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  “I can think of any number of reasons in a house this old.” He held his hand out to her. “You must be Ellie. I’m Bennett Calhoun.”

  She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Do you know if my grandmother passed away in this room?” she asked, still preoccupied with the door.

  He chuckled. “Please call me Bennett. And yes, your grandmother spent her last weeks in this room with a host of round-the-clock nurses. But I wouldn’t go worrying about ghosts just yet. We’ll get the carpenter to look at it when he addresses all the other things that need to be fixed around here.”

  His explanation sounded logical to Ellie, but she closed the door behind her just the same.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ellie

  Ellie had spoken to Bennett Calhoun several times on the phone in the month following her grandmother’s death, but she was not prepared for his extraordinary good looks—tall, lean, and tan, in an impeccably tailored pale-gray suit. She reminded herself that she’d sworn off men and this particular one was old enough to be her grandfather.

  She was parched after the trauma of being locked in her grandmother’s bedroom. “Can I offer you some tea?” she asked as they descended the stairs, even though she would’ve much preferred a glass of chilled white wine.

  “I never say no to tea, as long as it’s sweet and iced with a taste of lemon.”

  In the kitchen, Ellie retrieved the pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and located two glasses. She filled the glasses with ice and tea and handed one to Bennett. When he started toward the Florida room, she suggested they go to the library to talk.

  “After you.” He held his hand out, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I was heading that way out of habit. The few times I met with your grandmother, we sat in the Florida room. I got the impression she spent most of her time back there.”

  Ellie didn’t remember much about the library. Maybe that’s why she felt more relaxed in there. She took a seat on the sofa and Bennett in a leather chair across the marble coffee table from her. “I find this room more comfortable. The Florida room gives me the willies.” A chill crawled across her skin, and she untied the gray cotton sweater from around her neck.

  He chuckled. “It’s the eyes.”

  She froze, one bare arm in the sweater. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Your grandmother’s eyes in her portrait. I’ve noticed them before. They unnerve me in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. I have portraits of ancestors hanging all over my house, but none of them affect me quite like Eleanor’s.”

  She considered this as she slipped her other arm in the sweater and pulled it tight over her sundress. Ellie had studied portraiture as part of the MFA program at UC Berkeley. It wasn’t the way her grandmother’s eyes, as gray as a stormy day, followed her around the room. That much was expected from a master portrait artist. “I know exactly what you mean, Bennett. Her eyes convict and sentence you to death before you’ve even committed the crime.”

  He tilted his head back and laughed. “Spoken like a true artist. We’re gonna get along just fine, you and me. I must introduce you to my wife. She was impressed with your work when I showed her your website. We fancy ourselves collectors even though neither of us has a lick of talent.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” Ellie said, taking a sip of her tea.

  “I can see the two of you as friends. As for the portrait, if I were you, I’d stuff it in a closet and forget about it.”

  Ellie studied his face and realized he was being serious. “I’m not sure I can do that to my grandmother’s portrait when I’m living in her house.”

  “It’s your house now, Ellie, to do with as you like.”

  Pixie jumped onto the sofa beside her and buried her muzzle beneath Ellie’s thigh.

  Bennett smiled at Pixie. “Your grandmother would roll over in her grave if she saw your dog making herself at home on her velvet sofa.”

  It was Ellie’s turn to laugh. “And I quote, ‘It’s your house now, Ellie, to do with as you like.’”

  He held his glass out to her. “Touché.”

  A bemused expression crossed Ellie’s face. “Didn’t you tell me my grandmother’s body was cremated? If so, that would make it difficult for her to roll over in her grave.”

  “A figure of speech, of course. Eleanor’s ashes are in an urn on the mantel in the living room.”

  Ellie imagined her grandmother’s soul yearning for release from the confines of a decorative urn. “Did she leave instructions on where she wanted her ashes spread?”

  “Not that I recall. I’ll leave that to you to decide.” Bennett sat back in his chair, crossed his long legs, and opened his document folder in his lap. “Let’s discuss the details of the estate.” He handed her a sheaf of papers and pointed to a number so large it made Ellie’s eyes blink shut and her mouth fall open.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked when she discovered her voice again.

  “Nope. It’s all yours to do with as you please. Eleanor lived like Scrooge. She never spent any money on anyone, including herself or the house, as I’m sure you noticed. You can live like Oprah Winfrey and you wouldn’t put a dent in your portfolio. It’ll take several months to finalize the estate, but you have plenty of money at your disposal until then. Whether or not you realize it, your grandfather was one of the founding fathers at the Peninsula Bank and Trust. Virgil Bates has been handling your grandmother’s money for many years.” Bennett handed her a business card. “He’s expecting your call.”

  She clipped the business card to the papers and set them down on the coffee table. “Do you have any idea why my grandmother left everything to me? We haven’t been in touch in thirty-four years. Surely she has other family members more deserving.” Ellie had often wondered if she had a string of first cousins out in the world somewhere.

  He shook his silver head. “Your mother was an only child. If there are other family members, distant nieces or nephews, I am not aware of them.”

  “Did she make any bequests to her staff or her church or any nonprofit organizations she was fond of?”

