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“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

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

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