
She opened her eyes and stared at a portrait of a man in a kilt who held the head of a stag, like he had ripped the thing off with his bare hands. He also had Raphael's eyes. She swallowed and told herself this was a long-dead relative of his from two hundred years ago or more. She stared at the stag's black eyes, then the Scottish man's eyes. She leaned a little to the right and froze. Had his gaze followed her? She took a step in the other direction and blinked. No. There was no such thing as the supernatural.
Picking up the candelabrum, she studied the portrait one more time then winced. She'd not come back to the library alone.
The fire captured her attention until she turned and stared down the hall. The sound of the rain was more calming now. Raphael kept her safe from harm. She'd make him that dinner. He'd be handsome and quite a catch if he wasn't so isolated and alone. Whatever drove him here had to be bad. With his muscles and money, he could have almost any woman, except her, of course. She had vowed not to be swayed by yet another loser. It had been a man that took her to the other end of the earth, away from her family, then dumped her because she refused to experiment in a threesome. Since then, she’d grown up and discovered her inner self.
At the door, she shook her head. Cooking would help her long term. Food she could handle right now. She'd leave here with six months' salary. Even at minimum wage, the money would help her start a new life.
With one more turn out of the library, she swore the kilted man in the painting winked at her. Kimberly ran out of the door and wiped the sweat off her brow. She leaned back, shook her head, and told herself she was safe. Ghosts were stories told to scare children. Not real.
She took a deep breath then stepped into the main hall. Her fingers traced a mahogany desk that might serve as a check-in for a small hotel lobby. She stared then tilted her head back and almost hit the door with her skull. Two large, gargoyle-like creatures held up the mahogany wood on the side. As she turned, her gaze went up toward the huge ceilings that went up at least four floors and with the grand staircase she had only ever seen in Halloween movies.
Her pulse spiked. Who could live here? She brushed her hands against her skirt. In time, she'd get used to the castle and the isolation. Raphael's castle was another port in the storm of her life.
A sound, like a swish, hung in the air. She bit her lip and called out, "Hello?"
Footsteps echoed and a huge shadow of someone overpowered the room. She stilled, unable to move. The footsteps grew again, and then Meg stepped out of the library with a mop and bucket in her hand.
Kimberly's shoulders stayed tense, but her pulse calmed. As Meg approached, ice raced up Kimberly's spine. Kimberly took a step away to warm up and fumbled a smile. "Where is the kitchen? I said I'd work as the cook, but I've no idea where anything is in this house."
Meg rolled her eyes. "The master will give you a tour, I'm sure."
Kimberly tilted her head, opened her mouth, but didn't say anything. Raphael Murphy had offered her the job, but she wasn't sure what to think of the man. Raphael was a few years older than her at most. He was powerful, rich, and he’d destroyed her dreams of freedom until spring.
Meg dropped the mop in the bucket, shook her head, then stood up. "Let me walk you to the stairwell. The kitchen is downstairs."
"Of course it is." Kimberly's mind flashed to almost every Cinderella movie she ever saw. "This way?"
"In older times, the kitchen was away from the house entirely. The young have no idea the ease in which you live." Meg swayed back and forth with every step. Kimberly's hand itched to help the older woman, but she hesitated. Her hand froze as she went closer to Meg. If she ended up staying here, she'd have to find a way to befriend this woman. So she walked in step next to her with her hands clasped behind her back.
