The Sugar Hill Collection Page 11

  I walked out of the bathroom and perched on the edge of my bed. Somebody was playing a prank on me. Should I call Reed? Get in the car and find a hotel? Ghosts didn’t deliver towels or turn down beds or help you unpack. This was definitely a joke, and I didn’t find it funny at all. I’d have to get to the bottom of this tomorrow. Maybe I would call Summer and give her a piece of my mind. No, this had to be a mistake. I needed to stop thinking about it.

  I slid a tape marked Number One into the VCR—what an ancient thing—and sat down to enjoy my chips and a warm bottle of soda.

  This was all a mistake, but I’d still get to the bottom of it. They might have had a good laugh tonight, but tomorrow all that would change. They’d see who they were messing with.

  Chapter Twelve – Avery

  This was definitely a homemade video, but my professional experience had made me kind of jaded about what made a good or bad video. There were no soundtracks or sparkling graphics, no smooth roll-in. Just your basic title screen that read, “The Dufresne History, According to Margaret Dufresne.” Another screen slid up and displayed the date. “Testimony Given on June 21, 1968, at Sugar Hill.”

  The image went black and then began to lighten. I could see an older woman’s face. She was looking not at the camera but off to the side, as if she were talking to someone she knew beyond the view of the lens. She had lovely white hair with prominent blue streaks at the temples. I assumed this striking woman was Margaret Dufresne, my great-great-grandmother. She had darker skin than mine, but I immediately recognized that I had her eyes. And that made me want to cry. I couldn’t see who was interviewing her, but I could tell she was a woman. The voice sounded like Anne’s, although I had not heard it often enough to say for sure.

  “My name is Margaret Marie Dufresne, and I am the mother of Aster and Riley Dufresne. I have many grandchildren, nephews, nieces and relatives. I am very happy to have such a large family.” I turned the volume up so I could hear the interviewer. Yes, that was Anne, for sure.

  “That must feel satisfying, knowing that your family continues on, that generations of Dufresnes continue to call Belle Fontaine and Sugar Hill home. Thank you for agreeing to do this interview, Margaret.”

  With a sweet smile she replied, “I like the idea of preserving our history. It’s crucial that we remember who we are and what’s at stake, Vertie.”

  “I’m Anne, Grandmother. Vertie is my sister.”

  “Oh, I know that. My brain gets twisted sometimes. I know who you are, Anne.” She looked embarrassed.

  “So who’s your favorite, Grandmother Margaret?” Anne teased her, perhaps to lighten the mood.

  “Oh, now that’s not fair to ask. I love all my family equally. But you have the ring now, don’t you, girl? They didn’t expect I would give it to someone so young, but it was the right thing to do. Yes, I made the right choice. I obviously think highly of you, Anne, but you aren’t my favorite. Isn’t that surprising?”

  Anne laughed at that answer and said, “Well, tell us who is. It’s Vertie, isn’t it?” I detected a note of genuine jealousy in her voice.

  “Well, if I had to choose only one of you, I’d choose her.” She nodded toward the camera.

  Oh my God. She’s looking at me. I dumped half the bag of chips in my mouth. Is this another freaky joke?

  Anne turned and looked at the camera. “There’s no one there, Grandmother. Just you and me and the camera. Remember our project? We are recording our family history. It’s like a school project.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’m not stupid! But I can see her, can’t you? She’s there, all right. Aren’t you, Miss Dufresne?”

  “Grandmother, there is no one there.”

  Great. Now she’s talking to me! I stopped chewing the chip dust and swallowed hard.

  “Well, Avery, aren’t you going to say hello?”

  What? What’s going on here? Have I lost my marbles?

  I reached for the remote to turn it off when my phone began to ring. My nerves were so stretched that I shrieked at the sound.

  I didn’t care if it was Jonah calling; I just wanted to hear the voice of someone alive.

  Oh God, let this be a living soul!

  “Hello?” I said cautiously as I hit the pause button.

  “Hello. Miss Dufresne?”

  “Yes, this is Avery. Who is this?” I asked nervously.

