arms was tattooed with colorful designs, but Haley didn’t
stare.
“Uh, I’m looking for Claire Finley.”
“Yes, I know. I’m Jenny.” The woman didn’t extend a hand
or offer a smile. There was something about her that screamed
violence, and Haley’s breath caught in her throat. Was this the
bodyguard? The woman who had come to escort her to her jail
cell? “Leave your stuff in your car. Come in. I’ll show you to
Claire’s office.”
Haley nodded. She followed Jenny up a set of stone stairs
and through a double wood front door that had to be at least
eight feet tall. The whole house was overkill from the outside,
but inside, it was actually quite homey. There were no dark
corners and no shadows. No gothic inspiration breathing down
from above, darkening the atmosphere. The house did boast
lots of windows, which let in the outside light and gave a
spectacular view of the rolling grass in the backyard, and the
beach and the water beyond. There was tasteful artwork, but it
ranged from abstract to highly detailed oil paintings. Some
were huge and new, others looked old, in classic antique
frames. The walls were painted a cream color and the floors
were dark wood.
The house opened up into a large foyer, and then from there,
they walked down a hall. There were a number of doors, most
of them closed but not foreboding, and then one that was open
a crack.
Haley strained to see inside even before Jenny stopped and
knocked lightly. An even lighter voice, like the wind and the
water, called out, and Jenny pushed the door open.
Claire Finley stood behind a large antique oak desk.