The Secret of Langley Manor Read online

  With the lights on when I entered the kitchen, I was able to make out the design on the stained-glass cabinets, something I hadn’t been able to do when I’d crept through here in the dark. Bunches of dark red cherries decorated the upper corner of each one, a vivid vermilion color so brilliant they seemed like liquid, and for a moment, I stopped and admired them.

  A small movement to my left got my attention, and I found Mrs. Baker sitting in a breakfast nook at a small farmhouse table sipping tea out of an actual china cup. It was the first time I’d seen one in use and not sitting idly in a museum.

  She was openly staring at me, with her brows drawn down.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you, Mrs. Baker. I just thought I’d check in and see if you’ve come up with any ideas for the kitchen yet.”

  Her eyes went to her teacup as she carefully set it in its matching saucer. “A few. Perhaps you’d like to have a cup of tea with me as we discuss it?”

  “I’d love to,” I said, happy for the invitation. I slipped into the chair across from the housekeeper. “But I haven’t been sleeping well as it is; even a little caffeine would probably be a bad thing.”

  She stood and crossed her arms, staring at me for a few seconds. “Let me give you one of my own mixes. I needed a little myself tonight, and I have a bit left over. You’ll sleep like a newborn baby, I promise.”

  “If it only gave me a few hours’ uninterrupted sleep, I’d be grateful.”

  Mrs. Baker bustled around the kitchen for a few minutes and then set a steaming cup of burgundy-tinted liquid in front of me. “I’d add a little extra sugar if I were you. That brew tends to be on the bitter side.”

  I did as she suggested, then sipped. The housekeeper was right. It was not only bitter but also had a bit of an earthy taste. Reaching for a tiny pitcher, I added some cream and hoped it would help.

  “It’s different,” I said. “But if it helps me get some rest, I can stomach it.”

  “I do know how to make a delicious cup of tea,” Mrs. Baker reassured me, smiling. “We have quite a selection of Harney and Sons. I do hope you let me make you one of those tomorrow.”

  “I’d love that.” I stifled a desire to cough as I downed the rest of the cup.

  After pulling a piece of paper from her pants pocket, Mrs. Baker unfolded and smoothed it on the table between us. On it was written a short list in the neatest handwriting I’d ever seen.

  “As I worked today,” she said. “I tried to make a note of areas that may need attention. I’ve come to realize that at least some under-cabinet lights would be very nice.”

  “Definitely a popular choice. I have a catalog I could show you tomorrow if you’d like.” I carefully studied her for any signs of irritation but found none.

  “That would be nice, but I’d like Mr. Langley to okay the final choice. It is his house, after all.”

  “I agree. I run everything by Mich—Mr. Langley.” Somehow, I didn’t think she would approve of my burgeoning friendship with the boss.

  As Mrs. Baker gave a sharp tip of her head, I felt a yawn coming on. My hand flew to my mouth as I tried to stifle it. “Oh my, I think the tea is doing its job already.”

  She practically giggled, and I grinned at her. I’d judged the woman too harshly. She was only trying to do the best she could for her employer, the same as I was. If she was a little prickly as she did it, well, maybe some of that had been my fault. I could be standoffish myself sometimes, or so I’d been told.

  After saying goodnight, I made my way to my bedroom happy that Mrs. Baker and I had made some kind of peace. Now I didn’t need to dread working in that part of the house.

  I quickly readied myself for bed. That night, I slept the best I had in my entire life.

  Chapter 12

  After such a restful sleep, I was starving and made my way to breakfast as quickly as possible.

  It wasn’t until I was on my second piece of toast that Sean showed up. He dropped into the chair beside me.

  “Sleepyhead,” I teased him.

  “You look perky today.”

  “I had the best night ever. Mrs. Baker has her own brand of Sleepy Time tea, and it cured my insomnia.”

  “Good for you.”

  “What are you so grumpy about?”

  Sean looked at me from the corner of his eye. “I’m not grumpy. I’m just thinking about stuff.”

  When I raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “Okay. I guess I could use a cup of coffee.”

  When he got up to go to the buffet, I looked around the room. So far, no Michael.

  As if he’d read my mind, Joe—one of the plumbing crew—said, “He went to town to pick out some supplies for the bathrooms.”

  I thanked him. How had I been so obvious? To cover, I replied, “Oh, I’ll catch him later about some of the light fixtures, then.”

  “Sure you will,” he said and gave a deep chuckle.

  I glanced at Sean, waiting for some teasing remark, but he was shoveling his food so fast he was almost finished.

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Nothing. Just ready to get to work.”

  “Okay . . .” I studied him with narrowed eyes as he laid down his fork and sprang from his seat.

  “See you later,” he said as he moved toward the door.

  Regardless of what he was up to, I needed to start work, and that meant a trip back to my room to get supplies. Foot on the bottom stair of the staircase, I heard a dull thud come from Michael’s office. Glancing that way, I saw that the door was partly open.

  That was strange. Michael wasn’t supposed to be home, and he liked the door firmly shut when he was working in there.

  Well, maybe it was Lisa or Mrs. Baker cleaning. No, they were still busy clearing the breakfast table.

