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Alyssa Richards

Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense

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Review – The Haunting of Alcott Manor on FreshFiction

March 7, 2018 by Alyssa Leave a Comment

Review - The Haunting of Alcott Manor
The Haunting of Alcott Manor

“A fascinating tale of tragedy, ghosts, and soulmates!”
Fresh Fiction Review
The Haunting of Alcott Manor
Alyssa Richards

Reviewed by Miranda Owen
Posted March 3, 2018

Romance Suspense | Romance Paranormal

THE HAUNTING OF ALCOTT MANOR is the first book in the Alcott Manor contemporary gothic romance series by Alyssa Richards. At the opening of this story, Gemma Stewart is going through a time of transition in her life. After recently unloading an unfaithful husband, her career is soaring. Just when things are looking up for Gemma, her father is desperate for her specialized skills and recruits her on a home restoration job. The house in question is of the haunted variety and therefore makes Gemma uneasy about agreeing to help. Whether she’s headed toward her doom or destiny, Gemma gets sucked into the spookiness and danger that surrounds Alcott Manor.

I love a good haunted house story and THE HAUNTING OF ALCOTT MANOR certainly qualifies. As a bonus, Alyssa Richards throws in a centuries-old mystery and a sublime romance to balance out all the supernatural shenanigans. As much as Alcott Manor fills Gemma with anxiety and anticipation, the delectable Henry Alcott bewitches her. Attraction and annoyance color Gemma’s introduction to Henry. As the two work together and temporarily live together, restoring Alcott Manor, the chemistry between Gemma and Henry is palpable and creates a delicious erotic tension. Because Henry is technically her client, Gemma tries to resist her feelings of lust for Henry, but the more she gets to know him and the more she likes him. They can’t keep their hands off each other. I’m glad that Alyssa Richards tells part of this story from Henry’s perspective. As the story progresses, the suspense and sense of urgency intensify as the spectral activity increases and the deadline for the restoration approaches.

THE HAUNTING OF ALCOTT MANOR is a fascinating tale of tragedy, ghosts, and soulmates. Mystery fans will enjoy this heroine’s efforts to track down clues — both tangible and ghostly — while trying to find the truth about a woman’s death. Romance fans will adore this match-up of a strong heroine and an enigmatic yet endearingly charming and earnest hero. I look forward to reading the next book in this tantalizing Alcott Manor series.
Learn more about The Haunting of Alcott Manor
SUMMARY

She has a gift. His family has a past. Can they solve a century-old mystery… together?

Gemma doesn’t miss working for the family business. She has a knack for restoring older properties, but after a vicious haunting nearly killed her, she was more than ready to move on. Gemma agrees to one last job to save her parents’ business, but the 1880s historical estate has its fair share of dark secrets…

Henry Alcott wants nothing more than to free the spirit from his family’s property. Ever since the original owner was wrongfully convicted of murder and sentenced to death, the ghost has made sure every restoration effort was a miserable failure. But there’s something about Gemma that makes Henry believe in a much brighter future…

Gemma and Henry must solve a hundred-year mystery to complete the restoration in time. Failure to do so could cost Gemma’s parents their business, but staying in the house could cost them much, much more…

The Haunting of Alcott Manor is a contemporary gothic romance. If you like fateful chemistry, engaging characters, and mysteries that keep you guessing until the very end, then you’ll love the first book in Alyssa Richards’ chilling new series.

http://freshfiction.com/review.php?id=65170

Available on Amazon, FREE with kindleunlimited

Filed Under: News

A Murder at Alcott Manor – Free Excerpt, When Layla Meets Mason

January 2, 2018 by Alyssa Leave a Comment

Layla and Mason in A Murder at Alcott Manor

Layla and Mason have waited a long time to be together. See the unusual way they reconnect in this free excerpt from: A Murder at Alcott Manor!

This place gave her a strange feeling of being neither here nor there, as if she had left the present but wasn’t quite anywhere else either. Not the past, not the future. Just sort of hovering in the middle somewhere. Some place in time that only the manor could know. It was just like this house to have a toehold in some sort of a netherworld.

Perched on an antique pedestal cake stand and on top of a white cloth doily was a thickly iced, double-layer chocolate cake. Obviously homemade and already carved into substantial pieces, Layla’s mouth watered. Cake was still her favorite security blanket, and without thinking twice, she helped herself. She had lost a substantial amount of weight in the last few years and sworn off sugar, but she didn’t have to count calories in a dream. Three large crumbs spilled onto the smooth wooden surface of the table and she left them. She didn’t have to clean in a dream either.

Voices murmured low and nondescript, like distant chattering at a cocktail party. “Uh-uh-uhhhh,” one voice cautioned and rose slightly louder over the others.

Her heart stuttered with adrenaline at the sound. Whenever Asher caught her eating sweets, he used that parental expression with her while he wagged his finger at her face.

He was dead, she reminded herself. There was no need to be afraid.

When the tall, dark-haired man in the faded red T-shirt and jeans passed by the doorway, she put the cake on the table. Although she caught only a glimpse of his muscled physique, she recognized him in an instant.

She tip-toed quickly though the dining room, the foyer, and up to the grand staircase. Following the man she knew as Mason Holloway, she wondered why he would be at Alcott Manor. Tom hadn’t mentioned anything about him to her.

Mason knelt on the third step from the bottom and sanded a small area of unfinished wood by hand. That was definitely the Mason she remembered—a perfectionist. Traditional. Classic. A genuine if-it’s-worth-doing-it’s-worth-doing-right kind of guy. His rhythmic scratching of the sandpaper against the raw wood kept perfect time. When she leaned close to the back of his neck, she found mixed scents of fresh citrusy sweat and something powdery.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered against his damp skin. 
Mason stopped sanding and turned to face her, though she knew he couldn’t see her.

