“Carl wanted you safe.”
“Carl wanted me to finish this.”
The three of us drove to Vale House in the SUV Lenora’s man had abandoned.
The property occupied the highest hill above Bellmere. Its iron gates stood open, as though we were expected. Beyond them stretched a long road lined with white birch trees.
Vale House was not a house.
It was a mansion of pale stone and enormous windows, built to overlook the entire lake. Two wings extended from a central tower. The gardens were perfectly trimmed, yet there was something lifeless about them. No flowers leaned beyond their borders. No branches touched the paths.
Everything had been forced into obedience.
A woman waited at the entrance.
She wore a red coat.
Even before she turned, I knew she was the figure from the wedding photograph.
Lenora Vale was nearly eighty, but she stood straight and elegant. Her white hair was twisted into a knot, and her face bore almost no makeup. Her eyes were dark, sharp, and disturbingly familiar.
