Thirteen Chances Read Free Page B

wide.
    Emma paused. How did she know that?
    “Och, there’s plenty of time to explore yon fortress,” said Willoughby. She moved to Emma and grasped her gently by the elbow, and tugged her to the back of the
old heap.
Emma lifted out her one suitcase and her camera equipment bag, slung it over her shoulder, and shut the trunk. Willoughby patted her arm. “Come, sweetling. Let’s get you unpacked and settled in first. You must be exhausted from that dreadful plane ride. We’ve hot tea and cinnamon cakes ready for you.”
    Emma met the gazes of four expectant Ballasters. All four were as different as night and day, yet all four … similar. She decided right then that she liked them a lot. She smiled. “Yes, thank you. That sounds great.” It did, too. She hoped she wouldn’t make a pig of herself. She’d have to try to rein in her appetite. She shifted her load and allowed Willoughby to pull her toward the manor.
    Just before she stepped over the threshold, Emma stopped and glanced over her shoulder, back at the ruins of Arrick. The brisk September breeze rolled off the Irish Sea and bit her cheeks, and she shivered.
    As she watched, a figure stood rigid on the wall facing her, legs braced wide, arms folded.
    At the same moment, the sun peeked from behind an ominous gray cloud and a bath of gold washed over the stone, across the grounds, and finally, right into Emma’s eyes. She blinked, and squinted.
    The figure on the wall was gone.
    “Come, love,” said Willoughby, giving her yet another tug. “Let me show you round the house.”
    After a few seconds more of blinking and squinting at the space that now stood empty, Emma shrugged and stepped into her home for the next month.
    Briefly she wondered whether there might be a castle curator taking care of Arrick’s grounds …

Chapter 2
    The moment Emma stepped into the foyer of the manor, two things assaulted her. The first was the rich, decadent aromas of cinnamon, vanilla, and caramel. It literally made her stomach growl, and she’d soon start chewing on her own arm if she didn’t get to those darn cakes soon. Good Lord, they smelled heavenly.
    And then, the second thing: she felt as though
eyes
were on her, or as if someone watched her from the shadows. It wasn’t the sort of feeling one would experience when in a creepy haunted house. Not threatening at all. Just that feeling you get when you have to keep looking over your shoulder, or the hairs rise on your neck and arms. Quickly, her gaze raked every nook and cranny in the foyer and main room. The ceilings were fourteen feet high; beautifully painted tiles lined the baseboards; thick burgundy drapes hung from ceiling to floor at each window; and the lush, deep mahogany of the wooden staircase rail shone in the lamplight. She saw nothing, yet the feeling someone watched her remained.
    Weird.
    Or, not so weird. The manor was more than two hundred and fifty years old. She was used to old, and haunted, for that matter. Savannah was renowned for its spooks and specters.
    Not that she believed in any of it.
    “Emma, dear,” said Willoughby.
    Emma jumped. Willoughby giggled.
    “Och, love, there’s no need to be edgy in this place. No evil spirits, I personally guarantee it.” She smiled and winked. “Cast them out years ago.” She inclined her red head toward the staircase. “Now follow me to your chamber. You’ve the entire third floor to yourself. My sisters and I occupy the second floor, so we’re just below if you need us.” She winked. “You’re our only guest, you see.”
    Emma returned the smile. She probably looked and sounded like an idiot. If four old ladies could live in this place, then it had to be completely safe. She followed Willoughby up three flights of steps, then down a long corridor lit with low-light Victorian wall sconces. Here and there along the corridor, straight-backed wooden chairs, each with a plush burgundy cushion, sat against the wall. Finally, Willoughby stopped at a