  “It’s Detective Jamie Richards. Did I catch you at a bad time? I know it’s after dinner, but I wanted to give you an update on your case.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I thought maybe you were…well. That’s not important. What’s the latest, Detective? Did you get the guy?” I stared at the screen for a moment, then got up and began pacing the floor. It felt so good to talk to someone from home. Atlanta was truly home, wasn’t it? That was what I should do. Go home.

  “We have a suspect. His name is Roger Surrette; he’s the guy who wrote you those disturbing letters at the first of the year. I can’t say for sure he was the attacker yet, but he’s looking good for it. How are things in Alabama? Paparazzi leaving you in peace? Need me to come down there?”

  “That’s kind of out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?” Was he flirting with me? I walked to the window and peeked out from behind the sumptuous green curtain. It was too dark to see much of the bay now, but thanks to some well-placed lights on the grounds below, the garden was well lit.

  “I have always wanted to see Alabama. I am a huge Crimson Tide fan, Miss Dufresne—I mean, Avery. If I may call you that.”

  “Sure, that’s fine.” He was flirting with me. He’d never called me by my first name before. Would that be so bad? I needed something else to think about besides the weird plot twists life kept handing me. I leaned against the cool window and smiled into the darkness. “I think it’s fair to say I would have plenty of room for you if you did decide to drive down. Please keep me posted on what happens with Surrette. I’d like to know if he’s the one. I’d like to know that you have the right guy.”

  “Did you take my advice? Did you hire a security detail? Or at least a bodyguard?”

  “No, I haven’t. I like my privacy, Detective.”

  “Please call me Jamie.”

  “Okay, Jamie. I value my privacy…” As I spoke the words, I thought I saw someone down below, half hidden under an oak tree. It looked like a man, but I could see only his pants and lower torso. I tapped on the window as if that would scare the intruder away. He must have seen the movement of my hand because he stepped back and disappeared into a small patch of shadows. I stared as long as I could but saw nothing else move. Okay, now I’m seeing spooks everywhere.

  “Avery? Are you there?”

  “Um…I thought I saw someone in my garden, but I must be seeing things. It’s been a long day.” I glanced over my shoulder at my great-great-grandmother’s face frozen on the screen.

  “Hang up the phone and call 911 right now.”

  “No, I’m okay. It’s very secure here, and I have a housekeeper. I’m not alone.”

  “Don’t take any chances.”

  “I don’t plan on it. Listen, I have to go. I appreciate you calling, but I’d like to get ready for bed. It really has been a long day.”

  “When I have an update, I will call back. I’m hoping the district attorney will take the case to the grand jury next week.” He sounded a bit disappointed that I was ready to go, but I couldn’t worry about his feelings right now.

  “Thanks, Jamie. Night.” I hung up the phone feeling a bit better about life. At least something good was happening. I shivered at the thought that Roger Surrette’s hands had been on my neck, his threatening voice and moist breath in my ear. I hoped Jamie was right. Weird that I would call him that, but I liked it. I’d never known a Jamie before. I searched the darkness below for a few more minutes, but nothing emerged from the trees except a swooping bird searching for an evening snack. A small cluster of fireflies floated through the line of pines that bordered the patch of dense trees
behind them. The flashing bugs slowly vanished, ducking safely out of the way of any potential predators. I pulled the curtains closed on all three of the windows. If they were open, I would feel compelled to sit and watch.

  I turned my attention back to the television. Why would Miss Anne want me to watch this? To scare the crap out of me? Had she too seen something strange when she watched it? Had she heard my name? I couldn’t call her now. It was too late. Not to mention she might think I was nuts. Feeling a bit ticked now, I stalked to the table where I’d laid the remote and clicked rewind.

  “…that’s not fair to ask. I love all my family equally. But you have the ring now, don’t you, girl? They didn’t expect I would give it to someone so young, but it was the right thing to do. Yes, I made the right choice. I obviously think highly of you, Anne, but you aren’t my favorite. Isn’t that surprising?”

  “Well, tell us who is. It’s Vertie, isn’t it?”

  “Well, if I had to choose only one of you, I’d choose you.”

