A Forever Home. Lynn Patrick

that took him to the rotunda. The large, round multistory room in the middle of the building separated the two wings. An original mural of the heavens covered the domed ceiling and extended to the upper walls, where a balcony ran full circle, allowing guests to admire artwork on the walls or look down to view the activity on the first floor. The lower walls were enhanced with a rich wood wainscoting, and a carpeted stairway with hand-carved railings led to the second floor.

      The rotunda did double duty as the check-in area for guests and as the concierge office. Behind the antique mahogany desk hung a large portrait of a thin, wiry man with wild red hair that stuck straight up. The man stood next to an elaborate seven-branched silver candelabra complete with glowing flames.

      Red Flanagan himself, Rick assumed. Odd that Phillips would showcase a portrait of a mobster. Then again, that a mobster once owned the estate might be part of its appeal to visitors and the reason they called it Flanagan Manor rather than Phillips Manor.

      At the moment, the cavernous room was empty, so he sailed right through. Phillips had given him a set of plans of the mansion, so Rick knew that the kitchen, dining room, drawing room and music room sat below two floors of guest rooms with baths, and the library, main entrance and conservatory sat below the owner’s private quarters. The Phillips family had a drawing room and huge master suite on the second floor and four more bedrooms with individual baths on the third.

      Entering the library, he saw Cora Stanton on a rolling ladder, straightening some books on a high shelf. Sections of every wall were lined with shelving from floor to ceiling, all filled with books. He cleared his throat to get her attention. She glanced back and saw him.

      “Ah, Rick, there you are. I wanted to talk to you.”

      “Good. Then we’re on the same wavelength.” When she arched her eyebrows in question, he said, “That’s why I’m here.”

      She immediately descended the ladder.

      As Flanagan Manor’s housekeeper, Cora was, in effect, in charge of the estate. All employees answered to her. An attractive older woman of around seventy, she wore dark trousers and a lace-trimmed white blouse. Her silver hair was cut in a short, modern style, and designer glasses hung from the chain around her neck.

      “Benjamin told me why he hired you, of course, and I must say I’m relieved. I admit that I’ve been a bit spooked by some of the things happening in or around the house lately, and I hope you’ll get to the bottom of whatever is going on. I’m at my wit’s end worrying.”

      “Phillips gave me the short explanation, but I need to know more from someone who is actually living on the property full-time.”

      “Let’s sit, shall we?”

      She indicated the upholstered sofa and leather chairs before the massive ceramic-faced fireplace with an equally massive wood surround and mantel, where a small fire had taken the chill of the spring morning from the room.

      They took the two chairs, so they were facing each other.

      Concern furrowed Cora’s brow. “I’ve run this estate for more than thirty years, and I’ve never had to worry until recently. I don’t feel safe anymore, what with the noises and sightings and attempted break-ins.” She shivered.

      “What kind of noises?”

      “Thumping in the walls. Supposedly there were secret passageways and tunnels at one time and I’m wondering if somehow something or someone got into one of them.”

      Rick started. Secret passageways. Underground. That was something Phillips hadn’t told him about. A shudder ran through him, but he covered quickly.

      “I have blueprints of the house, but I didn’t see any note of hidden access,” he said.

      “Well, no, there wouldn’t be, not on the original plans. When Red Flanagan bought the estate, he had the passageways and tunnels and perhaps a secret room or two built into or under the house to support his illegal business. Then the Feds took over. It’s said they walled off the entrances to the house itself before they sold the property. You know, to discourage any more illegal activity. That was nearly eighty years and two additional owners ago.”

      “Where were the entrances to these supposed tunnels?”

      She shrugged. “I have no idea. I never even had reason to think about them until the past few weeks.”

      Rick remained silent for a moment. Secret tunnels...secret stash? Was that what the intruder was looking for? Something the person thought Red left behind and the Feds hadn’t found? Made sense.

      “So start from the beginning,” he said. “When did you first suspect someone was up to no good?”

      “About five weeks ago. I woke in the middle of the night because I thought I had heard a noise. I looked out at the lake through my bedroom window and movement nearby caught my eye. A dark, shadowy figure. Someone was on the property, but the gates were locked. The person either climbed the fence or came via the lake itself.”

      “You’re sure it wasn’t an employee or guest?”

      “It was April and the middle of the week. We have very few guests at that time, and none that night. Day employees—maids, mostly—don’t have keys. So the only ones legally on the property were the cook and concierge, and both Kelly and Gina said they were sound asleep.”

      She went on to tell him about other incidents, a few Phillips had already related. It was sounding more and more like the intruder was searching for something specific.

      “Has there been any kind of property damage?”

      “Not with the first few incidents, which is why I wasn’t too alarmed. But then a couple of weeks ago, I heard breaking glass.” She sighed. “Fortunately I am a light sleeper. Or just an old woman—they say people my age tend to wake up more easily in the night.”

      “You’re not old,” he reassured her.

      She shrugged.

      He went on, “So you investigated?”

      “Not then. I was alone. So not until morning.”

      “Well, you’re not alone anymore.” Rick handed her his card. “My cell number is there. Program it in to yours. Should you hear or see anything suspicious at any time, call me immediately.”

      She took the card and slipped it into a pocket. “I will sleep better knowing that you are around and that I can call on you.”

      “Good.” Rick got to his feet. “If you think of anything else—anything at all that might help—let me know.”

      Leaving the library, Rick figured this was going to be a piece of cake compared with some of his experiences in a special operations intelligence team. He was going to have to install several security cameras not only around the mansion but also in several other places. The coach house for one. The old boathouse, too, just in case an intruder decided to come in by the lake. Tracking back the way he’d come through the rotunda, he saw that Gina Luca, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a bright red blouse, was standing next to her desk.

      “Rick, it’s so good to see you again. How are you getting along so far?”

      “I’m doing fine with a little guidance,” he said, thinking of his encounter with the college girl.

      Gina’s lips curved in an inviting smile. “I’d be happy to help you with whatever you need.”

      With jet black hair that trailed her shoulders, dark brown eyes and a body that would make most men take a second look, Gina was a little too high end for Rick’s taste. He preferred his women earthy and a little feisty.

      Now he was thinking of Heather on the grass pinned under him, his hand to her throat, ordering him to get off...

      He really hadn’t meant to go on the attack like that. His training had kicked in at the most inappropriate time.

      He nodded at Gina.