She flipped her phone closed and dropped it back in her pocket. If Olivia was a betting woman, she’d bet everything she had that she was the source of John Landry’s discontent. But if she was such a trial, why bother with her at all? He certainly could have made up any sort of excuse for not wanting to tow her car with his truck.
Granted, she could cost him his job if she wanted to be a real bitch about it, but was a handyman job in the middle of nowhere all that great a gig? With all the hurricane reconstruction going on in New Orleans, the last place she’d expect to find a young, able-bodied man would be hidden away in Cypriere.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more John Landry didn’t add up at all.
THE MAN WATCHED HER from his hiding place behind the overgrown bushes that surrounded one piece of the drive. While he would have recognized Olivia Markham from her photo in the back cover of her books, the picture really didn’t do her justice at all. She had that fine facial bone structure that seemed to grace only a few each generation, and a toned but curvy build. The entire package was reminiscent of the old portraits of upper class women, which was appropriate if one considered the circumstances.
Her conversation with the caretaker concerned him some. It was obvious that the caretaker wished Olivia would leave, but given everything he knew about things to come, that just didn’t make sense. Thirty years he’d been waiting for things to fall into place, for things to align as they were supposed to when the time was near. Surely, the caretaker wouldn’t have come unless he had a part to play.
The person Olivia had talked to on the phone concerned him more. For whatever reason, he’d gathered from their conversation that the person Olivia had been speaking to had suggested she leave the house and go to New Orleans for a week. And it had sounded like Olivia was considering it. No matter what, he had to make sure that didn’t happen. He’d been watching the moon, and was certain—the day and hour for fulfilling the prophecy was fast approaching.
The first woman who’d come to the house hadn’t given him the answers he was looking for. He’d thought she was the one. She had eyes like the photo, but maybe he had been wrong. Olivia didn’t have eyes like the photo, but otherwise, the resemblance was clear. Surely, Olivia was the one. It had been decades since a woman had even set foot at laMalediction. Now, there had been two in one week. One of them had to be the one.
Regardless, neither of them was leaving laMalediction until the prophecy was fulfilled.
Chapter Four
John glanced in his rearview mirror at Olivia’s car. Despite being stuck in a good foot of mud, it had started right up and was managing the drive to laMalediction. It figured. He’d hoped an out-of-commission vehicle would send her running to the city for a replacement, at least for a couple of days, but no such luck. Now he needed a plan to work around Olivia Markham without her alerting the attorney that something was suspicious.
He parked in front of the mansion and waited until Olivia pulled up beside him. She was smiling when she got out of the car. “I’m so relieved it’s running,” she said and reached back into the car to pop the trunk.
John couldn’t have disagreed more, so he just nodded and looked over at the boxes in her trunk. Whatever Olivia Markham was doing at laMalediction, it looked like she’d packed enough for a long stay. “There’s no food or supplies at the main house. I picked up bread and lunch meat for myself, but I wasn’t expecting company.”
Olivia waved one hand at the boxes. “I brought supplies,” she said. “Just some bagels, peanut butter, chips and drinking water. I’ve gotten in the habit of traveling with a minimal amount of food. I figure in another day or two, I should be able to drive back into town, right?”
“Probably.” He held in a sigh. Apparently, it was going to take more than bad weather, a reported haunted house, flaky electricity, no cell phone connection and a lack of groceries to get rid of her.
“Do you need some help moving that stuff inside?” Maybe he could figure out why she was here and that would give him an angle.
“Seriously? That would be great.” Olivia pulled the first box out and shifted it to balance. “The boxes are all electronics, so please be careful.”
Electronics? John grabbed a large box from the trunk and followed her into the house. Seemed a strange hobby at a house that lost power every time it rained.
Olivia stopped in the entryway. “I don’t suppose you know of a library or study in the house? A place with a good desk or table for working?”
John nodded. The library was where he’d found the pink button. “There’s a library straight back past the stairwell, then turn left down the hall.”
“Great.” Olivia headed toward the hallway. “I didn’t know if you’d taken stock of the house yet or were only concentrating on the outside maintenance.”
John followed behind her, his mind forming an idea that just might get him around Olivia until he could get rid of her. “Actually, I’m supposed to be working on the main house, but I didn’t want to disturb you this morning, so I worked in the drive. I’m an early riser.”
Olivia stepped into the library and placed her box on a long, dusty table in the center of a room with floor to ceiling bookcases on every wall. “I love this,” she said, looking around the room. “All it needs is a good cleaning.”
John placed his box on the table. “I’m not going to disturb your work if I go about my business upstairs, am I?”
“I doubt it. What are you doing, exactly?”
“Right now,” he said, as he formulated the lie, “I’m just assessing everything and making a list of necessary repairs so that Wheeler can order the supplies I need. I do a lot of banging wood and moving stuff, though.”
Olivia waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve trained myself to write in almost any circumstance. I acclimate to the sounds of a new house quickly, so your work shouldn’t bother me at all.”
John stared at her for a moment, not certain what to say. A writer? He would have understood if she was an antique dealer looking to catalogue the furniture or a real estate agent looking to get a contract on the house, but why in the world would someone choose laMalediction as a place to write a book? “You’re writing a book?”
Olivia nodded. “I know. Most people find it strange, but this is my niche. I stay in a reputed haunted house and write a ghost story about it. My next book is due soon and it will be set at laMalediction.”
“Haunted houses? Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
Olivia pursed her lips. “I think a fair statement would be that I don’t limit the universe to what I understand. I’ve seen things I can’t explain, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an explanation.” She smiled. “The good news is I don’t spook easily, so you won’t have to worry about catering to a damsel in distress.”
John nodded, feeling his options lessening by the second. “I’ll go grab another box,” he said and left the library.
I don’t spook easily.
She said that like it was a good thing.
OLIVIA DROPPED the filthy sponge in a bucket of dirty water. Three hours of scrubbing and the room was finally fit for habitation. She sank down on the floor and leaned back against one of the now-sparkling maple bookcases. It really was a beautiful room. In fact, everything she’d seen of the house so far was gorgeous. It was a shame that no one lived there enjoying it, although she guessed most people wouldn’t enjoy being sequestered out in the bayou with only a small town of strange people and a swamp of all kinds of creatures as company.
A crash above her caused her to jump and she slowly pulled herself up from the floor. John Landry had been making good on his noise-making promise. He’d been banging and knocking upstairs as long as she’d been cleaning downstairs.