Bump in the Night

Turned out to be folly. Never came close and seemed more trouble than it was worth to keep looking. So, I stopped. Most of the time I just felt like an ATM.

Focusing on the family business has given me the purpose and satisfaction I need. My great-grandfather was one of the original investors and partners in one of the biggest producers of cereal and snacks in the world. My sister, Carolyn, is at the helm of that part of the business, while I took the reins of our other ventures and investments, diversified them, bought up real estate all over the world and developed everything from high rises, shopping malls, hotels and private-funded prisons to airports.

The last being the reason for this whole weekend’s theatrics.

After sequestering myself in the west wing of the house, I log back into my email and get some work done. An hour later, I’m sitting behind the twenty monitors mounted on the wall of a parlor-turned-office off my bedroom and suite for the weekend, and a sense of overwhelming power takes me.

It’s my sickness. Power. Control. I’m the puppeteer and it brings me perverse pleasure to manipulate people’s lives, whether that’s in business or simply for my amusement.

This weekend, is both.“Let’s get this party started.” I rub my hands together as I see the four limousines line up at the front door, right on cue.

Out of the first one is a guy wearing a flannel shirt tied with jeans that look more like tights and plaid boxers poking out from where they hang down on his backside.

The second limo pulls forward and I watch as Ashby nods to the driver to open the back door. This time, it’s an older male, dressed in a reasonable suit, nothing like I’m used to but fair enough. Dark complexion, broad shoulders, a hefty gut, standing a head above Ashby as he passes by, moving toward the front steps and into the house.

I’m already bored by the time the driver of the third sleek, stretched Lincoln opens the rear door. I look at my watch, then at my phone, wondering why Carolyn hasn’t come to find me yet. She’s probably knee-deep in a few bottles of wine from the cellar by now, but the whole idea was for her to help me make this weekend a success, despite her protestations.

Apparently, my idea is unnecessarily cruel.

Whatever.

Sunday is Halloween, and we have a lush, extravagant party planned to announce the contest to the local community and celebrate the winner. If there is one.

My plan is for me to be the only winner. I’ve studied the will and trust, outlining the disposition of the estate and if everything falls into place this weekend, I’ll end up with the deed to the property and all these theatrics will be worth it. I love it when a plan comes together, and my plans always come together.

I glance back at the monitor as the only female in the contest emerges, and suddenly all my plans are forgotten.

Because all I see is her.

Chapter 3

Delia

I knew this was a bad idea.

Harlow’s voice on the other end of the phone tries to be reassuring. “Listen, what’s the worst that could happen? You spend a night, decide you want to leave and they bring you home, right? That’s what they said? That was written in the contract. Right? You can leave anytime?”

“Yeah. It’s just, well…it sort of doesn’t feel real. Like a dream. Or more like a nightmare. You know? It feels like a bad horror movie set up.”

I turn in a slow circle, taking in the dark portraits in gold filigree frames that cover the walls of the enormous empty room. The attorney, Dalton, placed me here to allow me to make one last phone call before I have to turn over my cell phone for the duration of my stay.

Or, more like it, my incarceration.

“So, I mean, it’s the Worthington family,” Harlow says. “They wouldn’t risk bad publicity by hurting someone. It’s just a PR thing, I’m sure. And, think about it…maybe you’re the one that makes it and you win the entire thing? I mean, come on…you have the possibility of being the new owner of the entire Calmore Estate, plus a trust fund for expenses? Jesus, the things I would do for that. Way more than just spend some time in a haunted house.”

“Rumored to be haunted,” I correct, turning to stare at the biggest portrait in the room, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “What would I do with this place though? It can’t be sold, that’s part of the deal. You have to live here if you win…”

The exact stipulation was you must live in the estate for at least five years, then it cannot be sold again, it can only be gifted under certain very restrictive conditions.