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Now I wish I had access to the Internet to delve deeper. Though surely a place like this, steeped in rich history, would have that documented in a library?
I hadn’t seen one on my original tour of the mansion, but I’d glimpsed floor-to-ceiling bookcases in the room marked Main Office when Cora had entered it this morning while I’d been on my way to breakfast.
If I expressed interest, would Cora allow me to research the history of this place?
Only one way to find out.
After downing the bottle of water on my bedside table, I check my watch and am surprised it’s almost an hour since my run-in with Spencer at the tunnel and his strange proclamation I’m just like my mother. No good will come of me hiding in my room ruminating; time to see if I can discover more about Arcania.
Determined to discover Mom’s link to this weird place, I stride toward Cora’s office intending to peruse her library. When I reach her office, I raise my hand to knock, unsure whether I have the guts to enter if she’s not here.
“Can I help you with something, dear?”
Cora’s soft voice comes out of nowhere, and I jump. When I turn, she’s right behind me, like she materialized out of thin air.
Her gaze is steady, but her pupils are tiny pinpricks. It’s freaky. Is she on something?
Because I take too long to answer, she says, “Dear, is everything all right?”
Before I can nod, she reaches out and touches my arm. It’s the faintest brush of her fingertips against my bare skin, but the cold clamminess of it gives me a jolt and I suppress a shudder.
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks. I was actually looking for you.”
“Oh?”
Her eyebrows rise in unison, her skepticism easy to read, as if she knows I was contemplating sneaking into her office if she wasn’t around.
“Yes. As you know, I work in a library back in Manhattan and I’m always drawn to the stories behind older stuff. Buildings, cities, that kind of thing, and the history of Arcania intrigues me. I was wondering if you had any books I can borrow to read up on it?”
She hesitates, before giving the slightest nod. “Of course, but if there’s anything you want to know, all you have to do is ask.”
Her expression is benign, serene, at complete odds with the spark of anxiety in her eyes.
“Actually, I wanted to ask Spencer too—”
“He’s gone to visit family, so he’ll probably be away until you leave.” Her response is brusque and the worry lines between her brows deepen. “Maybe I can help?”
Stunned, I try to assimilate I’d barely seen Spencer sixty minutes ago and now he’s left? Did Cora discover I’d been snooping and banished Spencer because of it? Or did he abscond of his own accord because he didn’t want to answer my questions after his outlandish declaration about knowing my mother?
I could leave it alone, but I decide to call her on it. “Spencer’s departure seems awfully sudden. I only spoke to him a little while ago.”
Cora’s glare is formidable. “The comings and goings of staff are of no concern to guests, dear. Now, are you still interested in those books?”
She’s testy and definitely hiding something by her mutinous expression. But I’ll get nowhere if I push her, so I appear suitably chastised and nod, relieved when Cora unlocks the office door before entering and beckoning me to follow.
“Was Arcania always a retreat?” I ask, not expecting Cora’s laser-like focus to pin me like a moth to a corkboard.
“No. It started as an organic farm run by my in-laws many years ago.” She slides a red leather-bound tome from a shelf, and a brown one from the shelf below it. “But I often wonder if the Norse ancestors of my husband viewed it as a refuge after their long months at sea.”
“Were you a local? Is that how you met?”
Her expression blanks like shutters have been drawn. “No. I wasn’t local.” She thrusts the books at me so fast I almost stumble. “Here. These should give you a good feel for Arcania and the Outer Banks.”
“Thanks.”
The books are heavy and I shuffle their load to get comfortable. I should leave, but Cora’s staring at me again like she can’t quite figure me out and I wonder if I should ask her if she knew Mom like Spencer? Then again, with Mom having the same name as her dead daughter—and my sneaking suspicion they could be the same person and Mom faked her death to get away from here—asking Cora outright before I know more is foolhardy.
“Is there anything else you wanted, dear?”
