Where had that sudden, depressing, and unwanted discontent come from? He had a good life. A beautiful place to live, a lucrative and fulfilling landscape design business, a loyal dog who loved him for all the right reasons and was a faithful friend. What more could he ask?
An image of the woman with brown hair flashed across his mind, and he scowled.
That was nuts. He’d seen her for all of . . . what? Fifteen seconds? And only through a windshield, for crying out loud.
He ought to forget about her.
But perhaps the difficulty he was having erasing her from his mind validated Kyle’s observation that he needed more than canine companionship in his life.
He wiped a hand down his face. Exhaled.
May as well admit the truth.
He was lonely. And more than a tad envious that Kyle had a loving wife waiting for him at the end of the day. An option that wasn’t open to him, as his experience with Melinda had proven.
Gut twisting, he whistled for Daisy, who did a one-eighty and hurtled back toward him.
He needed to tamp down this rare case of self-pity and melancholy and get on with his life, as he’d been doing every day since his world imploded five years ago.
And do his best to stop letting images of a beautiful face, or questions about why such a woman would be visiting Edgecliff, disrupt the placid and carefully constructed life he’d created on the fringes of Hope Harbor.
“Now that we’ve had our tea and a chat, I expect you have any number of questions for me.” Rose patted her mouth with a linen napkin, set it beside the plate that held the crumbs from her scone, and leaned back in the upholstered armchair with tufted back and curved, carved legs.
Ashley set aside her delicate antique cup, flipped open her notebook, and switched into business mode. “Yes, I do.”
“I’ll answer as many as I can, but first I have a confession to make. I had my attorney run a background and credit check on you.”
O-kay.
Not what she’d expected from an eighty-year-old, vintage-clothes-wearing recluse who appeared to have few dealings with the outside world.
“I, uh, take it I passed.”
“Yes, or you wouldn’t be here.” The woman linked her fingers in her lap. “I hope you understand why I was wary about an unsolicited inquiry such as yours, intriguing as it was. Especially in today’s world, where scams are quite common.” A hint of pain flickered in her eyes.
She had to be thinking about the one her husband had used to bilk people of their life savings.
“I do understand. And to tell you the truth, writing that letter was out of character for me. But sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.”
“Indeed, you do. The very reason I agreed to the interview you read in the Herald, which was out of character for me. But the editor was both persistent and charming, and of course any story about the lumber industry in Oregon wouldn’t be complete without paying tribute to my father and grandfather. Who better to do that, and to ensure the story was accurate, than me?”
“I agree. Primary sources are always the most reliable.”
“Spoken like the historian you are. One with impressive credentials. I also read a few of your well-researched articles. They were impressive too.”
A rush of pleasure warmed her. “I enjoy what I do. For me, research is a joy, not a chore.”
“I assume you delved into my family history too.”
Whoops.
She’d walked straight into that one.
“Um . . . to some degree.”
“Give me the highlights of what you found, and I’ll fill in the gaps.”
Ashley smoothed out a wrinkle in her slacks. How much should she share? Too little, and it would appear she hadn’t done her homework. Too much, and Rose could think she’d been overzealous about digging for dirt.
It might be prudent to skirt around the more sensitive details.
“Your grandfather, Patrick, made his fortune in the lumber industry. He built this house in 1910.”
“Yes. As a wedding present for his bride.”
“Why brick instead of wood?” None of her research had uncovered that nugget.
Rose’s lips twitched. “Because he could. Building it out of lumber wouldn’t have cost him a cent. Brick, on the other hand, was money out of pocket and therefore more impressive. Since he came from nothing, the outward trappings of success were important to him. That’s also why he often threw lavish parties here until my grandmother died, three years before I was born.”
Sensitive detail number one.
According to historical accounts, the woman hadn’t just died. She’d been swept off the cliff by a high wind during a storm.
“I did read an account of that tragedy.” To pretend she didn’t know how the woman had perished would be disingenuous.
“I assumed you had. My grandfather always warned her not to venture too close to the cliff, but she was a bit of a daredevil. He deeded the house to my father as a wedding present in 1942 and never returned.”
“Did you come here often?”
“Yes.” Rose stood and walked over to the mantel, stopping beside a faded, framed photo of a couple and a young girl. Ran a finger down the edge of the tarnished silver frame. “This was our weekend and holiday retreat.”
“And your parents moved here permanently after your father sold the lumber business in 1985.”
“Correct. A few years later, my mother began showing signs of dementia. Eventually she started wandering the grounds in her nightgown. I imagine that’s what gave rise to the haunted rumors. And then history repeated itself.” Rose’s demeanor remained placid, but sadness darkened her irises as she turned back toward the room. “I expect you know that too.”
“A few of the details. It happened twenty years ago, I believe.”
“Yes. My father kept close watch over my mother, but one foggy night she escaped from the house, wandered too close to the cliffs, and fell off.” Rose swallowed and rested a hand on the back of the chair beside her, a match for the one she’d claimed earlier. “My father was devastated. Consumed with grief and guilt. After the funeral, he shut the gates and withdrew from the world. I joined him here after my own tragedy and cared for him until he died last year.”