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She hated the thought of having to return to the huge home above the lake without her father there. But now she had an ally, and if she had to escape, she had a sanctuary.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ellie was driving into a space at the Kincaid Western Wear parking lot when her phone rang, but the caller was unidentified. She hesitated, then accepted the call.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Eleanor, this is David Graham.”
“Oh, hi, David, I almost didn’t answer. Your name didn’t appear on my screen.”
“I’m glad you picked up. If you need me this is the number to use. I’m at the house and I’ll be staying in the East wing guest quarters. Your father said you have a recording of the odd noises you told him about. Can you send it to me?”
“Yes, sure, I’ll do it right now.”
“How often do you hear them?”
“A few times a week, though it’s possible the nights I don’t it’s because I’m sleeping or working late in my studio. David, I’m so glad you’re following up on this. It’s been nerve-racking.”
“It’s probably nothing to worry about, but we should try to find the source. You don’t want any bats or other nocturnal creatures loose in the walls.”
“Do you think that’s what it is?”
“It’s one theory.”
“Okay, I just sent the recording, and I’ll be home in a little while. Do you want to have dinner? I’m not sure what Bethany has planned, if anything.”
“I haven’t seen her, but sure. Let’s say around seven in the small dining room near the kitchen. I’ll order in from The Barnyard. But Eleanor, before I let you go, do you know Matt Thompson? He lives at the base of Lone Pine Hill and he’s married to Becky Clarkson, William Clarkson’s daughter.”
“Funny you should ask. I was talking about him today. Why?”
“Matt and I are long-time friends and I’ve asked him to join me on this project. Two heads are better than one, and with both of us working on this we should get to the bottom of those sounds pretty quick. But why did his name come up with you?”
“I know he was in the Special Forces and I thought if he listened to the recording he might have some ideas.”
“Ah, good thinking. He’ll be arriving any time now. We’ll listen together, and rest assured we’ll do our best not to invade your privacy.
“I look forward to meeting him. It’s about time. I know his wife, Becky.”
“Because of the Clarkson Housing Development?”
“Exactly, and I’ve been meaning to call her. Thanks, David, I must run, but I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Eleanor.”
Ending the call, and relieved she wouldn’t be alone in the house with The Bitch From Hell, she climbed from her car and hurried inside, but when she entered, she stopped short. The store offered a vast array of clothing for both the English and Western rider, there were ornately carved saddles gleaming with silver accents, bridles and halters, endless shelves featuring horse-care products, and glass cabinets with jewelry displays.
“Can I help you?” an older woman asked as she approached.
“By any chance is Clint Kincaid here?”
“Actually, he is. Who shall I say is asking for him?
“Eleanor Mitchell. I’ve been sent by Noah Jackson.”
“You’re a friend of Noah’s? Nice to meet you. I’m Kathy. Why don’t you tell me what you need, and you can take a look while I’ll see if Mr. Kincaid is available.”
“I’ll start with riding jeans and boots.”