  What the hell?

  I hit the rewind button again and watched the video from the beginning. The part where she said my name was gone. I mean, it just wasn’t there! Had I imagined all this? I started the tape over and watched it again. Nope. Still wasn’t there.

  Okay, so it was official. I had lost my mind. I turned off the television and got up from the settee. I couldn’t explain any of it, and who would believe me? Too many weird things had happened today—ever since I arrived at Sugar Hill.

  Just walk away, Avery. Walk away. That had always been good advice, Vertie’s advice, actually.

  And I did.

  I took a long hot bath, slid into some comfortable pinstriped pajamas, pulled my hair into a messy bun and climbed into my king-sized bed.

  All was well. Until about midnight.

  A shocking noise had me sitting up straight in the bed. It was the loudest, deepest clock I had ever heard, and it took forever for the bells to ring twelve times. After the last ring, I flopped back on my bed and pulled the covers over my head. Would I be able to go back to sleep now?

  To my surprise, the clock struck once more. What kind of clock struck thirteen? Immediately my room got cold, the kind of cold that would ice you down to your bones. Wrapping the down comforter around me, I turned on the lamp beside me and huddled in the bed, waiting…for something…

  I sat waiting, wishing I were brave enough and warm enough to go relight a fire in my fireplace. It was so cold I could see my breath now. Thank God I hadn’t slept nude tonight. Jonah had hated when I wore pajamas to bed. Screw him! I willed myself to stop thinking about him. That was all in the past now. He’d made his choice, and I had made mine.

  Then I heard the sound for the first time. It was soft at first, like a kitten crying pitifully. Was there a lost cat here? That would be totally possible in this big old house. As the mewing sound drew closer, I could hear much more clearly it was not a kitten but a child. A little girl crying as if her heart were broken. Sliding my feet in my fuzzy white slippers and wrapping the blanket around me tightly, I awkwardly tiptoed to the door to listen. Must be one of the housekeepers’ children. Probably cold and lost. I imagined if you wanted to, you could get lost here and never be found. Now her crying mixed with whispers as if she were saying something; she was pleading as if her life depended on it. My heart broke at the sound, but I couldn’t bring myself to open the door and actually take a look. Not yet. I scrambled for my iPhone and jogged back to the door to record the sounds. How else would anyone believe me? Too many unbelievable things had happened today. With my phone in one hand, the edge of my blanket in my teeth to keep it in place and my free hand on the doorknob, I readied myself to open the door. I had to see who—or what—was crying in the hallway. I tried to turn the icy cold silver-toned knob, but it wouldn’t budge. It was as if someone had locked me in. Who would do such a thing? Surely not Dinah or Edith or one of the other staff?

  “Open this door!” I yelled. “Cut that out. Open this door now!” I shook the handle and finally punched the door in my fury. To my surprise, it popped open, as if whoever had a hold on it had suddenly released it and shoved it open from the outside. I stepped out in the hallway, my blanket falling to the ground. It wasn’t cold out here, but it was creepy nonetheless. A supernatural darkness had encroached on the hallway and hovered at the edges, hiding the doors and whatever else dwelled inside it. Stop being ridiculous, Avery. It’s just dark.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. The end of a dress on the carpet that had just turned the corner. I ran down the hallway and looked right to see if I recognized who it might be. Again I saw the trail of a nightgown, but she turned down a hall I had not yet explored. How big was this place?

  I ran again, feeling no less afraid but much more curious. I could see her, not a child but a young woman with dark hair and a pale purple dress that trailed behind her. She was crying; one hand covered her mouth, but it did little good. Her cries were all around me. This was not the cry of the living but the cry of the dead. Oh God! I’ve got to get out of here!

  Without another thought, I ran back into my room and locked the door. I sat on the floor, wrapped the blanket around me and listened to the crying. It lasted only for a few more minutes, and then she was gone, taking with her the supernatural coldness and the darkness that had threatened to swallow me.

