Pulling up to the giant pink house, I understood why Aunt Evelyn had made the stipulation. The house probably required a lot of upkeep.
It was fine. I would only be here long enough to sell the house and go through Aunt Evelyn’s belongings.
There were three cars in the driveway: a forest green truck, a black Lexus SUV, and a platinum blue Audi sedan. I parked the rental next to the Audi and got out. It felt good to stretch my legs after the ninety-minute drive from the city, and I reached for the sky to work out the kinks in my back before starting for the house.
Aunt Evelyn’s lawyer Irving Norwood (a shockingly tiny, frail man with glasses and thinning hair) had told me the caretakers would give me keys when I arrived, so I climbed the wide porch steps and rang the doorbell.
I heard the old-fashioned bell echo through the house, but no one came, so I rang it again, then glanced back at the cars in the driveway. Someone must be home, but beyond the carved front door, the house lay silent.
I left the porch and started around the house to the back of the property. Maybe the caretaker — orcaretakers— were outside.
I rounded the corner of the giant house and stopped in my tracks. Lush green grass extended beyond the back of the house. But not just grass — there were meandering pathways, flower beds overflowing with a multitude of flowers, and even a small pond and gazebo in the distance.
The property was massive.
I felt like Dorothy in Oz as I followed the crushed gravel path that wound between the flower beds. My sundress, worn for comfort during the long drive, fluttered around my knees. The spring sky was cloudless, the sun warm on my head. Birds sang from the branches of old-growth trees, and I caught the scent of lilac from the towering bushes that dotted the landscape.
I looked around for one of the caretakers but didn’t see anyone, so I made my way toward a moderately-sized pink-shingled structure that matched the house. I wondered if it had once been a carriage house — I knew from books I’d read that grand old houses often had them — but when I got to the open doors I realized it was now a kind of equipment shed.
A riding mower lurked in the shadows and tools lined the walls. Dust motes floated in the air, shimmering in a beam of sun shining through one of the windows. The smell of motor oil, fertilizer, and fresh soil was an oddly comforting assault on my nose.
But no caretaker.
I headed back toward the path and continued, aiming for the gazebo if only because it seemed like a logical destination somewhere in the distance. Honestly the property was so huge I could have wandered it for hours. It helped having a goal in mind even if I had to make a new one when I got there.
I left the flower beds behind in favor of a neatly trimmed row of hedges that towered a good two feet above my head. It wasn’t until I reached an opening that I realized it was a maze: areal-life hedge maze, like the ones I’d seen in pictures of palace grounds.
And inThe Shining.
I itched to explore the maze, but this wasn’t the time. I wanted to find the keys to the house and get settled.
The gazebo was closer now, and I looked around as I continued past the hedge maze. Where onearthwere the caretakers who were supposed to give me the keys?
Like the shed, the gazebo matched the house, intricately carved gingerbread trim spanning the distance between carved pink-and-white columns. I was getting a feel for the property, the way it all worked together, and I stepped onto the gazebo’s platform, looking for a better view of the small pond that lay just beyond it.
In for a penny, in for a pound I guess.
Except that was when I noticed the man slumped on one of the gazebo’s built-in benches.
His face was tipped down, like he was sleeping, his legs sprawled out in front of him, and the hem of his navy pants was caked with grainy, drying mud.
I stepped closer. “Excuse me, are you the caretaker?— ”
I stopped cold when I spotted the dark stain creeping under his hair toward his left temple.
I backed away slowly, like the man might jump to life and give chase.
Which was why I didn’t notice the other men — all three of them — standing at the entrance to the gazebo until I spun to leave.
“Oh my gravy!” I slapped one hand over my chest like that would calm the staccato beat of my heart. “You scared me!”
Except now that I was looking at them, “scared” wasn’t the word that came to mind.
They were huge, tall and broad-shouldered, with tattoos that snaked out from under their clothes and crawled over their skin like graffiti gone rogue.
“You must be Avery.” The guy who spoke first had short blond hair and eyes as green as the perfectly maintained lawn around the gazebo.
Also, he had muscles. A lot of them, judging by the way his moss-green henley strained at the shoulders.