His commanding presence reeled her in and swept her toward him. She couldn’t help herself: she kissed his soft lips.

The tug in her midsection pulled her away from him. Her fingertips grazed his cheek before she was jerked backward in a rush, away from him and the manor. Back to her body that was asleep and dreaming in the car.

She was waking up.

* * *

Mason Holloway glanced around the main foyer where he had been sanding a step on bended knee. He could have sworn he’d felt a touch on his cheek; he could have sworn he’d felt a kiss on his lips; he could have sworn he’d heard Layla’s voice. 
Soft as a whisper, but clear as day.

copyright 2017

Read more about Layla and Mason in A Murder at Alcott Manor!

Available on Amazon and free with kindleunlimited

Filed Under: News

A Murder at Alcott Manor — Free First Chapter!

December 23, 2017 by Alyssa Leave a Comment

Murder at Alcott Manor
A Murder at Alcott Manor

A Murder at Alcott Manor — A Classic Gothic Tale of Romance and Murder.

Free First Chapter

Chapter One

“I know this must be hard for you,” Layla’s attorney said. 
Billy Langmire sat composed, his tanned skin as smooth and flawless as his expensive navy blue suit. He would never understand just how hard this was for her. 
She knew this from the polished and perfect gold band on his well-manicured ring finger. And she knew this from the silver framed photos of his beautiful blonde wife and little boy, on the dunes at the white sand beach. And she knew this from the trophy fish that was hung on the wall behind his desk. She often wondered if someone like him ever had real problems, or did he only have difficult choices.

She pinched the soft skin of her thigh beneath the teal green of her scrubs. Numbness was covering her inch by inch like a thick blanket and she hoped the sharp nip from her nails would snap her out of it. Guilt was swallowing her whole, as if a giant whale engulfed her into its dark, watery belly, and she descended into nothingness.

She hadn’t felt this lost since the end of high school, when she had been accused of killing Brooke Williams—an event that caused Layla’s life to jump its rails. It simultaneously destroyed her future with Mason, the man she thought she would marry. And it landed her in a marriage with Asher Cardill—her newly deceased husband who continued to ruin her life, even from the grave.

Back then, an entire summer of official charges and public humiliation had taken place before the police had ultimately proven her innocent. “There just isn’t enough evidence to support the claims,” the detectives had finally said.

But what the police and everyone else had never managed to figure out was that she had done it. She had killed Brooke Williams.

“Isn’t there anything I can—” Emotion caught in her throat now. “There has to be something I can do to stop the bank from taking our house.”

“I’m afraid not.” His lips nearly disappeared into a sad smile he must have conjured for the most pathetic of situations. No lips, no teeth, no compassion. Just…unconcerned.

“There has to be something. We have nowhere to go. I have children—two girls who have lived in that home all their life.” The hatred she had for that house bubbled up in sour grape flavor and swirled around her mouth. The bedrooms were too small, the kitchen too dated, the yard didn’t have enough trees.

The small, two bedroom ranch-style house had been Asher’s house before they married, never hers. Apparently, it was still his house because he never added her to the deed. That’s what they sprung on her today.

She’d wanted to leave Asher’s bachelor-era house so many times over the last ten years. Now she would. Not in the way she had wanted or expected, but she would go. She and her girls were all flying the coop, with no place to land.

“The bank cannot leave us homeless.” Her voice sounded as though it came from someone else, from somewhere else in the room. She was disassociating. A psychologist described that reaction to her years ago and she knew the signs. Numbing out was one of them.

Billy pushed a letter toward her that was littered with numbers and harsh language. She’d seen the letter before, read it several times; she didn’t need to see it again. So she ignored it and kept her eyes on his.

“Your husband’s business owed the bank $552,000 on a line of credit. Since his company didn’t have any revenue, they’re entitled to seize his assets to settle his debt. He signed a personal guarantee with them.” His pencil tapped a sentence at the bottom of the paper. She ignored that, too, and maintained eye contact. She was determined that he see her as a human being, that he help her with this.

“Your house is worth roughly $245,000. I’ve spoken with the bank, and they’re willing to give you a discount of seven thousand dollars. But they’re going to hold you to the remaining $300,000.”

“How kind.” She tried to tamp down her anger that was developing its own momentum, like a gallop that sped toward a cliff.

She was acutely aware of how anger could ruin your life. It could make you do things you later wished you hadn’t. But the emotion she felt today was the special kind of anger that made her sprout fangs and claws and forced grown men to cower in her path. It grew its substantial roots on the day her first child was born, and its protective nature was bigger than she was. She called it her mama bear side, since it only reared itself when someone threatened the well-being of her children. Right now, someone was taking away her children’s home. When she tapped her fingers on the table, she fully expected to hear claws on polished wood.

“I don’t understand why I have to settle the rest of his business debt. Plus—” She dug through her purse for the papers she’d finally found this morning and slapped them on the desk. “We took out these life insurance policies for $500,000 each. His policy will cover most of what he owed the bank.”

“Well.” Billy lifted a stack of stapled papers from his open white file folder and passed it to her. “Does this look familiar?”

The top page read Personal Guarantee and Loan Agreement.

“This isn’t mine.”

He folded the first few pages over and pointed to her signature in blue ink next to the word ‘co-signer’.

“Oh, no.” She exhaled hard. “Asher had me sign this a long time ago. I’d forgotten.”