  Again, he shook his head. “Her will is very straightforward. You are the only beneficiary.”

  “Not even for Maddie?”

  “Unfortunately not. I encouraged her to include Maddie in her will, but she refused. In fact, your grandmother never once gave Maddie a raise in all the years she’s been working here. If you plan to keep her on, I’d address that issue soon. She’s as loyal as they come. I’ve been giving Maddie annual bonuses to make up for it.”

  Ellie was moved by his generosity. “That’s awfully kind of you. I hope the estate reimbursed you.”

  He chuckled. “I added it to my fees. Eleanor never knew the difference.”

  “Tell me, Bennett, how much do you know about my grandmother?”

  “Not that much, actually. She led an active social life in her younger days, but she became a recluse fairly early on. In her fifties, if I had to guess. If you want to know the truth, I was a little afraid of her with that jogging stick of hers always close at hand.”

  Ellie froze, her glass of tea positioned near her lips. She set the glass back down as she recalled the pain of that wooden stick with its silver tips whacking her thighs. She had a long list of questions for him, but at the moment, only one presented itself to her. “What if I want to sell the house?”

  He paused a long minute before responding. “You have every right to sell the house, if that’s what you really want to do. But I advise you to think long and hard about it before you make that decision. This house has been in your family for generations, since back before the Civil War. Don’t let creepy portraits and sticky doors scare you off. Hire a decorator. Put your own stamp on it. I understand you’re an artist. You said the Florida room gives you the willies, but if you think about it, that room would make a wonderful studio with the natural light streaming in through its windows and the magnificent view of the garden. Although I must say the garden could
use some tending.”

  When she first learned of her inheritance, Ellie had jumped at the opportunity to move to Charleston. But now that her belongings were in a moving truck making its way across the country, she wondered if she was running away from her heartache over a recent breakup more than she was embracing a chance to start anew. “I thought I was ready for a change, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “You’re tired, Ellie. And understandably so. You’ve come a long way in a day.” He consulted his gold wristwatch. “You’ve been here for only what, three hours? Give it some time. You’ll feel more at home once you get settled.”

  Bennett had a gentle way about him that put Ellie at ease. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He drained the rest of his tea and stood to go. “Maddie tells me there are a number of repairs that need to be taken care of right away—things that can’t wait for you to decide whether you want to keep the house or sell it. I would start with the leaky roof. It’s hurricane season, and several storms are brewing in the tropics.” He pulled a sheet of computer paper from his folder and handed it to her. “Here’s a list of names and phone numbers of the contractors your grandmother used for repairs and maintenance. I added a few of my own. I suggest you let Maddie help you with this. She’s very resourceful, and she knows the house better than anyone.”

  She placed the list along with the stack of papers that made up her grandmother’s will on the desk and walked him to the front door.

  “Shall I have my wife call you for lunch?” Bennett asked when they were on the front porch. “Lucille can provide an introduction to some of the key people in our art world.”

  Ellie appreciated his kindness. She felt certain she would enjoy his wife’s company if she was anything like her husband. His twinkling blue eyes suggested a playful side she hoped she would one day encounter. “I would like that very much. So this is what they mean by Southern hospitality.”

  He winked at her. “It can be off-putting for some at first. But you’ll get used to it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ellie

  Ellie watched Bennett drive away in his Mercedes before turning around to face the house. She stared up at the three stories of a maintenance nightmare—columns, porch railings, wood siding, and shutters, all susceptible to rot and termites and all in desperate need of stripping and repainting. Having the windows cleaned, alone, would cost her a fortune. The foundation shrubs were way overgrown, and the small patch of lawn on both sides of the brick sidewalk appeared to be more weeds than grass. The sidewalk itself was buckling in places. She’d never owned a house before. How would she ever keep up with a money pit like this one? She was pleased to see the brass on the front door, which included a knocker, knob, and mail slot, had all been polished to a shine. She had Maddie to thank for that and so much more. How did she manage all of it at her age?

  Ellie wandered around the downstairs for another hour before returning to the kitchen. She felt disoriented in her new environment and craved a glass of wine or hard liquor like bourbon on the rocks to take the edge off. Her grandmother didn’t drink, as evidenced by the lack of alcohol in the house. After a thorough search of the cabinets in the kitchen and the butler’s pantry, she finally discovered a dusty bottle of pinot noir at the back of the pantry, which was no more than a glorified broom closet with a few shelves to store nonperishable food items.

  The only thing she could find resembling a wineglass was a set of four Waterford sherry glasses in the dining room’s built-in china cabinet. She opted for an everyday juice glass instead and filled it to the brim with wine. She recognized the California label, although she’d never visited that particular vineyard. With a hint of cherries, the wine tasted surprisingly smooth.

  There was nowhere to sit in the kitchen—no barstools positioned at the counter or chair at the tiny desk area beneath the wall phone. Her grandmother had intended this kitchen for cooking, not loitering. Ellie located a step stool in the pantry, set it up near the paned back door, and sipped her wine as she studied the sliver of lawn outside the window. The Florida room extended out the back of the house, cutting the yard into two sections—the larger garden area including the bluestone terrace off the Florida room and this patch of grass that provided enough room to expand the kitchen if she decided to do so.

