Read Online What Haunts Me by Margaret Millmore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Millmore
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back. The dark lipstick was gone and so were the glasses…the overall result was that of a pretty young woman, not the obnoxious vagabond I'd met earlier in the day.
Justine reached for me and I leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. She then waved to the nearest chair, which was uncomfortably close to Billy. Without the glasses, I could see her eyes more clearly. They were bright green, and I was sure I caught a glint of malicious intent. I shot a suspicious glance in her direction; cleaned up or not, I was sure she was going to bite me.
“George, darling, I'd like to formerly introduce,” she smiled and glanced at Billy, “my niece Billy. Billy, this is my favorite neighbor, George Sinclair.”
Just to be a smart-ass, I leaned toward her and extended my hand in formal greeting. “Nice to meet you Billy, I've heard so little about you.”
If Justine caught my snide remark, she ignored it, but Billy didn't. She sneered at me ever so slightly. “Right, guess it's the same here,” she said as she gave my hand a limp and insincere shake.
Justine didn't ignore that remark and lightly slapped Billy's hand, which made me smile, until she smacked my hand too, and not so lightly. She scolded, “You two will get along. I have no intention of the spending the evening with two bickering children.”
Billy glanced at me with icy green eyes and then turned to Justine and said, “Sorry, Aunt Justine.”
As if to drive home her feelings toward me, a sharp, cold breeze swept across the terrace and caused us all to shiver. I said, “Why don't we go inside, Justine? It's getting a little too cold out here.” I glanced at Billy to be sure the double entendre wasn't lost on her. Her glare got even icier.
Justine and Billy sat on the sofa and I took a comfortable armchair to their left. It gave me a view of the reading alcove and the painting, which seemed more ominous the more I stared at it. Anne came into the room carrying a freshly opened bottle of wine and a glass, and as she began to pour she caught the direction of my gaze and followed it to the painting. She was clearly uncomfortable by it, but then seemed to shake herself clear of it. She handed me my glass and topped off the ladies glasses, then announced that dinner would be served shortly and hastily left the room.
Billy was watching the whole exchange and said in a sarcastic manner I was becoming all too familiar with, “You like that painting George, or does it scare you?”
Without looking at her, and attempting to drum up some sarcasm of my own, I said, “Why would it scare me, Billy?”
“Oh, I don't know. You're staring at it like a deer in the headlights, and you sort of shivered there for a second…. You know, like it scared you.”
I shrugged indifferently and said, “Paintings don't scare me, it just reminds me of one I saw recently.” I was getting tired of Billy, so I turned to Justine and asked, “Does it have a name?”
Justine didn't answer me; instead, her shoulders slumped slightly and she sighed. She placed her wine glass on the table and got up and walked to the antique secretary in the far corner of the room. She opened the top and removed a small folded slip of paper, returning to the couch and sitting heavily.
“I was hoping it wasn't you dear, but now I know it must be.” She handed the paper to me and waited for me to read it. I took it, unfolded it, and read the contents. In an elegant hand-written script, it said:
There is another. I believe that you know him. I shall be in touch. F.V.
I guess I'd known this was coming, but damn it, I really didn't want to believe that Justine might be hiding some deep, dark, paranormal secret. How could this sweet, elderly woman be involved in all of this? The silence and unknown was obviously too much for Billy. She reached across and snatched the note from my hand before I realized what was happening. After she read it, she looked from Justine to me and then back to Justine and said,
Justine reached for me and I leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. She then waved to the nearest chair, which was uncomfortably close to Billy. Without the glasses, I could see her eyes more clearly. They were bright green, and I was sure I caught a glint of malicious intent. I shot a suspicious glance in her direction; cleaned up or not, I was sure she was going to bite me.
“George, darling, I'd like to formerly introduce,” she smiled and glanced at Billy, “my niece Billy. Billy, this is my favorite neighbor, George Sinclair.”
Just to be a smart-ass, I leaned toward her and extended my hand in formal greeting. “Nice to meet you Billy, I've heard so little about you.”
If Justine caught my snide remark, she ignored it, but Billy didn't. She sneered at me ever so slightly. “Right, guess it's the same here,” she said as she gave my hand a limp and insincere shake.
Justine didn't ignore that remark and lightly slapped Billy's hand, which made me smile, until she smacked my hand too, and not so lightly. She scolded, “You two will get along. I have no intention of the spending the evening with two bickering children.”
Billy glanced at me with icy green eyes and then turned to Justine and said, “Sorry, Aunt Justine.”
As if to drive home her feelings toward me, a sharp, cold breeze swept across the terrace and caused us all to shiver. I said, “Why don't we go inside, Justine? It's getting a little too cold out here.” I glanced at Billy to be sure the double entendre wasn't lost on her. Her glare got even icier.
Justine and Billy sat on the sofa and I took a comfortable armchair to their left. It gave me a view of the reading alcove and the painting, which seemed more ominous the more I stared at it. Anne came into the room carrying a freshly opened bottle of wine and a glass, and as she began to pour she caught the direction of my gaze and followed it to the painting. She was clearly uncomfortable by it, but then seemed to shake herself clear of it. She handed me my glass and topped off the ladies glasses, then announced that dinner would be served shortly and hastily left the room.
Billy was watching the whole exchange and said in a sarcastic manner I was becoming all too familiar with, “You like that painting George, or does it scare you?”
Without looking at her, and attempting to drum up some sarcasm of my own, I said, “Why would it scare me, Billy?”
“Oh, I don't know. You're staring at it like a deer in the headlights, and you sort of shivered there for a second…. You know, like it scared you.”
I shrugged indifferently and said, “Paintings don't scare me, it just reminds me of one I saw recently.” I was getting tired of Billy, so I turned to Justine and asked, “Does it have a name?”
Justine didn't answer me; instead, her shoulders slumped slightly and she sighed. She placed her wine glass on the table and got up and walked to the antique secretary in the far corner of the room. She opened the top and removed a small folded slip of paper, returning to the couch and sitting heavily.
“I was hoping it wasn't you dear, but now I know it must be.” She handed the paper to me and waited for me to read it. I took it, unfolded it, and read the contents. In an elegant hand-written script, it said:
There is another. I believe that you know him. I shall be in touch. F.V.
I guess I'd known this was coming, but damn it, I really didn't want to believe that Justine might be hiding some deep, dark, paranormal secret. How could this sweet, elderly woman be involved in all of this? The silence and unknown was obviously too much for Billy. She reached across and snatched the note from my hand before I realized what was happening. After she read it, she looked from Justine to me and then back to Justine and said,
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