  I stared at the door. Someone was moving around in there.

  It wasn’t my business.

  Or maybe it was.

  Who was the most likely to be in that room? Maybe the one person I’d told about the box. The one person who had said nothing would get in the way of his dreams. The one person I had thought I’d known so well, but who had sent chills through me when he made that declaration.

  Sean.

  Maybe I didn’t know him at all.

  I turned away from the stairs and crept over to the thick library door. I tried to squeeze between the edge of the door and the doorframe, but it was just a bit too thin. As I held my breath, I pushed the door open a little wider and hoped it wouldn’t squeak.

  Successful, I let the pent-up air go and peeked around the door frame.

  There he was, pawing through the papers on Michael’s desk. The closet door to my right stood wide open.

  My heart fell, and I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut.

  Could Sean, my oldest and most reliable friend, be the person the police were looking for? Someone who could hurt—no, kill—another person?

  Tears sprang to my eyes. What should I do?

  “Abby!”

  I jumped.

  “You need to leave here right now.” Sean’s voice was low and rough. “You can’t be involved in this. It’s too dangerous. I might have to do something I don’t want to do.”

  I stepped back and stood there in shock.

  Sean waved me away. “Go. Now.”

  My world turned into hard edges. Even breathing seemed to hurt. “Sean.”

  He stared at me, waiting for me to obey.

  I couldn’t.

  Instead, I moved further into the room. “Sean, don’t do this! No matter what has happened in the past, this isn’t worth it. You can’t—hurt—people to get what you want. You just can’t.”

  “Keep your voice down!” he whispered as he hurried across the room and grabbed my arm, pulling me further in. “What are you talking about?”

  I tried to jerk my arm out of his hand, but he held tight. “The box! You’re looking for it.”

  “Yeah. So.”

  “Oh, Sean. You
’re looking for it to hide what you did.”

  He gave me a blank look. His hand loosened, and I was able to jerk my arm back. I reached for his hand. “It’s okay. We’ll get you some help. A good lawyer—”

  Sean shook his head as if clearing it. “Abby, do you think I killed Andrew?”

  I scanned the room he’d clearly been searching. “Uhm . . .”

  “Abby!” His eyes grew wide. “I did not kill anyone. I’m here to help investigate. I’m working with the cops.” Sean pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a card and pushed it into my hands. “Here. See?”

  The card was about the size of a driver’s license but said Private Investigator in large letters. His picture was plastered on the right side of it.

  I stared at the card and then him. “But what about the basement?”

  “Okay. I had a momentary lapse. I’ve never come across a treasure before. But I’m all good now. I promise.”

  He gave me that goofy grin he’d had forever.

  Giddy, I jumped at him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Oh, Sean. I’m so relieved!”

  “Well, so am I if you thought I was a cold-blooded killer.”

  I moved away and waved his card at him. “When did this happen?”

  “The PI thing—a couple of years ago. The helping-the-police-on-this-case thing—yesterday. And since you’re here, show me where Langley put the box.”

  I walked toward the closet. “Right in here.”

  “It isn’t there.”

  I frowned, and leaned to look inside. Although the closet was rather deep, the box was big enough it would’ve been noticeable.

  It was gone.

  “So, what has your boyfriend been up to?”

  I closed my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend-in-waiting, then. Be careful, Abby. Mark my words, he’s behind this.”

  Chapter 13

  Dinner that evening was awkward. I sat to Michael’s right, glancing at him more than I’d like to admit. Was he guilty or not? My thoughts bounced from one conclusion to the other.

  He’d taken the box to the police, and that was why it was missing. No, he’d moved the box because it had evidence against him.

  Yet even in the short time I’d been here, I felt I knew the man. I liked to think that my less than perfect past had at least given me the skills to be a good judge of character. Surely I wouldn’t be so comfortable with him if he was a murderer. But if it wasn’t him or Sean, who could it be?

  I studied the other men at the table. For all I knew, one of them had a reason to kill Andrew. Or maybe it was someone else altogether—a person from town after the treasure.

  I needed to find out more about it.

  When Michael brought up work, I eagerly answered his questions while trying to find a way to ask about a treasure I wasn’t supposed to be aware of.

  My opportunity came when toward the end of dinner, Michael leaned toward me and whispered, “Would you like to take a little walk after dessert?”

  Before I could answer, a glass pie pan containing a scrumptious-looking cherry pie clanked against the table between us. I ignored it and glanced out the window.

  My heart was beating double-time, and it wasn’t because I’d finally get to question Michael. Outside, the evening sunset threw pink against the bottom of the white puffy clouds. A perfect night for a stroll with the guy I was falling for. “I’d love to,” I whispered back.

  After I grabbed a sweater, we headed out the back door. The sunset continued to deepen, and the sky became a canopy of pinks and oranges. Clouds now held streaks of dark rose, and the mountains were the perfect backdrop as the evergreens darkened.

  “It’s amazing.” My voice filled with awe, and for a moment I forgot everything but the view until Michael’s deep voice brought me back to the present.

