The Stroke of Winter(19)

Hunter shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “I’ll take a more careful look around, for sure, but you can see for yourself that this room hasn’t really been disturbed. Yes, things are in a bit of . . .”—he chose his words carefully—“disarray. But I’m telling you, if a squirrel or raccoon were in here, there would be a lot more damage. These sheets would be torn up, to make nests, for one thing. There would be an access point. A hole that we could readily see.”

“What about bats?” Tess said, cringing.

Hunter shook his head. “We don’t have a lot of bats in Wharton, and those that are here hibernate during the winter. If you had bats hibernating in the house, there wouldn’t be just one, but a lot of them. And we’d have seen them right away. And smelled them.”

She cringed at the thought of it. She and Hunter locked eyes for a moment, and her imaginings of her grandfather fell to the ground in a heap. She had other things, more real and tangible, to worry about. The look on this man’s face said it all.

A tingling worked its way up Tess’s spine. If that were true, if there had been nothing in this room all this time, what had been doing the scratching?





CHAPTER EIGHT



All at once, Tess wanted everyone out of this part of the house. She didn’t want to talk about animal intruders. She didn’t want to talk about the scratching, much less think about what she—and Storm—had heard.

In addition to that, Tess was overtaken by the uneasy feeling that these men, these strangers, were standing in Sebastian Bell’s studio. Hallowed ground for most of the art world. Her stomach gnarled at the haphazard way it had been left. Paints open, spills long since dried up. Easel on its side. Wine bottles everywhere. It wasn’t as though her grandmother had cleaned it up after Sebastian had died. It seemed to Tess that it was just the opposite. The room had been shut up quickly. To not even take the wine bottles to the trash? To not have tidied up just the least little bit before closing the door forever? Why?

“I’ll bet you guys could use a beer right about now,” she said, her voice shaky. She walked toward the doorway, trying to get on more stable footing. “Let’s reconvene in the kitchen.”

With that, she made her way into the hall and toward the back stairs, her heart beating in her throat.

In the kitchen, she crossed the room to the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and held it aloft. “Any takers?”

“Twist my arm,” Grant said, with the first smile she had seen from him since he had gotten there.

“Just to be sociable,” Hunter chuckled, pulling a chair out from the table and sinking down into it.

“I can’t let them drink alone,” Wyatt said, joining Hunter at the table. “That’s just not right.”

Tess handed beers all around and poured a glass of wine for herself. She took a sip with shaking hands.

“Thanks for all of the help, guys,” she said, glancing from one to the other.

Wyatt took a sip of his beer, considering the job’s postmortem. “It really wasn’t too much trouble getting the door open,” he said. “Once we got the hinges off, a couple of good bangs did the trick.”

Grant eyed Hunter and gave him a small smile. “It was this guy who was responsible for all of the theatrics, with his heavy gloves and his trap—”

“He was ready for a tiger to pounce out of there,” Wyatt said.

“And if one had, you’d have been mighty glad I was prepared, smart guy,” Hunter said, laughter in his voice.

Tess couldn’t help but smile, even as a tendril of dread was working its way up her spine. All the laughter and good feelings at the table seemed to fade into the background as one thought centered itself in the forefront of her mind.

What was making the scratching noises? And would she be safe from it tonight, with the door open? She imagined herself huddled under the covers, the scratching ringing through the dark house.

“What are your feelings on next steps?”

Wyatt’s question brought her back into the room. Tess shook her head. “I’m not sure. Cleaning, I guess, is at the top of the list. Then I’ll be able to see what I’m dealing with.”

“Tess is thinking of turning the space into an owner’s suite, for when guests arrive,” Wyatt explained to the others. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here.”

Tess waved away his concern. “No, that’s the plan. It’s no secret that I’m opening an inn. Intending to, anyway. And I’ll need help getting that suite in shape, that’s for sure. If you guys are available—”

Wyatt nodded. “My life is so very rich and full that I have absolutely nothing going on. So, weirdly, I’m available.”

Tess chuckled. She liked this man. He seemed familiar to her, somehow.

“Wharton gets so sleepy during this time of year,” Hunter added. “I don’t want to use the term ghost town, but . . . all of us who work in the tourist trade cobble together this and that in the winter.”

“And not much of this, and very little of that,” Grant said, surprising Tess with his humor. Laughter all around.

“I guess you’ve got yourself a crew, for better or worse,” Wyatt said with a grin.

“A motley one, but a crew,” Hunter piped up.