A Forever Home

CHAPTER TWO

RICK KEPT GLANCING over to see what Heather Clarke and her team were doing as he finished mowing the lawn area around the mansion. He’d enjoyed annoying her just a little. She was plenty bossy for someone so young. Young. Yeah, she was, no matter the tempting curves she’d hidden under that baggy sweatshirt, curves he’d felt beneath him when he’d had her on the ground. No sense in thinking about that or about her at all.

No sense in thinking about anyone, not when he was here to do a job.

He had to redirect his mind back to his mission.

Mowing the lawn was simply part of his cover, though he had carefully adjusted the mower higher as Heather had suggested. He didn’t want to be a grass destroyer. He snorted at the idea and remembered how Heather had glared at him when she’d made the accusation. Hmm, her narrow, makeup-free face had pulled into the cutest expression, and her blue eyes had gone all steely, when she’d been irritated with him...

There his mind went again, off in the wrong direction.

Raising the blades, he rode the lawnmower to the far side of the mansion, stopped and turned it off. Then he dismounted and walked along the flower garden that bordered the building. The task gave him the opportunity to covertly inspect the area where he’d found a man’s footprints early that morning. Though he hadn’t seen any signs of a break in, he was certain someone was sneaking around the grounds. If only he could figure out why. Whoever had left those tracks beneath the windows probably was up to no good, as Ben Phillips feared.

Strange things had been going on at the Flanagan estate for the past several weeks—a broken window, random diggings, tampered locks. Phillips had grown concerned, as he should have been, considering the family had quite a collection of century-old stained glass in the house, in addition to pricey antiques and a butler’s pantry filled with silver service. Also, there was the safety of the staff and the bed-and-breakfast guests to consider. With the tourist season about to heat up, Phillips had hired Rick to secure the estate and investigate the source of the trouble. And to stop it from going any farther, of course. Because Phillips had fired the last handyman/groundskeeper, he needed someone to do small repairs around the place—hence Rick’s cover.

But Rick had now been all around the mansion and the other buildings on the property, and he hadn’t seen anything more to clue him in as to what was going on. Figuring he needed to change tactics, he left the mower outside the coach house. Built to house carriages drawn by horses and walled with the same kind of fancy paneling as the house, it was now a combination garage for his employer and storage area for equipment. There was even a small shop area to make repairs. And upstairs, the second floor apartment that had been inhabited first by a carriage driver, then a chauffeur, was now Rick’s temporary digs. He’d only brought along some clothes and a bunch of books—the mysteries and thrillers that kept him company at night. The challenge of figuring out who did what and why had entertained him since he’d read the Hardy Boys as a kid. Undoubtedly the reason he’d been drawn to this particular job.

Rick was used to temporary digs. He’d never had a real home, not even when he was a kid. His dad had been military, and Rick, his brother, Joe, and their mom had moved from base to base all over the world with him. Their parents were retired now and living in Florida. And Joe had settled in to a job at the Pentagon.

Sometimes Rick wished he’d been smart enough to get out before the horrible attack that had turned his dreams into nightmares. When terrorists had attacked his team on a special mission in Afghanistan, two of his men had lost their lives. He and Keith Murphy had barely survived. He’d relegated to memory every detail of the event and the deaths of the men he’d called friends.

Afterward, he’d never felt the same about being a lifer. When his tour was over, he’d left the army. Still, Rick wasn’t settled, inside or out.

Guilt over his men’s deaths lingered, always just below the surface.

He hadn’t yet found any reason to want to remain in civilian life.

And he didn’t know if he would ever call any place home.

The only reason he’d come to Wisconsin had been to reconnect with Megan Anders, an old girlfriend, the daughter of a commissioned officer. He’d dated her off and on for a couple of years, and the last he’d heard, she’d settled in Milwaukee. Unfortunately, he’d had no clue she’d gotten married since he’d last seen her. Still, he liked the area, and having nowhere else to go, had stuck around, taking a job with Lake Shore Security, the company that had placed him in his current undercover job.