“The bank remembered. You signed it three years ago.” He underlined the date with his pencil. 
She wondered how much trouble she would get in if she shoved that pencil up his nose.

“The market was crap, and Asher’s business was down. The bank was going to call his loan if he couldn’t offer more collateral. I had some inheritance money from my grandparents socked away; of course, that ended up in Asher’s business, too. The bank said if I co-signed on the line of credit that they would let him keep the loan.” 
Layla lowered her forehead into her palm. When she finally peeked up, she asked, “What about the insurance money?”

“I called the insurance company when you told me about them. And yes, his life insurance policy would have covered this debt, but he let it lapse over a year ago.”

Her breath came faster now. As a nurse, she knew fast breathing increased anxiety. She’d counseled countless families of her patients to slowwww their breathing. But she couldn’t manage to slow her own breath right now and it set its own pace.

“And your policy—” The attorney flipped through his folder of papers. “Was for three million. Not $500,000. Were you aware of that?”

Her rising mama bear anger dropped through an unexpected trap door. “Three? Three million? That’s not right.”

He slid the policy papers in front of her and she lowered her eyes to where he drew a light circle around the number.

“I don’t understand. We bought half million dollar policies. Why would he increase the amount of mine?”

Billy leaned forward. “Layla, I don’t know how well you knew your husband, but I’ll just say this. If the situations were reversed and he had collected on your policy, the police would haul him down to the station faster than a barefoot jackrabbit on a greasy griddle.”

“For what?”

“Suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what?”

“Murder.”

“Murder?”

“Yes, ma’am. Scuttlebutt is that he wanted to develop the Alcott Manor land through his property development company. You own part of the family stock that manages the manor and its property?”

“Yes. Quite a bit, because I’m a direct descendant of Benjamin Alcott. Only family members are entitled to have ownership.”

“But he would have voting rights since y’all were married, right?”

“No. Only if there’s a…death.” A rush of white noise filled her ears while all the ways Asher might kill her passed before her eyes. Strangle…pummel…or smash her head…he was a man who would want to use his hands to finish her off.

Billy continued to talk, but his voice drifted away until she couldn’t hear it at all. She floated in the space of the dark nothingness that surrounded her now. It wouldn’t stop until it took over.

She didn’t remember walking to the car, but once she was there she thought of her girls—how she needed to provide for them and their education and how Asher’s debt would get in the way of doing just that.

Guilt, guilt and more guilt.

Standing outside the driver’s side, she allowed a tiny ladybug to crawl onto her finger from the car’s door handle. If Asher had been with her, he would have killed the bug just to see it die. If the girls hadn’t been around to see him do it, that is. 
If they had seen him find the ladybug, he would have made up some fantastic story and named the ladybug after them both in a hyphenated name. Half her eldest’s name and half her youngest’s.
“Let’s call it Anna-Emma!”

She wondered if she were the only person on the planet to know Asher for who he truly was. 
Deep belly breaths, she reminded herself as she crawled into her small car. She needed calm. Instead she got tears. Lots of them. She hadn’t cried this hard since she’d discovered that Asher no longer loved her, not since she suspected he never really had, and not since she’d known she would have to pack up the girls and leave him.

The shrill ring of her cell phone startled her out of a deep, gut-wrenching sob. 
Peyton. 
Sisters knew somehow. They knew when you were in over your head and needed a helping hand. Though there was only so much she would tell her, Layla knew her sister would help. She wiped the running mascara from beneath her eyes and cleared her throat.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I just landed, did you get my texts?”

“No. My meeting ended only a few minutes ago.”

“How did it go?”

White blooms from the crepe myrtle in front of her dipped and swayed in the wind. The sun bore down on the windshield, and she figured that somewhere, someone was talking about what a lovely day it was. Warm sun, nice breeze. Great day for a walk or a picnic. Her life was crumbling into too many pieces to count, and yet the world would simply go on.

“Worse than I expected, actually.” She pressed her hand against the pain that throbbed at her temple.

“Oh, Layla. What happened?”

She went into detail about the lapsed insurance policy, how the bank was taking the house and how she’d have to pay off the rest of Asher’s debt because he’d talked her into signing that personal guarantee. Oh, and it looked like he might have been planning to murder her for insurance money and her Alcott Manor stock.

Layla wiped a tear from her cheek. “How am I going to explain to the girls that we’re losing our home?” She envisioned the house that would soon be just another case number for the bank. The twenty-year-old roof that needed replacing, the brown shutters that needed painting, and the weather-beaten front door that needed to be replaced. 
Peyton’s sigh was loud over the phone, and Layla could feel her sister’s anger seethe. Peyton hated Asher.

“We’ll figure this out. I’m on my way. Where are you right now?”

“Going to meet Tom Watson at the manor. Need to get myself together first.” Layla thought of Tom, how kind and dedicated he was to their family and to their ancestral home. He worked for the Historic District Commission, but he had championed the completion of the restoration for several years now. Thanks to him, they were closer than they ever had been.

“Layla, I know this problem seems insurmountable right now, but remember you’re stronger than you think.”

Layla nodded and tried to take in her sister’s encouragement. “Paying down that debt will be like a monthly payment for two mortgages. How in the hell am I going to afford that and keep a home for the girls and send them to college? How will I ever be able to retire?”

“Listen, honey. You of all people in the world deserve happiness. So, this is going to work out.”