  Ellie’s favorite place to hang out had been the kitchen in every place she’d ever lived. Come to think of it, she’d spent a lot of time camped out in this very corner by the back door, hiding from her grandmother, who felt it beneath her to enter the part of the house meant for the help. In Glen Park, the neighborhood where she’d grown up in San Francisco, she and her father had met for heart-to-heart talks in the kitchen of their modest home after her stepmother and stepbrothers went to bed. And for the past five years, she and Jake had spent most of their evenings together, cooking and sipping wines purchased from local boutique wineries and making out in the tiny kitchen of her studio apartment in San Francisco’s Mission District. If she stayed in this house, she would remodel the existing kitchen and add on more square footage out back. An island would give her more counter space, and a banquette built into a wall of windows would afford her a sunny place to drink her coffee in the mornings and gather with friends for casual suppers in the evenings.

  Slow down, Ellie, she thought. You’re getting ahead of yourself. First you need to make some friends.

  For the time being, she’d have to learn to live with the house as it was. She couldn’t see herself eating alone at the dining room table. The living room was too formal for much of anything. The library was a cozy spot for curling up on a winter’s day, but she found the dark paneling dreary. The Florida room would be ideal, if not for the constant presence of the woman who’d terrified her as a child.

  Draining the rest of her wine for courage, she folded the step stool and dragged it down the back hallway to the Florida room. Lifting her head high, she stepped over the threshold and marched across the room. Then, teetering on the stool, she wrestled her grandmother’s portrait off the wall. She set the portrait on the ground and leaned against it for support while she caught her breath. She looked around and noticed how the paint had yellowed over the years everywhere except where the painting had hung. I’ll need to do something about that, she thought. Along with the million other things that need addressing.

  She carried the large canvas in its ornate gold leaf frame up to her grandmother’s bedroom. The door was stuck again, and she had to force it open using her body. She then held the door open with her foot while she maneuvered the portrait inside the room. She leaned it against the wall and quickly shut the door again, brushing the frame’s dust off her hands.

  Returning to the kitchen, she refilled her juice glass with wine and scooped a heap of the still-warm eggplant casserole onto a small plate. She didn’t normally like eggplant, but she found Maddie’s recipe with tomato sauce and melted cheese quite tasty. While she ate standing at the counter, feeling guilty for being so mean about her grandmother, she racked her brain for fond memories of Eleanor Pringle. She couldn’t think of a single one. Surely those years hadn’t been all bad.

  After eating and realizing with dismay that there was no dishwasher, she rinsed and dried her plate. Ellie found an ink pen and a notepad on the counter beneath the rotary dial wall telephone and took them outside to the front porch. A gentle breeze made her grateful for her lightweight sweater. She sat down on the steps and commenced writing. Her grocery list included red wine and dog kibble. Her list for household repairs was longer. She would call the roofer first about the leaks, followed by the lawn service about bringing the yard back to life and Goodwill about the furniture from the Florida room she planned to donate. And she would ask Maddie about a handyman who could fix whatever was wrong with her grandmother’s bedroom door.

  She’d had a long day, and the wine had made her sleepy. She decided to turn in early, even though it was still light out and not yet five o’clock in California. She went bac
k inside, turned out the lights, and locked the doors. She left the grocery list on the counter for Maddie and wheeled her suitcase upstairs to the guest room. She went to the window and stared out at the people and their pets across the street in the park. From this vantage point, they looked like ants crawling around on the ground. She experienced a sense of déjà vu, of deep sorrow and loneliness. She felt certain she’d stood in this spot many times before watching the world go by outside her grandmother’s house. She reached for the knob on the French door leading to the porch. But like the one in her grandmother’s room, it, too, was sealed shut. There was something more she was supposed to know about that, but she was too tired for it to come to her tonight.

  She wedged the chair from the dressing table under the doorknob and stretched out on the bed beside Pixie. She doubted sleep would come easily with her mind reeling from so many changes, but she closed her eyes and was out within minutes. At eight the following morning, she sat bolt upright to the thundering of heavy footsteps pounding the stairs.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ellie

  Maddie banged on her door. “Miss Ellie, Miss Ellie, come quick! Are you awake in there?”

  “Just a minute!” Ellie called and rolled out of the bed. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the antique gilded mirror above the dresser. She looked a sight with hair matted and makeup smeared, the indigo-blue linen sheath she’d worn on the plane from California now a wrinkled mess. She pried the chair from beneath the doorknob and swung open the door. “What on earth is wrong, Maddie?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you from your sleep, but we’ve been robbed,” she exclaimed, her right hand pressed against her ample breasts while her left gripped the apron of her old-fashioned gray housekeeper’s dress. “Someone done stole Missus Pringle’s portrait!”

  “Calm down, Maddie. We haven’t been robbed. I moved the portrait up here to my grandmother’s bedroom. Come, I’ll show you.” They walked together to her grandmother’s room. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but to be honest, the portrait makes me feel uneasy, and I wanted it out of the way.”