Getting to know the other employees on the estate was essential. It was day two and he’d barely met any of the help, so Rick decided to go inside the mansion and get cozy with them. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of the three full-time staff alone. Maybe he could get something out of one of them that would put him on the right track. The only person on the property who knew his real mission was the housekeeper, Cora, who’d been with the Phillips family for decades. He assumed that she was loyal and would keep his identity to herself, or the owner wouldn’t have told her who he was.

He entered through the huge kitchen, which still had an old-fashioned feel despite the new appliances. The large cabinets looked original to him, though they’d been painted white and sported new hardware. Gray-threaded white marble counters gave the cook several large preparation surfaces. Right now, however, she was busy at the stove, stirring something in a big pan. The smell made his mouth water.

He sized up the woman. Probably in her early forties, Kelly Bennett wore a white chef’s coat over gray trousers and had tied her red hair back from her face.

“Smells great,” he said.

She glanced at him. “Oh, Rick, good morning. I’m making carnitas, a southwestern pulled pork. You can try it later, at dinner.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that.”

Actually, he was looking forward to any meals he could catch here. He wasn’t a very good cook himself. And eating in a mess hall had never been much of a treat. So he was grateful for Phillips’s invitation to catch lunch and dinner with the other full-time employees on weekdays. On Saturday and Sunday, the cook only made brunch and only when there were guests.

“It’s pretty quiet here at this end of town,” he said. “Not much action.”

“Well, no, not now. There will be shortly. We have two guests arriving tomorrow. More on the weekend. We won’t be full seven days a week until mid-June, when school lets out. After that, all eight guest rooms are booked solid for most of the summer.”

Rick waited a beat, then said, “I thought I heard something last night.” If someone had been out in the garden as the fresh footprints indicated, the person must have made some kind of noise. Unfortunately, Rick hadn’t heard anything because he’d been too far away, sound asleep in the coach house.

“Heard something?” Kelly repeated. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. But it woke me.” A small fabrication.

“Maybe you had a bad dream.”

“I would have remembered. Well, usually I do.” He waited another beat. “So you didn’t hear anything?”

Phillips had told him that the cook, housekeeper and concierge all lived in the mansion.

“No. And I’m a light sleeper.” She went back to stirring her carnitas. “Nothing last night.”

“Another night, then?”

Keeping her back to him, she shrugged. “Old houses have strange noises sometimes. Is there something else you need?”

Rick wanted to ask her more, but he got the idea she wasn’t about to elaborate. At least not yet.

“Actually, I came in to see Cora.”

“She said she wanted to do some reorganizing in the library.”

“Thanks. See you when it’s chow time.”

He left the kitchen via a hallway that took him to the rotunda. The large, round multistory room in the middle of the building separated the two wings. An original mural of the heavens covered the domed ceiling and extended to the upper walls, where a balcony ran full circle, allowing guests to admire artwork on the walls or look down to view the activity on the first floor. The lower walls were enhanced with a rich wood wainscoting, and a carpeted stairway with hand-carved railings led to the second floor.

The rotunda did double duty as the check-in area for guests and as the concierge office. Behind the antique mahogany desk hung a large portrait of a thin, wiry man with wild red hair that stuck straight up. The man stood next to an elaborate seven-branched silver candelabra complete with glowing flames.

Red Flanagan himself, Rick assumed. Odd that Phillips would showcase a portrait of a mobster. Then again, that a mobster once owned the estate might be part of its appeal to visitors and the reason they called it Flanagan Manor rather than Phillips Manor.

At the moment, the cavernous room was empty, so he sailed right through. Phillips had given him a set of plans of the mansion, so Rick knew that the kitchen, dining room, drawing room and music room sat below two floors of guest rooms with baths, and the library, main entrance and conservatory sat below the owner’s private quarters. The Phillips family had a drawing room and huge master suite on the second floor and four more bedrooms with individual baths on the third.