She wanted to believe her sister. Peyton had been blessed with courage to spare, and intelligence that catapulted her out of their hometown and away from their mother. Her determination was the gift that kept on giving, and Layla had never stopped wishing that she could have just a fraction of her sister’s fearlessness. She started the engine and hoped that the drive to Alcott Manor would give her a fresh perspective.

“You’ve got the stock in the manor. That will pay off for you when the tours begin.”

“The manor’s a wreck. It might take a year or more for them to finish the repairs in that place.”

“Why don’t I meet you at the manor? I’m about forty-five minutes out,” Peyton said.
Layla pressed the gas pedal. “I’ll drive over to the public park and walk along the sand to the back of the house. Maybe we’ll get there around the same time.” 
Layla’s mind filled with sandy barefoot memories of her and her sister racing along the beach hand-in-hand and overflowing with giggles. It almost hurt to think of them, those far away good times.

“I’m on my way, Layla-pop.” 
Layla’s heart softened for a twinkle of a moment at the sound of her childhood nickname. She could almost taste the sour apple lollipop she usually had in her mouth as a child. In the next second, she toughened up. She had to—she was headed toward Alcott Manor.

copyright 2017

Buy A Murder at Alcott Manor today! Free with KindleUnlimited

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A Murder at Alcott Manor – Live Today on Amazon!

December 19, 2017 by Alyssa 4 Comments

A Murder at Alcott Manor is live today on Amazon! (and it’s free w/ kindleunlimited)

To celebrate, I’m hosting a contest drawing for this labradorite bracelet!  You do have to be on my list to win, so be sure to sign up on www.AlyssaRichards.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murder at Alcott Manor
A Murder at Alcott Manor

 

Mason and Layla have waited a long time to be together, but the twisted truth of their past could ruin everything.

Layla’s late husband left her homeless, broke, and with two young girls to care for. When she’s offered a caretaker position at her old manor home, she chooses to overlook the hauntings… and the spot where her husband was killed.

Mason left behind the stress of New York City finance for a simpler life in construction. He hopes the seasonal renovation job will let him reconnect with Layla. They were on the verge of a relationship 10 years earlier, until a brutal murder tore them apart…

When a series of strange happenings bring them together, Layla must tap into the manor’s otherworldly realm to protect them. Mason may be skeptical, but will he believe Layla when she reveals the twisted truth about their past?

A Murder at Alcott Manor is the second standalone book in a series of gripping romantic suspense novels. If you like contemporary gothic settings, supernatural thrillers, and passionate romance, then you’ll love Alyssa Richards’ haunting tale.

 

Buy A Murder at Alcott Manor to step into the supernatural today!

Filed Under: News

The Haunting of Alcott Manor – Free First Two Chapters!

November 30, 2017 by Alyssa Leave a Comment

Review - The Haunting of Alcott Manor
The Haunting of Alcott Manor

The Haunting of Alcott Manor – Free First Two Chapters

Chapter One
It was the wind that stopped her.
Not the force of it, but the message it carried on its course. Cold air tumbled over warm currents, whipping around her legs and across her chest. It swirled about her body like a lover who simultaneously promised what was next and took control to make it come about.
Seventies rock blasted in her ears and she slowed her run. Her feet stopped their rhythmic pounding on the packed sand of Stinson Beach.
Her beach.
She tried to catch her breath and searched the deep lapis waves that rode toward her. It was cold air that blew over the warm, a pattern her mother said meant that upheaval rode on the appearance of calm.
“No,” Gemma said between gasps for air. Her voice was low. Determined. Firm. “Not again.”
She pulled the earbuds from her ears, stared at the waves that rolled over the depths of the ocean, and the wind settled as though backing down from her challenge. It switched to a sun-warmed draft that caressed her face and neck.
Something tingled inside of her from it, like the effects of a possessive kiss. An awakening, a calling. The result of an event already put into motion.
She tried to cast aside her mother’s Native American wisdom, especially because it had proven itself right more often than she liked.
“Stay away.” Her voice held no mercy and no patience. She fit the earbuds into her ears again and cranked up the volume.
The gray shingles and glass of her house were in her sight now. She ran toward it with all the speed she had left, along with the sinking feeling that this wind pattern was signaling yet something else she couldn’t outrun.

