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“Used to give Roark the creeps, too. He refused to come in here.”

“You knew the two of them? Personally?”

“Oh, yes, but not long. Amelia died only a few weeks after I started. So, so sad, what happened to them.”

“Wait … so they know what happened to Roark, then? I mean, I thought he disappeared? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The smile on her face is empty, as if she’s holding it simply to be polite, while her eyes study me. Perhaps she’s gauging whether, or not, to say anything. Wondering if I’ll take the information and spread it around Tempest Cove, like Aunt Midge would do.

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

“Isn’t really my place. But you care for Mrs. Blackthorne, right? Maybe she’ll tell you.”

The woman who thinks her possibly dead grandson is alive? Sure. “It’s not important for me to know.”

“You’ve met Lucian?”

I’m beginning to think everyone keeps asking me about him to see what I think of him, like he’s some kind of deal breaker for me. Devil, or not, he’s not scaring me out of this job. “I have. He’s … pretty intense.”

“Yes. Very. But not so bad, once you get to know him.”

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“He’s not a people person. Assuming you stay, he’ll warm up eventually.”

Warm up? I can’t imagine that. I found the guy’s personality frigid enough to replenish the polar icecaps. “It seems I’m not expected to stay long.”

With a sigh, she glances around my room again. “This place isn’t for everyone. Some find it depressing. Morose. Maybe even a little frightening, at times. It’s a matter of perspective, I suppose. It can be a peaceful place for some. And drive others absolutely mad.”

“You find it peaceful, then?”

“Sure. It’s sort of like ... sitting in a cemetery. Being surrounded by death can either make you feel incredibly vulnerable and alone, or it can make you grateful to be alive.”

Giulia’s is a personality that I can’t quite place in our first meeting. A part of me appreciates her perspective, as I’ve always had a sort of fondness for the macabre. A cracked dead rose. A spider web in morning light. Even a cemetery. Yet, I find her demeanor almost oddly un-genuine, unlike Nell’s. It’s as if she’s hiding something.

“I met Sampson, as well,” I tell her.

“Oh, he’s a big sweetie. Scary looking, but a sweetie.”

“Scary, for sure. He looks like he could devour a person in under a minute.”

“Minute and thirty, actually.”

“Excuse me?”

Her head kicks back on a quiet chuckle, and even that strikes me as somewhat fake. “I’m joking. I’ve only seen him go after the occasional trespasser. We get them more often than not. Folks who like to dig up dirt on the Blackthornes. It’s troublesome, the way people behave, sometimes.”

“I agree. My asking about Roark was merely curiosity. Nothing else.” My gaze falls to the shiny cross clasped around her neck.

“I didn’t think anything bad of it. I’ve just grown accustomed to not talking with anyone about it.”

“I’m sure you’ve had a lot of people pry. I promise I’m not one of them.”

“Good. Also, I should let you know that this place can get pretty unsettling at night, sometimes.” She reaches for her cross in what is perhaps a mindless gesture, drawing it back and forth along its delicate chain. “Think it’s the wind coming off the cliff, but it can sound like someone crying. Freaked me out, the first few nights.”

“Good to know.”

“Well, I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything, just holler.”