Entering the library, he saw Cora Stanton on a rolling ladder, straightening some books on a high shelf. Sections of every wall were lined with shelving from floor to ceiling, all filled with books. He cleared his throat to get her attention. She glanced back and saw him.

“Ah, Rick, there you are. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Good. Then we’re on the same wavelength.” When she arched her eyebrows in question, he said, “That’s why I’m here.”

She immediately descended the ladder.

As Flanagan Manor’s housekeeper, Cora was, in effect, in charge of the estate. All employees answered to her. An attractive older woman of around seventy, she wore dark trousers and a lace-trimmed white blouse. Her silver hair was cut in a short, modern style, and designer glasses hung from the chain around her neck.

“Benjamin told me why he hired you, of course, and I must say I’m relieved. I admit that I’ve been a bit spooked by some of the things happening in or around the house lately, and I hope you’ll get to the bottom of whatever is going on. I’m at my wit’s end worrying.”

“Phillips gave me the short explanation, but I need to know more from someone who is actually living on the property full-time.”

“Let’s sit, shall we?”

She indicated the upholstered sofa and leather chairs before the massive ceramic-faced fireplace with an equally massive wood surround and mantel, where a small fire had taken the chill of the spring morning from the room.

They took the two chairs, so they were facing each other.

Concern furrowed Cora’s brow. “I’ve run this estate for more than thirty years, and I’ve never had to worry until recently. I don’t feel safe anymore, what with the noises and sightings and attempted break-ins.” She shivered.

“What kind of noises?”

“Thumping in the walls. Supposedly there were secret passageways and tunnels at one time and I’m wondering if somehow something or someone got into one of them.”

Rick started. Secret passageways. Underground. That was something Phillips hadn’t told him about. A shudder ran through him, but he covered quickly.

“I have blueprints of the house, but I didn’t see any note of hidden access,” he said.

“Well, no, there wouldn’t be, not on the original plans. When Red Flanagan bought the estate, he had the passageways and tunnels and perhaps a secret room or two built into or under the house to support his illegal business. Then the Feds took over. It’s said they walled off the entrances to the house itself before they sold the property. You know, to discourage any more illegal activity. That was nearly eighty years and two additional owners ago.”

“Where were the entrances to these supposed tunnels?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. I never even had reason to think about them until the past few weeks.”

Rick remained silent for a moment. Secret tunnels...secret stash? Was that what the intruder was looking for? Something the person thought Red left behind and the Feds hadn’t found? Made sense.

“So start from the beginning,” he said. “When did you first suspect someone was up to no good?”

“About five weeks ago. I woke in the middle of the night because I thought I had heard a noise. I looked out at the lake through my bedroom window and movement nearby caught my eye. A dark, shadowy figure. Someone was on the property, but the gates were locked. The person either climbed the fence or came via the lake itself.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t an employee or guest?”

“It was April and the middle of the week. We have very few guests at that time, and none that night. Day employees—maids, mostly—don’t have keys. So the only ones legally on the property were the cook and concierge, and both Kelly and Gina said they were sound asleep.”

She went on to tell him about other incidents, a few Phillips had already related. It was sounding more and more like the intruder was searching for something specific.

“Has there been any kind of property damage?”

“Not with the first few incidents, which is why I wasn’t too alarmed. But then a couple of weeks ago, I heard breaking glass.” She sighed. “Fortunately I am a light sleeper. Or just an old woman—they say people my age tend to wake up more easily in the night.”

“You’re not old,” he reassured her.

She shrugged.

He went on, “So you investigated?”

“Not then. I was alone. So not until morning.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore.” Rick handed her his card. “My cell number is there. Program it in to yours. Should you hear or see anything suspicious at any time, call me immediately.”

She took the card and slipped it into a pocket. “I will sleep better knowing that you are around and that I can call on you.”

“Good.” Rick got to his feet. “If you think of anything else—anything at all that might help—let me know.”