  I practically crawled to the settee, my heart flopping in my chest. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and snuggled up with a pillow, but I wasn’t the least bit sleepy now. I reached for the remote, debating what to do next. Okay, I’ll give this video one more shot. But if any more weird-ass stuff happens, I’m chunking the whole television out the window. Enough is enough.

  I hit play and started the video from the beginning again. After a few minutes, I forgot about what I had just seen. Grandmother Margaret weaved a tale—a true tale, she told the camera—about her family. Both of her families.

  “You see, dear Anne, there are more Dufresnes than you think. There are hundreds. And there are two families, two clans, and they are always fighting over the fortune. That’s why we have a matrone now.”

  “Grandmother, are you talking about being the family matriarch? Don’t you have to be old to be a matrone?”

  “Obviously not, my dear, or you would not be my successor. Before I tell you about the matrone’s role in our family, I want to talk about our history. It is so important that you, and those who come after you, understand the truth. You have to make a decision. Each generation does, you know. I made mine. You will make yours, and so on and so forth.”

  “What decision, Grandmother Margaret?”

  “Ah, you’ll know soon enough.”

  I could hear Anne’s voice take on an apprehensive tone. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You see my hands? They are smaller, aren’t they? Smaller than ever before. You know why? Because I am shrinking, shrinking every day. I have made my choice, and now I must pay for it. One day you will look for me and not find me because I will have shrunk up and dried away.”

  “Grandmother, come on.” Anne laughed lightheartedly at her. “Let’s stick to the history, shall we? What can you tell us about Chase Dufresne? He seems to be a most striking character.”

  She chuckled and said, “You say that because he is so handsome. Don’t think I haven’t seen you mooning over his portrait in the upstairs library. He was an incredibly lovely man and so polite. You wouldn’t believe the manners he had. He was not the kind of man who would leave a lady in distress.”

  “You act as if you knew him, Grandmother. You aren’t that old. He died in 1825, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. The first time, anyway.”

  “What?”

  With a sigh of exasperation, Grandmother Margaret raised her hands. “No more questions now. I will tell you what you want to know. Just be patient and stop interrupting me. I’ll tell you about the first time I met our ancestor and the many times I heard his wife
—well, one of his wives—crying in the halls as she looked for her lost treasure. I don’t care that you don’t believe anything I say. I have to tell those who come after me, including you, lovely Anne. Now let me talk.”

  Anne’s voice shook as she replied, “I did not mean to upset you. Please go on, Margaret. I am listening. Just remember to look in the camera and talk as if you were talking to an old friend.”

  Margaret took a sip of water and set the glass beside her on the table. She clasped her hands and faced the camera directly; it was a powerful thing to see her face full on. I could plainly see that once upon a time she had been a lovely woman. Even at her advanced age, she was quite handsome.

  “Here is the story of Chase Dufresne, the second Master of Sugar Hill, and his Left-Hand Wife, Susanna Serene Dufresne…”

  Chapter Thirteen – Susanna Serene Dufresne

  Three months married, and I had seen my dear Chase only a dozen times. I stared down at the silver ring. The jewels flashed in the sunlight: a ruby red heart and three diamonds. A token of his love—a tangible promise that we would always be together. But we weren’t.

  Something was happening.

  Chase had become a frenzied man of late. Now that his father allowed him to oversee the finances, that was all Chase wanted to do. He came home ranting about this and that, hoping I would also be excited about the sudden spike in sugar profits, but I had nothing to offer him in conversation. Eventually he would sigh as if I were the stupidest thing in the world, and we would make love before he left again, traveling back to Mobile or to the waterfront for an extended stay.

  I knew the separation wore on him too. His desire for me never waned; in fact, after these extended times apart, it grew to a fevered pitch. We were happy when we were together, or so I believed, but the time in between those brief interludes was torturous.

  Workmen constantly hammered and banged in the house, at all hours of the night and day. Thankfully, I did not yet have children. If I had, I could have used that as an excuse to cease the ridiculous late-night fortifications. It was old Mister Dufresne that ordered cabinets built here, closets installed there. It seemed that whatever idea struck him, he did it. There was no end to his planned improvements. The constant chaos threatened to drive me mad, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Not at all.