The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove) Read Free Page A

on the edge of the paper. There was nothing written on the back, no indication of who the woman was or when it was taken. Disappointed, she put the picture back inside and placed it precisely in its spot on the mantel. Was this Marian? Perhaps Marian’s mother, Edith? Abby frowned, feeling a brief surge of anger at being left in the dark about her own family. She and her grandmother had been very, very close. How could Gram have failed to mention something as big as a family mansion to her only granddaughter?
    Shaking off her melancholy, Abby turned her attention to the rest of the room. A gilt-edged mirror hung above the fireplace and it reflected an unlit chandelier over the table. For a brief moment she imagined the clinking sounds of silver on china and crystal. She’d figured out that the Fosters had been well off when she’d seen the value of the estate. But this … this was living on a grand scale.
    Eager to explore now, she made her way back to the wide hall. There was another chandelier here, prettier than the last. It would be gorgeous all lit up, but on closer examination she saw that the lights within were oil and that it hadn’t been wired for electricity. It seemed a shame to waste its beauty simply because it was stuck in the past.
    Across the wide hall she found what could only be called a drawing room. She opened the curtains in this room too, feeling an irrepressible need to let light into all the dark corners. There seemed to be an odd feeling about the house. Something heavy and dark, like a terrible secret.
    It was just her overactive imagination, she chided herself. She turned her attention to the fireplace, identical to the one in the dining room, idly wondering if each room had one and if they still worked. It probably wouldn’t be safe to light a fire anyway. Birds or bats or something likely lived in the chimneys, she thought, shivering. She hated bats.
    Abby returned her attention to the space around her. It was too formal for a parlor or mere sitting room, and the warm yellow walls were in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. The furniture was old and frayed around the edges but she could tell it had been opulent in its day. An upright piano was pushed against one wall and she went over and lifted the cover, her fingers pushing a few keys as she played an arpeggio. A tinny, twangy sound erupted from the instrument, in need of a good tuning. She shut the cover again with a shudder as the dissonant notes echoed uncomfortably through the air.
    According to the records, Marian had put in central heating in the sixties, and the house had been completely rewired only twenty years ago. As Abby’s gaze took in the scarred floors and dingy rugs, not to mention the faded and chipped paint, she was at least thankful for that. Maybe the mansion had been grand in its day, but right now it looked as if it had been forgotten. Discarded. It would take a lot of work and a lot of Marian’s money, she thought with dismay, to get it into marketable shape. It was worse than she’d feared. It didn’t just need tidying up. It needed fixing.
    Abby went back to the main hall. Past a small powder room was a kitchen with modern appliances—modern compared to the rest of the house, at least. There was a four-burner stove and a refrigerator that sat quietly. The fridge and stove were the only concessions to modernity. There was no microwave, no dishwasher. The tile floor was faded and the walls were painted a very dated—and dowdy—avocado green.
    Uck. Aunt Marian had apparently been old-school.
    Next to the kitchen was a door leading to what Abby could only surmise was the basement. Abby put her hand on the latch but then drew it back as a cold feeling skittered down her spine. She’d leave exploring for another time. She had visions of the basement in Gram’s old house—stone walls, damp and cold, and the dreaded spiders. She hated them with a passion, even more than she hated bats. When she was a child, going