Leaving the library, Rick figured this was going to be a piece of cake compared with some of his experiences in a special operations intelligence team. He was going to have to install several security cameras not only around the mansion but also in several other places. The coach house for one. The old boathouse, too, just in case an intruder decided to come in by the lake. Tracking back the way he’d come through the rotunda, he saw that Gina Luca, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a bright red blouse, was standing next to her desk.

“Rick, it’s so good to see you again. How are you getting along so far?”

“I’m doing fine with a little guidance,” he said, thinking of his encounter with the college girl.

Gina’s lips curved in an inviting smile. “I’d be happy to help you with whatever you need.”

With jet black hair that trailed her shoulders, dark brown eyes and a body that would make most men take a second look, Gina was a little too high end for Rick’s taste. He preferred his women earthy and a little feisty.

Now he was thinking of Heather on the grass pinned under him, his hand to her throat, ordering him to get off...

He really hadn’t meant to go on the attack like that. His training had kicked in at the most inappropriate time.

He nodded at Gina. “I’ll let you know when I need something.”

Like information that would help him break the case.

* * *

FOR NEARLY AN hour Heather helped Tyrone and Amber clear the persistent, invading grass from the beach area.

“Wait till my younger sisters and brothers hear where I get to work,” Tyrone said, looking out to the lake, blue-green today, waves swelling and rushing in to shore with a lick of foam.

“How many siblings do you have?” Amber asked as she dumped another plant into the wheelbarrow.

“Three of each.”

Heather started. “Seven kids?” She had her hands full with two. “Your poor mother.”

“Me and my seventeen-year-old sister, Chantel, help her take care of the younger ones.”

“You?” Amber said, sounding disbelieving.

“Hey, I like kids, especially after they get past that crazy stage.”

“When is that?” Whenever it was, Heather wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Actually, there’s two crazy stages,” Tyrone said with authority. “Everyone knows about the terrible twos. But it’s the psycho sixes that get to me. That’s when they become jugheads, think they know everything and get into trouble. Darnell decided to investigate a boarded-up house for ghosts and ended up with a broken arm. And LaVonda tangled with a hornets’ nest. Man, was she ever a mess. I’m glad we’re on our last six-year-old. That would be Vaughn.”

Heather could hear the affection in Tyrone’s voice when he talked about his younger siblings and thought it was both sweet and unexpected.

“So what about you?” he asked Amber.

“Two older brothers. Big lugs. Always trying to take care of me whether I want them to or not.”

“That’s what big brothers are supposed to do,” Tyrone said, then turned his attention to Heather. “Your turn, boss.”

“Younger brother, older sister. And I have twin six-year-old girls.”

“Twins!” Tyrone puffed himself up and swaggered a little. “You need advice on how to handle them little girls, you can come to me.”

Heather laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind next time they make me want to scream.”

They all laughed together, a good sound. Heather decided that, despite the shaky start, they would make a compatible team.

Noting they were almost finished with this section, she stepped back. “I’m going to get the sod cutter from the coach house so we can start clearing our rain garden areas next.”

Tyrone saluted her. “By the time you get the equipment, we’ll be ready to go.”

“If you see The Terminator,” Amber added, “say hi for us.”

The Terminator. Right. Not having heard the lawnmower for quite some time now, Heather found herself looking to see what he was up to. And then she remembered being pinned under that big, muscular body. Heat crept up the back of her neck. Rick Slater, she told herself. His name was Rick Slater. Thinking of him as The Terminator was bound to get her in trouble.

She headed for the coach house, a miniature version of the mansion. Same gray stone, same windows, same small details. Her team had put most of their equipment in a storage room with plenty of shelving. But the sod cutter was bulky and weighed more than three hundred pounds, so they’d left it near the lawnmower and other large equipment. Of course, The Termin...Rick...had removed the mower earlier.

So when she turned on the light and approached the sod cutter, she noticed it was sitting at an odd angle. The first thing she thought was that Rick must have whacked it getting the lawnmower out of the coach house. She tried straightening it so she could turn it on and back it out but had no success. It was definitely wonky. A closer look showed her the rear pivot wheel was out of alignment.