Chapter Two
Gemma flipped on the gas stove to heat the kettle for tea. She wanted to shake off the warning that rode on the early ocean wind, and a plunge into her morning routine was the way to do it. There had been enough abrupt and recent change in her life. Permanent change that could not be undone. Change that had been predicted by the wind patterns then, too.
She paused in front of the eight-foot Victorian coatrack in the foyer, a ghosted memory of her mother formed in the center mirror—her mother’s long dark hair smoothed and tucked behind her shoulders, as always.
This antique from her childhood home had captured lots of precious memories over its lifetime—that’s all this was. Like when her mother brushed Gemma’s red hair into two bristly pigtails that burst to the sides when she was five, and when her mother hemmed her party dresses as a teenager. And when she passed on her favorite advice. “There’s someone for everyone,” her mother would say mid-embrace. “You just have to trust your instincts to find him.”
She forced herself to relax her grip on the ache in her chest and the coat in her hands.
On with routine.
She gathered a large can of cat food, a can opener, and two small, white bowls in her arms. Her hip bounced the screen door open, she stepped onto the back deck that faced the ocean, and the door shut behind her with a satisfying slam.
It would have been more design-perfect for her to stick with the sliding glass door that had been there when she moved in. Though this was the same type of screen door slam she and her brothers had grown up with in their parents’ lovingly restored Queen Anne Victorian.
Gemma’s door didn’t yet have a good squeak to it, but she hoped, with time, it would come. She had long dreamed of the day when this screen door could whine and slam, then three sets of small, sandy feet would trample through the house like a herd, leaving giggles in their wake.
The collection of bowls and metal clattered against the glass-topped bistro table. She scooped the fish and gave the spoon an exaggerated tap against the porcelain edge to call the two strays she cared for.
Her eyes scanned the beach, expecting to see her two furry neighborhood friends galloping from behind a bush or another yard, their tails twitching behind them.
“Fred! Ethel!” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and placed two small white bowls full of chopped fish-scented meat on the floorboards of her back deck. Finally, two cats, both light gray with darker stripes, meowed and trotted around the seagrass that lined her property.
“You’re late,” Gemma said with warmth and love for her stray friends.
Both sandy-pawed felines stopped in front of their feast and stared at her. Actually, it may have been closer to a glare.
“Well, clearly, I was early.” The left side of her smile tipped in a smirk. Her phone vibrated and she ignored it.
“Gemma!” Cameron, her neighbor with the angular glasses and slightly oversized veneers waved and headed her way. After too many invitations, she’d finally gone out with him, but, no. He was just—no. Too needy.
“Call.” She pointed to her phone. “Have to take this.”
She stepped inside and glanced at the caller ID: Platinum Life Magazine. Her heart danced a triple beat to the tune of hope. Platinum Life Magazine was a national publication that was widely considered the arbiter of taste on every area of design, from interiors to fashion. They covered the globe with their opinions and they were calling her.
She made a wide press-perfect smile before she answered the call—in part to bolster her confidence in case they were calling to offer her a subscription, but also to lend her voice a friendly, agreeable tone. “Gemma Stewart.” Clear and succinct. Professional and approachable. Well done.
“Hello, Ms. Stewart, this is Dawn with Platinum Life Magazine.”
“Yes, hello.”
“I hope I’m not calling too early; I didn’t want to take the chance that I might miss you.” Her voice was curt. Sharp. Clearly on a mission.
Gemma relaxed her PR smile. If the other woman didn’t give soft and fluffy edges to her words, Gemma was relieved she didn’t have to, either. “No, this is fine.”
“Excellent. We’re doing our resort issue four months from now, and we decided on a last-minute addition entitled ‘Top Ten West Coast Resorts.’ I was narrowing down the candidates and was impressed to find that the top three resorts on our list were designed by your firm.”
Gemma was impressed, too. It had been a long, hard climb to this place in her career.
“We would like to add a one-on-one interview with you to the issue.”
She hoped her quick inhale didn’t sound like a gasp on the other end of the phone. “I’d be honored.” A wow-I-did-it feeling lit in her chest and burned as bright as the early morning sun.
“Perfect.” Dawn said it with all the conviction of a deal closed. “Now. I’d also like to include a sidebar on the page highlighting a custom top ten from you. Maybe you could talk about the top ten design tips for creating an oasis at home? Or the top ten relaxing features to include in your vacation home? We can refine it later. Just come up with a top ten list, and we’ll work with it.”
“Sounds great.” She kept her voice calm, but her heart fluttered such that she had to walk around the room. She inhaled deeply, well aware that this was a dream-come-true moment.
“I’d like to do a photo shoot of you at one of these signature properties you’ve done, really show off your amazing talent. Could we shoot the one in San Francisco?”
“Sure, I can make that work. How soon?”
“We’re on a tight deadline—can you do Monday? That would give you and the hotel the weekend to stage for the photo shoot.”
A bullet of adrenaline shot through her heart and ricocheted down her arms. The weekend was not nearly enough time to take care of current work and get everything staged. “Plenty of time,” she heard herself say.
They traded email addresses and said their goodbyes. Gemma flipped her phone onto the driftwood dining table and did an air high five. “Yesss!”
This would be a new level of success for her business. Platinum Life was a career-making publication. She paced the kitchen floor, pumping her fists now and then.
The new all-too-quiet of her empty house was so loud it almost echoed. She glanced out the window. Fred and Ethel had moved on with their day, their empty bowls waiting for her on the porch. Preston was gone. It was too early to call friends.
She sighed at her ocean view amidst her moment of silent victory and decided she’d phone her assistant Charlotte in about an hour to get the shoot organized. They could toast with a glass of champagne at the staging. Other than that, there wouldn’t be any available time for celebrating. Too much work to do.
The teakettle scream-whistled. She reached for her phone and noticed that it had slid next to a puffy envelope that she’d brought in from the mailbox the night before. Johnston and Lewis was printed in the upper left-hand corner. These would be the final divorce papers, the ones she hadn’t wanted to look at last night.
She lifted the kettle from the flame. “Okay, Mom. You’re right about one thing. I have to trust my instincts.” The memory of Preston’s betrayal ignited a special strain of fury, and her voice sounded strangled. “Right now, my instincts are telling me this divorce is the right decision.”
