chapterTWENTY-EIGHT My lips parted. “My…what?”Isobel’s eyes were large and horrified. “She...she…”“When the hell did you meet Gloria?”“At the hospital,” she rushed her answer. “I came to visit. She was there with your mom. She said…she said...”I shook my head, then pushed Ezra aside so I could see her better. “You came to the hospital?” My voice cracked and eyes misted. “Really?” My lips trembled, wanting to smile, except…except everything was still so wrong.Isobel bobbed her head up and down. “I wanted to come the first day, but you didn’t ask me to. I wasn’t sure if you wanted—”“Of course I wanted you there,” I hissed before clenching my teeth. “But I didn’t know if I should ask. You said you wanted space, and you acted as if you never wanted to leave your house again. It felt selfish to ask you to come.”“I would have,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I wanted to, and when I finally did, she was there. She was there with yo
chapterTWENTY-NINE One day actually spanned into two. My five siblings cleaned out pretty much everything that once belonged to Mom. The only things left were her walker, some clothes no one would ever want, and a bunch of broken bakery remains. I did find a chipped cup she used to love to drink from, so I kept that, but everything else, I boxed up and hauled down to the dumpster.Every time I passed the base of the stairwell where I’d found her, my throat would go dry and my chest would twist with pain. I really needed to move out of this hellhole.I had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I hadn’t received any word that Henry had rescinded any of the loans or bills he’d paid off for my mom, but I hadn’t seen any proof of the opposite either. If I ended up owing him, at least I was free to find a job somewhere that actually paid me so I could attempt to pay him back. I wasn’t tied to taking care of Mom anymore, so I was free
EPILOGUE The bell over the door of Rosewood dinged, alerting me to the entrance of another customer. I smiled even as I lifted my face to greet the new arrival, only for my grin to stretch wider when I recognized him.“Hey, it’s Cinderella.”Ezra’s eyes narrowed as he strolled inside. “That’s still the lamest comeback ever.”I shrugged. “Hey, if the shoe fits…” Then I pointed and started laughing at my own corny pun.His glare was dry as dust. “You are so not amusing. I’m seriously thinking about sending my sister to a psychiatrist for falling for an idiot like you.”“What can I say? Love doesn’t care about brain capacity.” Then I sent him a wink. “Which means there’s still hope for you too, buddy.”He sighed. “Just tell me where my sister is.”“I’m right here.” Isobel emerged from the door behind the counter that led into her workroom. “I could hear you two bickering all the way from the back.”Nearly three months had passed since my mother’s funeral. It’d
behind MONSTER AMONG THE ROSESINSPIRATIONfor Porter Hall, Residence of Entrepreneur Henry Nash:At the time of writing this story, a very real place called Chestnut Hall Estates was on the market for sale in Georgia for a cool $48 million. http://www.priceypads.com/chestnut-hall-48000000/# This 17,000 square feet of living space boasted of sitting on 18 acres of land, but it was the collection of artifacts that came with the house that made it so pricey. Some of the statues came from a garden in Versailles. It contained a chandelier from the Civil War era, which brought about the idea of the chandelier in my fictitious Porter Hall coming from a mansion in France that was confiscated from the Gestapo in World War II. Also in Chestnut Hall, there was a bronze eagle from Benito Mussolini. So I stuck that statue in my Porter Hall as well. Shaw helped Constance move it across the hallway to preserve the carpet.INSPIRATIONfor Isobel’s Rose G
chapter ONE I nervously twisted my ball cap between my hands, the frayed bill skimming across my calloused knuckles with each pass. The room where I waited was bigger than my entire apartment, and the seat on which I gingerly perched myself probably cost more than everything I owned.It smelled rich in here. Like money. Like the walls had been papered in fresh, crisp hundred-dollar bills straight from the bank. I glanced between my knees to my shoes, hoping I hadn’t knocked any dirt onto the opaque marble floor, only to discover a small clump of dried mud did rest by my right sneaker. Shit. I quickly kicked it under the chair to hide the evidence just as the door beside me opened.A gray-headed woman in a blue pantsuit—the same one I’d spoken to, announcing myself when I’d arrived twenty minutes earlier—peered out. “Mr. Nash is ready to meet with you.”Feeling caught in the act, I stopped messing with the dirt clod and jerked to my feet,
chapterTWO What the…?I stood at the end of the drive that led up to 24 Porterfield Lane and gaped. With another glance at the Post-it note in my sweaty hand containing Mr. Nash’s heavy scrawl, I took in the numbers and letters before turning my attention back to the brick-covered mailbox that said 24 Porterfield Lane.Right address.Shaking my head, I faced the gate. A metal sign hung from it, telling me I’d arrived at Porter Hall Estate, Residence of Entrepreneur Henry Nash.Holy shit, this was his home. He’d brought me to his house. The place had to span at least fifteen acres just to make up the manicured front lawn. A row of evergreens concealed most of the building from the road, but a couple stories still peeked up above them. And from what I could see, the mansion was huge. I’m talking over ten-thousand-square-feet huge.I shook my head and pressed the intercom button located on the brick pillar part of the closed gate.When a
chapterTHREE Had to be a burn wound, I decided. One half of her was perfectly fine, beautiful even. I doubted anyone would be aware she had the scars if they saw her from the good side. The other half was full of puckered and stretched skin that looked as if it had been heated to liquefy and then cooled again all wrong. It wrinkled down her neck, then was briefly covered by her short-sleeved shirt, only to continue down to the end of her arm and over the back of her hand. I wondered if it extended lower, but pants and shoes concealed the rest of her.She appeared to be around my age, maybe a year or two younger, with a full head of dark hair, super-blue eyes and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. Except the look in those exceptionally lovely eyes was anything but friendly.“I asked you a question,” she reminded me, her tone truculent. Couldn’t say I blamed her; I had been gawking pretty rudely. But she’d shocked the crap out of me, popp
chapterFOUR So there I was, lost in a mansion I totally didn’t belong in.I wondered if all millionaires—or was Henry Nash a billionaire?—let broke, unknown guys like me wander through their homes unescorted? It would be too easy for me to pickpocket something and resell it. I mean, a single painting, or clock, or statue could pay for months’ worth of rent or groceries.Not that I would ever do that, but I had to wonder what everything I passed must’ve cost. It was crazy how much unnecessary crap rich people collected. Yet the place still looked frightfully bare, the complete opposite of my cramped apartment where all of Mom’s bakery shit sat piled into every nook and cranny we could possibly fit it into.Maybe that’s why Isobel felt so lonely. There was simply too much empty space here. Each footstep echoed, and echoes seemed like such lonely things. The hallway itself must practically tap out the rhythm of seclusion right through her c