  “It is. One of the reasons I love it here so much. The rolling mountains, fresh air, and these sunsets don’t hurt either.”

  With a light laugh, I agreed. I tore my gaze from the sky and looked at Michael, but he wasn’t staring at the sunset. He was looking at me.

  Giving him a nervous smile, I looked at the ground before glancing back at him. I stared into his blue eyes--so open and honest. No, this man was not the killer. My face grew warm as his smile grew.

  “I’m sorry, Abigail. I can’t help myself. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off you.”

  I swallowed, loving the comment but not knowing what to do with it. Sincere compliments had been somewhat scarce in my life, and I never knew how to handle them. Just say, thank you?

  Michael let me off the hook. He turned and held out an arm to me as if I were some kind of debutante at a dance. I took his arm and rested my hand on his firm forearm, enjoying the feel of him. I caught myself smiling as I did so.

  “Thank you,” I was finally able to say around the lump in my throat as we started to walk toward the barn.

  “I enjoy your company. You’re smart, love what you do and . . . you’re beautiful to look at.”

  I leaned into him with a light laugh. “You, too.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  “Even the beautiful one?”

  “Especially the beautiful one.”

  Michael uttered a deep chuckle and kissed the top of my head. “You’re funny too.”

  I reached up and put a hand to his cheek. “I’m not being funny at all.” I held it there for a moment as his eyes darkened, then pulled away. “But, in case you’re worried,” I continued, “I don’t let your looks overshadow your other good qualities.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Sometimes, I close my eyes,” I teased Michael, “and list them just to make sure you are deserving of my attention.”

  I expected Michael to laugh, but he didn’t. “I will always do my best to be deserving of you.”

  I felt my cheeks warm as the little butterflies in my stomach swarmed in circles. “How can you be so certain? This is so fast.”

  “It is. I won’t deny that. The whole thing took me by surprise. But the moment I saw you, Abigail, I knew there was something. And the more time we spend together, the more I feel it. Please tell me you feel it too.”

  “I do. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

  “Me either. It’s extraordinary.”

  “But,” I reminded him, “friends until the project is over.”

  Michael scanned the massive house and grimaced. “Friends with kisses until it’s over?”

  I laughed. “We shall see. For now, where are we going?”

  “I thought I’d check on King. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Michael laid his hand on top of mine as we continued toward the barn. “I took Andrew’s box to the police.”

  “I noticed it was gone.”

  He stopped short, bringing me to a halt with him. “What?”

  I bit my lip as I realized my mistake. I’d have to admit how I knew it was gone—that I’d found Sean sneaking around Michael’s office.

  “Abigail, is there something . . . ?” Michael asked as a scowl formed on his face.

  I stood there a moment trying to glue my lips shut. Was there some way I could avoid telling him about Sean?

  But I was the one in the wrong. I had gossiped, even if it was to a friend. And did I really want to start a relationship with half-truths?

  So I fessed up and apologized profusely, ending with, “I will never, ever do anything like that again. Although we are becoming—better friends—it isn’t any of my business. And I certainly shouldn’t have told Sean, even if he is a private investigator.”

  Michael’s eyes widened, and he took a small step away from me. “He’s what?”

  I heaved a big sigh. “I didn’t know before today. He just told me.”

  “So, is he an electrician or a PI?”

  I screwed up my face. “Both. I think.”

  Michael started pacing.
“I thought he was . . . I mean, we’ve had beers together. Was he just—investigating me?”

  “No! No, I don’t think so. He never said he was doing anything like that. Sean just wanted to see the box.”

  “Well, he can go see his buddy, the police chief.”

  “It’s all done with, then.”

  When Michael didn’t respond, I slipped my hand into his. “It is over, right?”

  Even as the words spilled out, I questioned them. It wasn’t over yet—not really. There was still the thing that may have started it all. The treasure. My indecision must have showed.

  Michael looked down at me. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  After biting my lip, I groaned. I had to tell him. “The treasure.”

  “What treasure?”

  “Word is, there is a treasure on this property left by your grandfather. I found Sean in the basement one night banging on an old door, sure he’d found it.”

  “Oh, my—” Michael tightened his hold on my hand and took off for the barn. “You want to see the treasure? I’ll show you the treasure.”

  Angry, he forgot the difference in our strides. I ran, almost two steps for every one of his until we got to the double doors of the barn. Michael yanked them open. King whinnied and shook his head up and down, clearly happy to see his owner. Other than the one horse, the building contained the usual barn-like stuff: a saddle, a bucket of water, and hay—lots of hay. Not a treasure in sight.

  I looked up, dumbfounded, at the person Sean called my boyfriend-in-waiting.

  “Him.” Michael threw his arm out, gesturing to the majestic horse. “King is the treasure.”

  “Well, I know you care for him but—”

  “My grandfather owned some of the best racehorses in history. Before he died, things started to go downhill financially for him. Equine artificial insemination was taking off, so he gathered what he could and had it stored. King is just one of an extensive and very expensive line of premium stallions I now own.” He walked toward the stallion and ran a hand down his neck, patting him. “So he truly is a treasure, in more ways than one. He has helped restore the family fortune.”