She ripped open the envelope and double-checked a couple of items on the document. Though he had asked, she was not going to pay him alimony. He had plenty of family money; he could run back to Daddy if he needed a check. And he would. She knew he would.
She had a keen sense of justice, which demanded that he’d never see another dime from her.
Damn it.
There it was. His attorney said they would take that clause out. They hadn’t. She rifled through the drawer in the island for a pen and crossed through that line item several times. In the margin, she wrote in all caps: NO ALIMONY.
Maybe this was what the had wind pointed to, the finality of her divorce. She signed her name on the line. “There. Done. Free.” The chokehold on her voice relaxed.
With a personal policy against doing work barefoot—it made her feel too informal—she slipped on her most-loved black boots, the ones with the silver chains hung around the ankles. She grabbed her favorite tea and mug and poured hot water over the pungent herbs while she searched out the window. Now that she’d signed the papers, the wind patterns ought to have relaxed.
Her sight stumbled on a tan suit that she’d tossed over the back of an upholstered chair. Her freshly christened ex-husband had called and told her he’d forgotten the suit in the closet and asked her to send it to him. It was custom-made, he’d explained.
Hot tea in hand, she picked up the suit and headed to the outdoor alcove. She tossed it on top of the wood in the outdoor fireplace and lit it with a long-neck lighter. Then she settled into the niche that was protected from the wind by three sides of her house. She crossed her ankles such that her boots were now the center point of her view of the ocean. Now and then, she glanced at the fireplace, the last remnant of her wasband disintegrated in a satisfying burn.
She should have gone for more old-fashioned qualities of love like loyalty, honesty, and kindness. She ought to have avoided someone who had drop-dead, all-too-perfect qualities. Those opened doors to temptations that few knew how to resist.
She tapped the play image of the first voicemail message and immediately, her call waiting buzzed through. Dad. She walked to the gravel garden she’d designed at the southwest corner of her lot.
“Hi, Pop.”
She dragged her boot over the dark gray pebbles that formed a mock river and flowed into the alcove. She knew he would be happy to hear her news about the magazine feature. “How are you?”
“Not bad. Gotta minute? I have an opportunity I want to discuss with you.” His voice sounded mostly upbeat, but a certain amount of emotional weariness weighed his enthusiasm. When she heard the fatigue, something caught in a tender place in her heart, and she decided to hold off on telling him her news.
Never one to beat around the bush, her dad launched right into his idea—a project he and her mother had been working on for a year before her death, one that he and Gemma could finish together.
“Alcott Manor?” Old memories sprang to life and squeezed her voice thin. “I don’t know, Dad. Didn’t Mom say that the original owner killed his wife there?”
Her father cleared his throat. “Well, the jury of public opinion is that he killed his wife. The husband always claimed that she killed herself. The first half of the opinion poll is what has made it so hard for the owners to raise enough funding to finalize the renovation. But they’ve done it, and they want the job completed.”
She walked into the alcove again and silently counted her steps to the couch—a self-calming behavior she hadn’t done in a long time. When she caught herself doing it, she stopped.
The cool ocean breezes washed over her face, and she sniffed the restorative salty air deep into her lungs. Her father went on with more details, so she put the call on speakerphone and inhaled the mind-centering herbs of her tea. This was not a job she would take.
“Your mother, the team, and I have taken the property a long way in the past year. The job has had a lot of setbacks, though, and I need for you to clear the land so we can finish out the project on time. I need you to work your special expertise. We need our house whisperer.”
House whisperer. That wasn’t a title she would put on her business card or company brochure. Her mother had taught her how to heal the energetic imprints that history abandoned in its wake. Negative events or repeated behavioral patterns left marks behind. Like a shadow or a ghost, a flavor of what used to be. Those imprints influenced people and their futures. Removing them from land and houses resulted in greater harmony and prosperity for the owners. Left untouched, they wreaked havoc.
She redirected the conversation. “Your buddy from West Point still helping to oversee things?”
“Yeah. Tom’s good people. He runs the Charleston Historic District Commission now, so he’s been a great help in pushing things through.”
“Who owns the property?”
“It’s family-owned. They elected one representative to serve their interests and to oversee the renovations.”
“Who?” Her fingers were poised on the screen of her iPad to look up names.
“Ah, his name is Henry Alcott. He’s a wealthy expat who has lived in London for the past decade. Interestingly, he’s a direct descendent of the original Benjamin Alcott who built the house. Tom insists that everyone call him Mr. Alcott. Anyway, he’s contributed most of the money for the restoration.”
She tapped Alcott Manor into the browser on her phone. Up popped very few images of the house and its original owner. The black-and-white photos revealed a magnificent Greek revival estate home. It dwarfed the tiny figures in front of it, people whom Gemma figured were the original family owners. Even without color in the picture, the white paint gleamed, and the house seemed to own the family that stood in front of it. The surrounding trees boasted pride at the privilege to surround a home of such extraordinary elegance.
In another photo, Benjamin Alcott, a U.S. Senator from South Carolina, was a character to behold, and from tip to toe, his appearance played the part. His longish white hair was neatly combed. His wide handlebar mustache fit perfectly with his highly-starched cravat and the asymmetric horizontal bow that accented his conservative black suit.
She could just envision him sitting on the wooden church pew with his subdued, order-obeying wife and children lined up next to her.
“Doesn’t look like a wife murderer.”
“They never do,” her dad said.
She tapped “Henry Alcott London” into the search bar with one finger, and several articles about hotel acquisitions came up. “So, I’m guessing that this Henry Alcott is single, and that’s the real reason why you want me on this particular job.”
Her father coughed and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t have any idea,” he said with caught-red-handed alarm in his voice.
“I think you probably have a lot of ideas. Especially if this guy is single and has amassed enough money to rehab his ancestor’s estate.” She clicked on the articles, which didn’t reveal any significant details about Henry, while she single-handedly batted away her father’s matchmaking efforts.
