| |
BROKEN BRANCHES
(THE GREEN LADY INN BOOK 1)
––––––––
by
BRENDA M SPALDING
Chapter 1
––––––––
"Okay, Gran, I promise. I'll come up to Salem this weekend for sure," Megan said, perched on the corner of her mother's old antique desk—her long legs dangling over the side.
She glanced at her calendar and thought about all she had to arrange for her art gallery to function in her absence. Her assistants were great; she just had to make sure they knew what needed to be done. After all, it would be only for a weekend. Today was Tuesday the fifteenth—the Ides of October. She frowned, hoping that wasn't a bad omen. No, there was plenty of time to get things organized.
Megan had a growing reputation as a brilliant watercolorist. She had a classroom/studio in the back, and her classes were always full—with a waiting list of students trying to get in.
"Sorry to cut this short, Gran, but I have a lot to do if I'm going to take time off for a visit. I should have planned to visit before now."
"Yes, dear, I know how busy you are with the gallery and all. But I've got to talk to you about something. It really can’t wait any longer. I’m not getting any younger, and there are things you need to know. I need your help, and I’d rather just...” Gran’s voice trailed off.
“Gran, are you there?” Only silence answered Megan for a moment.
Then Megan’s grandmother whispered into the phone, “I heard something upstairs.” She paused to listen. Lately she’d heard a lot of strange sounds in the old house. The house had been in her family for generations.
“Sorry, I thought I heard something again.”
“What do you mean ‘again?’ Gran, what did you hear?”
“Got to go! See you soon!”
Megan stared at the unresponsive phone in her hand. “What the hell was that all about?” she shrugged.
Megan went back to work on the papers before her. Later she called her grandmother back but got no answer. Megan was a bit concerned after their last conversation but she knew Gran had friends she often went out with. She made a mental note to try again later.
“Now for these invoices, or I’m not going anywhere. I really do need to hire a bookkeeper.” Megan said to an empty room. She busied herself with paperwork and the business of running a successful gallery for the rest of the day. In between she looked up flights from New York to Boston, checking times and prices. All the while, disturbing questions about her grandmother and the strange ending to their conversation invaded her thoughts.
*****
Megan’s grandmother hung up the phone and stood there, listening, waiting to see if the sounds she had heard would repeat. I must be losing it for real, she thought.
Then she heard it again, a noise like furniture being dragged across the floor. It was coming from the attic above her. Quietly and as quickly as she could manage, she pulled herself up the stairs using the handrail. She stopped on the landing to catch her breath and listened again. She hadn’t been upstairs much in the last few years.
There it was again. Definitely the attic, she assured herself. Reaching the top of the
stairs, she walked down the hallway and eased open the attic door. She was positive someone was up there. Deciding to go down and call the police she turned, caught her foot on the carpet and bumped her elbow hard on the door frame—sending a painful zing up her arm.
“Ow! Damn, that hurt,” she whispered, hoping her stifled exclamation hadn’t been heard in the attic. She held her breath and waited, praying she could get away before being caught.
Shuffling down the hall, she heard someone rushing down the attic stairs. She made it to the top of the stairs when she felt a hand grip her shoulder and shove her hard.
Chapter 2
––––––––
The answer to Megan’s unanswered questions came the next morning. Salem police called to inform her that Corey Elizabeth Bishop, Megan’s grandmother, had been found dead at the bottom of her stairs.
She was sitting there trying to absorb what the police had told her when Megan’s assistant, Jennifer, knocked on her office door. Walking in, she found her boss sitting behind her desk, softly crying. “Megan what’s wrong?” she asked.
“That call was from the Salem police up in Massachusetts. My grandmother had an accident at home and died. I can’t believe it. I only talked to her yesterday. You know I told you I was planning to go up this weekend. I’ve not visited her in a while, and she had something to tell me.” Megan choked out between sobs while wiping her tears. “I knew she was getting on, but I didn’t think she was that bad.”
Megan took a tissue from the box Jennifer handed her and took a deep breath. “Jen, I’m going to have to take some time off to deal with this. Oh, God, Jen, how do people do this? I can’t even think straight right now.”
“Don’t worry about the gallery,” Jennifer said. “You go take care of things up there. We’ll take care of things here. Annie can handle the invoices. The current exhibition will be up for a few more weeks. By then you should be back.”
Jennifer handed Megan more tissues, helped her with her coat and walked her out. “You have a good team here, and we can reach you on your cell if we have any questions.” They hugged and Jennifer watched Megan walk slowly down the street.
She took the subway home lost in thought about the wonderful times she’d had at her Gran’s house. As a child she had spent a couple weeks there every summer. Hand in hand they would walk the beach looking for the best shells to decorate the towering sand castles they built together.
Recalling those summers brought her parents to mind. Years ago, they had been killed by a drunk driver. A Sunday trip to the Hamptons, checking out a new gallery had made Megan an orphan.
Back in her apartment, she flopped down in a chair and cried again softly. The shock of the news was wearing off. She started making mental notes of all she needed to arrange. She spent time looking up funeral homes in Salem. She chose one and gave them a call. The director was wonderful and promised to take care of most of the details. Then she called Delta and booked a flight to Boston for the next day.
