In the Manor with the Millionaire

Then Duncan had turned away from him and marched to his seat at the kitchen table for his usual silent lunch.

For today, one hug was enough. Maybe tomorrow…

Helen placed her fat leather briefcase on the dropcloth covering the carved cherrywood table and pulled out a stack of photographs. “These pictures were taken in the 1940s during an earlier restoration. Perhaps they’ll be useful in recreating the ceiling mural.”

“I’ve already ordered the paint,” Blake said, “including the gold leaf. There’s an artist in New York who specializes in historical restorations.”

“Sounds expensive,” Helen said archly. “I don’t suppose my brother has set any sort of prudent financial limits.”

Blake had submitted a detailed budget. Not that the expenditure was any of Helen’s business. “You’ll have to talk to Teddy about that.”

As they moved to another room, he heard Madeline talking to Alma in the kitchen. How had she made such a difference with Duncan in such a short time? She lacked the expertise of the autism specialists he’d consulted. She wasn’t a psychologist or a behaviorist. Just a schoolteacher.

For some unknown reason, his son connected with her. Was it her appearance? At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything remarkable about her, except for those incredibly long legs. When she took her glasses off, her aquamarine eyes glowed like the mysterious depths below the ocean waves. Was she magical? Hell, no. Madeline was down-to-earth. Definitely not an enchantress. And yet there was something about her that even he had to admit was intriguing.

He climbed the sweeping front staircase behind the two ladies from town. At the landing, Beatrice paused to catch her breath and said, “Duncan’s teacher mentioned that you might be interested in signing your son up for one of the T-ball teams.”

“Did she?” A baseball team? What was she thinking?

“Raven’s Cliff might not have all the cultural advantages of a big city, but there’s nowhere like a small town for raising children.”

If Duncan did well here, Blake was ready to move in a heartbeat. “How’s the real estate market?”

“Quite good.” Beatrice warmed to him. “In fact, my husband and I are considering selling a lovely three-bedroom on the waterfront. Should I have Perry talk to you about it?”

“Sure.”

He imagined himself living in this Maine backwater, planting a vegetable garden while Duncan played in the yard behind a white picket fence. Maybe his son could find friends his own age. Maybe a dog. Blake imagined a two- story slate-blue house with white shutters. The back door would open, and Madeline would step through, carrying a plate of cookies. Yeah, sure. Then they could all travel in their time machine back to the 1950s when life seemed pure and simple.

After he showed the ladies the one bedroom that had been repainted and refurbished with velvet drapes, they went back down the staircase to the first floor. Without being rude, he guided them toward the exit.

Standing at the doorway, Beatrice said, “Be sure to tell that nice young woman, Madeline, that the person to contact about the T-ball team is Grant Bridges. He’s an assistant District Attorney. A fine young man.”

He noticed a tremor in her voice. “Are you feeling all right, Beatrice?”

“Grant was almost my son-in-law,” she said softly. “It’s difficult to think of him without remembering my beautiful daughter. Camille.”

He’d heard this tragic story before. It was part of the curse of Raven’s Cliff. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

They stepped onto the porch below the Palladian window just as Teddy Fisher’s forest-green SUV screeched to a halt at the entrance. Blake remembered what Madeline had said about Fisher carrying a handgun and stepped protectively in front of the women.

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