“He may be single; I don’t really know. But I do know you’ve overseen too many projects at once, and it may be time—”
“Projects that have set my career.” She wasn’t in the mood to be match-made, now or probably ever. She wouldn’t be talked into doing this job.
“I think we ought to work together on this one.” His tone swelled with fatherly concern. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to slow down for a minute, enjoy life, allow us to spend some time together.”
She sighed and her will softened. Her dad’s deep and gravelly voice was a comfort to her. Now that her mother was gone, he was the single steady—albeit infrequent—force in her crazy, busy life.
“Is ‘slow down and enjoy life’ code for ‘get married’? Because we’ve been over this. If there were someone special in the cards for me, I would know by now. I’m happy, Pop. I’m at my best when I’m working and independent. And I’m not stepping foot in a house with a tragic history like that.”
Her dad argued his point, and she questioned whether he really needed her talents or if he just wanted her company on the job. She sat on the edge of the wraparound koi pond she had designed for the house before she moved in. The previous owners had divorced and sold the house as a part of their settlement.
It was important to transform the energy from prior owners before you moved into any home. Otherwise, their problems could become your problems.
She and Preston were already headed toward divorce before she’d moved in. She didn’t want to settle into a batch of energetic ingredients for another one. These particular fish and their gently moving water represented good fortune and prosperity. Though it didn’t much matter. She wasn’t interested in trying for another relationship.
“There’s someone for everyone, Gem.” His voice deepened into the gravity of hard-earned wisdom.
Gemma put her fingers into the cool water and counted the fish that nibbled at them. She used to believe that. With all her heart, she did. When she was young, she saw the kind of love her parents shared, and she took for granted that she would have it one day, too.
It had never happened, though.
“Just because you and Mom had forty-five great years together doesn’t mean everyone gets that in life.” She pushed the disappointment over Preston’s broken promises down to one of the dark corners of her heart, where it usually lived. Where she couldn’t see it.
“Call me a romantic, Gemma Rose, but I think it means exactly that. What I’m saying is that we need to go after this job because it would be fun for us to work together on a project this size, and healthy for you to be in one place for a while. And who knows? If you weren’t switching coasts every few days, you might meet someone.”
She heard the squeak of her dad’s office chair, and she knew he sipped his coffee while he tilted back as far as the old black leather chair would let him. She could almost smell the dark roast.
“I know you. You’re ready to sink your teeth into a project where you could really use your creativity. An 1800s Greek revival—this could open new doors for our family business. If we do this one well, we’ll have our pick of any historical renovation project in the country.”
“This job’s not for me, Pop. I don’t do haunted.” Her voice was firm, despite the shiver that traveled along her torso.
“The past is the past. Nothing like that would ever happen again—that was just a freak situation. Plus, I’d be there with you. Doing this job together would be like old times. I’d bet we could even find some antique furniture in the home that we could restore. Remember when we used to do that, just you and me? You always enjoyed that. What do you say?”
He sounded uncharacteristically eager, and she decided he was lonely. He had his buddy, Tom, though. She knew they had a close friendship, so he wouldn’t be alone on the job. And though she wouldn’t work with him day-to-day on the property, she’d plan a visit to spend time with him. He would benefit from a real connection with someone who shared his last name, with someone who understood exactly how much had been lost when her mom died.
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t. I have very firm boundaries where even a hint of haunted is concerned. I know you understand. You have Tom and a good team. I’ll help you find someone local to the area to clear the energy on the land if you need that, and I’ll come out for a visit. On a related note, it might be about to get really busy for me. I got a call this morning from a national magazine. They want to do a feature, and the business coming in from that will be…” She waited for the congratulations and the “Aw, honey I’m so proud,” but he didn’t respond.
The quiet became heavy between them. “Pop? Are you okay?”
She heard his chair squeak to an upright position.
“The truth is, I need your help.”
She stood and walked to the front of the alcove. “Tell me what you need.” She knew he had long been more dependent on her mother than he realized. Her recent death was a big adjustment for him. She’d talk with him in detail about the visit she was planning. That would give him something to look forward to.
He sighed for the second time and she tightened her grip on the phone.
“We didn’t want to tell you this because we thought we could work it out on our own. The authorities said there was a good chance that after they liquidated his assets, there would be enough for everyone to get at least half of their money back.”
“Pop. What authorities? What money?” She tried to force herself to sound calm, but the words rushed from her mouth in a race for answers.
There was a third and even heavier sigh. “Your mother and I invested in a hedge fund through our stockbroker a few years ago. The returns they showed us were impressive, and, as it turns out, too good to be true. We were counting on those returns to finish out our retirement.”
She felt her knees turn to liquid. Her parents had worked tirelessly for forty years in their own business for those savings.
“He took everything.”
“Oh.” Panic gathered in her chest, rose upward, and hit her head in waves.
“The authorities thought they might get us about half of what we placed with him. It’s all tied up in the courts now, and it’s a lot bigger case than they originally anticipated. No one really knows when or how it will work out.”
She paced over the white and gray gravel garden she’d designed and rubbed her forehead. “Do you have…anything left?”
“I have the proceeds from your mother’s life insurance policy. I’ll have to keep working, though. For a long while.”
Worries swirled around her like sharks. Her father was not young. He had a heart condition, which had to have been put to the test with the stress of her mother’s unexpected death, and now this. “I know you didn’t plan on working much longer at your age, at least not for income. I would also imagine you needed those personal funds as capital in the business. To fund cash flow and front payroll? Particularly with this Charleston project that you want to finish.”
“Yes,” he said.
She’d never known him to ask for help. The humiliation must be killing him.
“Pop, I’ll give you whatever you need—”
