The Stroke of Winter(65)

“Of course,” he said.

And with that, Nick pushed his chair back from the table, stood, and zipped up the jacket he hadn’t even bothered to take off. He had known he wouldn’t be there long.

“Okay,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you at La Belle Vie in an hour or so.”

When the door had closed behind him, Tess looked at Wyatt. “Do you think this is a good idea? Showing him the paintings, I mean? I just blurted it out, but I’m not sure I should have.”

“It’s out there now,” Wyatt said. “And, I think you were right to do it. Those paintings do seem to tell a strange and ugly story. A story of obsession, if you want to know my opinion. And obsessions never end well.”



After getting changed and leashing up Storm, they hopped into Wyatt’s car for the short ride to La Belle Vie. Once there, Tess unlocked the side door, and the three of them, Tess, Wyatt, and Storm, stepped over the threshold into the kitchen. Nobody moved.

Silence hung in the air around them. It was a different kind of silence than Tess had ever felt at La Belle Vie before. Something electric seemed to be behind it. An inaudible sizzle. It was similar to the kind of tangible, yet invisible heaviness you could feel hanging in the air after two lovers had been fighting in a room. But not the same. This felt alive.

Something had been awakened here.

Storm let out a low growl.

“I’m going to put the tea kettle on,” Tess said, breaking the silence, her words stumbling out of her mouth too quickly. “Do you want some tea?”

“Tea sounds good,” Wyatt said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. “Yeah. Tea.” His eyes were darting back and forth.is His

“Do you feel it, too?” Tess asked, doing the same with her coat.

Wyatt nodded, looking around the room. “The remnants of yesterday are still in the air.”

That sent a shiver through Tess.

“Nick will be here soon,” she said, taking the tea kettle off the still-warm AGA stove and topping it off with water. In just a moment, the water was boiling (the beauty of the AGA). She popped teabags into two stoneware mugs and poured.

“We’ll wait here,” she said, handing Wyatt a mug and settling into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He sank into the other.

“Sounds good to me.”

The spicy cinnamon tea infused calm with every sip. Maybe it was just the strange events of the previous day that had her feeling so uneasy in a home she had grown up visiting countless times and, now, owned. It was her home now, after all. Her place in the world. She sat up a little straighter and cleared her throat. Her home. Her place. She wouldn’t be scared out of it.

“When Nick leaves, depending on what happens with him, I think I should ask Jane to come over,” Tess said. “We can’t deny what we both saw and heard here yesterday, and no matter who or what was causing all of that commotion, no matter who the figure in the window was, I want them gone. I know everything in Wharton is haunted, or people say it is, but not like this. And it doesn’t mean we have to live with it.”

“Agreed,” Wyatt said. “I know Jane is part of a . . . well, sort of a ghost-hunter’s club. I think it’s kind of hokey myself, but they go into people’s houses and buildings and other places with their electrical equipment and recording devices to find evidence of hauntings. She started a Wharton Ghost Tour business, too, a few summers back. Not sure if you knew about that or not.”

Tess smiled. “I must’ve missed that. I haven’t been here too often in the past few years. I was in the catering business—”

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I didn’t know you did that. How did I not know what you did for a living? That’s crazy. Were you a chef?”

That’s right. It was crazy.

“Yep,” she said. “I decided to pivot and do something else. I just figured there was more to life than cooking for corporate events and fundraisers. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I, personally, wanted something on my own.”

“If you’re making the breakfasts for this bed-and-breakfast inn, your guests will be in for a treat,” Wyatt said, taking a sip of his tea. “I can attest to that.”

Tess leaned forward. “I thought I might play that up a bit, the fact I was—am—a chef. I could have cooking-themed weekends where I teach classes on how to make the perfect . . . whatever it is.”

“That’s a great idea,” Wyatt said. “Have you ever thought of opening a restaurant?”

“I have, actually. That’s the beauty of starting over, isn’t it? It seems like the world is filled with possibilities.”

“I’ve seen more than one person’s dream come true in Wharton,” Wyatt said.

Tess’s phone buzzed. Nick.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey. I’m on my way over,” he said. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Tess said. And there it was. Pulled back into reality once again by the chief of police. Tess was realizing he had a way of doing that.





CHAPTER THIRTY



In the drawing room, Tess had set up the paintings, in order, for Nick to see. When the chief arrived, Wyatt ushered him into the room, Storm at their heels. The two men had been chattering in the hallway, but once they stepped into the room, the conversation stopped. Nick’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth hung open slightly.