Chapter 9 - THE CATACOMBS OF LAKE GENEVAMidnight had come and gone by the time the estate returned to a heavy, exhausted stillness.
Evelyn sat on the edge of her iron bed in the east turret, her packed suitcase once again resting beside the door. The storm had passed, leaving the lake outside looking like a sheet of hammered silver under a crescent moon.
A heavy knock rattled the wooden frame.
She opened it. Gabriel stood there without his coat, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his dark hair slightly ruffled by the wind off the battlements. In his hand, he carried a small, heavy iron key with an ornate Victorian bow.
"You're still packed," he noted, looking down at the plastic suitcase.
"I figured the police would want to interview the new maid about the dead inspector in the pump house," Evelyn said, leaning against the doorframe. "Or did your lawyer manage to make twenty-eight years of municipal corruption look like a plumbing accident?"
Gabriel didn't smile, but the hard lines around his mouth softened just a fraction.
"The attorney general has the ledgers. My father’s name is cleared. The Sterling holdings are being liquidated to fund a public trust for the county water board." He held out the iron key. "The east tower has a lower level you haven't seen yet."
Evelyn looked at the key, then up at his face. "More ledgers?"
"No," Gabriel said softly. "My uncle’s workshop. It’s been locked since ninety-eight. There’s a workbench down there, some old woodworking tools, and a ledger where he kept records of every stray dog he rescued from the Chicago docks before the family business took over his life."
He stepped closer, his hand brushing her fingers as he pressed the heavy iron key into her palm. Her skin felt warm against his cold iron grip.
"I don't need a caretaker, Evelyn," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a register that made her heart skip a beat. "And I certainly don't need another maid who drops water on my carpets."
"Then what do you need?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the logs far below.
May you like
Gabriel reached out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek—the first tender touch she had ever seen from a man who the world believed had no heart left to give.
"Someone who knows how to handle an animal that won't leave the porch," he said. "Are you staying, or do I need to call the groundskeeper to fix your shoes?"