“No, Gem. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“It’s no trouble. I would enjoy giving back after everything you’ve done for me over the years.”
“I would never take your money.” Her father’s tone was sharp and final. “If you can spare the time for it, though, I would accept your help with this job. There’s a hard stop in place just a few months from now. We’ve had a difficult time getting projects wrapped up.”
A fierce updraft from the ocean blew across the sand, and she zipped her shirt over her chest. She wondered if she could help her father with this property and say yes to the business that the Platinum Life article would generate.
She thought of her parents’ company, how many people worked there, and how they would lose their jobs if the business folded. She didn’t have enough funds to pay for her expenses, her retirement, his retirement, and fund his business for this job.
She could afford to send him a check every week for his living expenses. And he would take a check from her if that’s the option she gave him. But she also knew that would kill him. He was a proud man. He would never have told her about his mix-up in this Ponzi scheme if he hadn’t been forced to ask for her help.
Yes, if he had to close the business and live off her income, he’d be dead within a year. He’d have nothing to live for, no one to share his life with, and nothing to look forward to.
Gemma rubbed at the tension that pulsed through the back of her neck.
“I don’t want to interfere in your life. You may not have time to do this.” His tone softened to a near mumble. “I think you mentioned something about a magazine article a minute ago.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” A cold wind blew at her face while warm currents twisted around her legs. She closed her eyes and braced against it. This was obviously what the wind foretold.
“You know your mother and I have been working on the property for a while.”
Gemma chose not to bring up the fact that her mother had died on the property. Yes, it had been the result of natural causes—a heart attack—but with the probable murder committed by the original owner, she didn’t discount the effects of those imprints on the property. “No…strange experiences?”
“Well, there’s always something a little strange here and there in an older home. We handled it. You can always handle it when you have to, right?”
Bricks of quiet built between them once again.
“I don’t want to put you in a bad position. I can try to work this out a different way.”
Of her parents’ three kids, she was the youngest and the most responsible one. She took care of what needed to be done. It’s what she did. Maybe this time she could take care of her father’s business and her own. “No, Pop, it’s good. I can make it work. How about if I come out to the property, do my research, and clear the imprints? Then I’ll need to come back. I’m expecting a significant uptick in business here over the next few months. I need to be here for that.”
She made a note to ask Charlotte to send Dawn some of the publicity shots of her in the San Francisco hotel. She wouldn’t have time to do the shoot now. Which was okay, she rationalized. This was a family emergency and the photo Charlotte would send was good. Dawn would understand. Hopefully.
“Then you’ll come back out? It’s a big house with a lot to do in a short amount of time.”
“I’ll clear whatever you need me to, so your team can get the work done. But I can’t do the restoration work.” Her memories created a chill from the inside out as they always did. She tried to push them away. “I just— I can’t.”
There was yet another long sigh on the other end. “All right. I understand. I’ll try to find some extra management-level people and make that work. Though they won’t replace you. You’re the best.”
She wrestled a surge of guilt, then made a mental note to schedule time for additional trips to South Carolina. The magazine feature would bring in lots of new business. She would just schedule longer deadlines on projects to make time to help her dad.
“You okay, Gem?”
“Yeah. It’s—it’s just that the wind is blowing some crazy patterns out here today.”
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Aha. Your mother’s wisdom. She was usually right about these things. ‘All truth can be found in nature,’ she always said.”
His chair squeaked several times, and Gemma knew he was rocking. “Maybe you’re about to meet someone. Or maybe this job will open new doors for your business. That’s what I’m hoping anyway. You could really leverage the work you used to do with those skills of yours.”
“I don’t—never mind.” She knew she wouldn’t work historical renovations again. “I signed the divorce papers this morning. Maybe that was it.” She didn’t think that was it. Some sort of change—she didn’t think it was positive—was stalking her, and she wasn’t sure which direction to turn in to get away from it. If she started running, she just might hit it head on.
“Well…I know that was hard.”
“Had to be done.”
“Only good things ahead, Gemma-bean. I can feel it. I’ve got to run, but we’re staying at The Elliott House, a little bed and breakfast in Charleston. I’ll meet you there on Sunday night. We’ll head to the manor together on Monday morning.”
They said their goodbyes. Gemma stared at the white water that crashed onto the sand, ignoring the Pacific Ocean winds that whipped in circles around the seagrass. Her dad had just skipped over all the specifics he would normally cover for a new job: the detailed history of the home, what projects needed completion, if the main client contact was easy or difficult to work with, deadlines…
Especially deadlines. With restoration jobs they were usually somewhat flexible, since you never knew what you were going to encounter once you dug beneath the surface. But he had said hard deadline.
There was probably a story there. One he didn’t share. Which was all too like him. Her mother called it his “tip of the iceberg strategy.” He would only share a tiny bit of the story until he had your buy in. Only after the fact would you realize what you’d gotten yourself into.
What concerned her most with this strategy of his was the haunted detail. She had been firm that she would not work on a haunted project. He’d agreed. But he’d never denied that the property was haunted.

To continue your adventure with The Haunting of Alcott Manor, click here!

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REVIEW — The Haunting of Alcott Manor

November 26, 2017 by Alyssa Leave a Comment

Review - The Haunting of Alcott Manor by Alyssa Richards
Review – The Haunting of Alcott Manor by Alyssa Richards

5.0 out of 5 starsThat ending…!? Are you kidding me?!

Amazon REVIEW on November 19, 2017
Format: Kindle Edition
“Like others, I’m sure, I`ve read hundred(s) of these types of books. This was a great read, great twists and turns. …and the end…? WOW! What’s really getting me right now though? Henry and Gemma at still with me….days after I’ve finished the book! I cried with them, I loved with them, and they touched me deeply! Great job! (This is the first time I have been inspired enough to write a review, too!)”

Filed Under: News

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