Michelle wrinkled her nose. “It smells musty.”
“Thanks to the ocean, it smells a lot better than I expected. At least that broken window let in some fresh air.” He poked around the kitchen, but the previous residents had left nothing there. “Did the twins actually live here the last time they were in town?”
Michelle opened the fridge, pinched her nose and slammed the door shut. “No. I think Mia was going to try to fix things up a bit, but after her boyfriend took off with her sister, she abandoned that idea along with the house and went back to New York.”
“Is there anything in the fridge?”
“Just that unused fridge smell.” She peered into the hallway. “No sense in searching this big house together. It’ll take half the time if we split up. Just tell me what to look for.”
“You sure you’re okay looking around here by yourself?”
Michelle straightened her shoulders. “I’m good. If there’s anyone else in here, I’ll make a run for it…and you have a gun.”
“You take the upstairs and have a look in the bedrooms and bathrooms up there. I’ll stay on this floor and head down to the basement. Just be on the lookout for anything new. I mean any sign that someone has been here recently.”
“Rose petals?”
He nodded and squeezed her hand before she headed for the staircase.
“And be careful on those stairs.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth, feeling like an idiot. Michelle was a grown woman, not a shy teen anymore.
He turned his attention to the search. Columbella House had been beautifully crafted and designed. It was a shame it had been left to ruin, but the house had a reputation.
Bad things happened here.
He snorted. He was as pathetic as the superstitious residents of Coral Cove, avoiding the house and calling for its demolition. The mayor was probably on that bandwagon.
He ran a hand along the intricately carved banister, his fingers clearing a trail in the dust. He called upstairs. “You okay up there?”
Michelle’s muffled reply floated down. “I’m okay. You?”
“Going to look around a little more and then head for the basement.”
She didn’t respond, so he finished wandering through the dining room, the living room, another sitting room, a library and a half bathroom. Nothing amiss.
He pushed open the basement door and flicked on the flashlight Michelle had given him. A flight of stairs tumbled into the darkness below. He aimed his beam of light on the first step and grasped the scarred wooden handrail. He tested the step with his weight and continued downstairs, the chilly air wrapping its fingers around him the farther he descended.
That fresh ocean breeze hadn’t permeated the depths down here. The dank smell of mold and water rot assaulted his nostrils.
When he reached the bottom step, he aimed his flashlight into the four corners of the room. The sword of light cut across generations of beach paraphernalia—tattered umbrellas, broken beach chairs, deflated inner tubes and air mattresses. Their bright colors muted and depressed by the darkness shrouding their final resting place.
Colin shuffled across the floor, his footsteps the first to imprint the dust in many years. He poked through the long-forgotten summer accoutrements. Nobody had been hiding down here.
He brushed his hands on the thighs of his jeans and turned back toward the stairs. As the beam of light tripped up the steps, something glimmered on the floor.
Colin crouched in front of the staircase and reached between the steps. He ran his fingers across the cement. They stumbled over a chain of some sort. As he scooped it up, the hair on the back of his neck quivered.
* * *
MICHELLE SMILED AS she pushed through the door of the first bedroom after the bend in the hallway. Colin’s concern for her well-being sent tingles along her skin. And the fact that he’d taken the basement sent a wave of relief through her body. No way did she want to head down those stairs into the darkness.
The bedrooms at Columbella surprised her with their order. A thick layer of dust coated everything in sight, but the grime couldn’t hide the beautiful lines of the furniture, and all the beds sported full linen, including matching bedspreads, shams and pillows.
She lifted a flounced duvet and peered under the bed. She strode to the closet and sneezed as she flung open the doors. Empty hangers swayed on a rod, boxes sat in neat rows on the floor.
She exited the room and a creaking noise from the next bedroom slowed her gait. Probably just the floorboards protesting her intrusion.
Despite her commonsense approach, her heart skittered in her chest as she eased open the door. She glanced over her shoulder, longing for Colin’s reassuring voice.
She shuffled into the room. Her gaze darted toward the bedspread, wrinkled and wavy with indentations. She ducked and peered under the bed. Dust bunnies scurried into the corner.
She slid a sidelong glance at the closet, almost wishing she could ignore the sliver between the two doors. Every other closet door in every other bedroom had been closed. Holding her breath, she tiptoed to the closet.
“Colin?” She licked her dry lips. He was probably in the bowels of the house…the spooky part. She squared her shoulders and whipped open the closet door.
Her mouth dropped open and she stumbled backward. She hit the bedpost. The jolt of the collision cut through her shock and she let loose with a scream that had to be piercing straight through the floors to the basement.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SHAGGY MAN in the closet spread his arms wide and smiled. “Caught me.”
Michelle crossed her arms over her chest as if to ward off a blow or a bullet…or the man’s pungent odor. His hands were empty, but that didn’t mean anything. He could have a hidden weapon or he could strangle her with his bare hands.
She choked and spun around, colliding with Colin as he charged through the door, his weapon grasped in one hand.
He gripped her arm with the other hand to steady her. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
She thrust a shaky finger at the closet where the disheveled stranger still hadn’t moved. “He’s in there.”
Colin shoved her toward the door and strode toward the closet. He flung the doors wide and leveled his gun at the man slouching amid the dresses and skirts.
“Get out now and put your hands where I can see them. Call 9-1-1, Michelle.”
She patted the pockets of her shorts and dragged out her cell phone. While she breathlessly relayed the pertinent information to the dispatcher, the man in the closet inched a tentative foot forward.
“Be careful, Colin.” The fact that Colin had the man at gunpoint didn’t ease her fears.
Colin gestured with his gun. “Hurry up and keep your hands in front of you.”
The man shuffled forward a few more steps, his arms held out. He started whistling.
Michelle sucked in a breath. Was it some sort of signal? She dipped into the hallway and looked both ways.
The man stood before Colin and peered at him through a veil of stringy hair. His filthy clothes hung on his gaunt frame, his lips, still puckered in song, framed by a wild beard. He dropped his arms to his sides and his hands nestled amid the folds of his raggedy clothing.
Colin steadied the metal-gray barrel of the gun. “Put your hands back in front of you where I can see them.”
The man gave him a gap-toothed smile. “I had