“Where did you get all this?” she asked, taking a seat at the small table. There were two aspirin tablets sitting next to a glass of orange juice, and she popped them into her mouth and washed them down.
“There’s a kitchen in the staff area. Staff members do some cooking for lunches and things, since we’re so far from any services up here. But, in this case, I got the food from the catering truck set up for the construction site.” He sat down across from her, pouring syrup onto his plate of pancakes. “You need any help?”
She bit back the sarcastic retort that formed on her tongue. What was the matter with her? “I’m fine,” she answered pleasantly.
He waited a moment before responding. “Good.”
“Would you still like some help picking out furniture and things to decorate the restaurant?”
“Absolutely. But only if we don’t wear you out.”
“You won’t wear me out.” She cut into her pancakes with the side of her fork, spearing a bite. She’d skipped dinner last night, planning to eat once she got back to the ranch. But after the breakdown, there hadn’t been an opportunity. So, this morning, she was famished.
They ate companionably, talking about housing, schools and services available in Lyndon. Abigail had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that DFB headquarters was moving to Lyndon. And hearing Zach talk, she realized just how complex an undertaking it would be. They had lawyers, accountants and real estate agents working overtime. It was a major disruption to the lives of all his employees.
Listening, she found herself feeling guilty for having pushed the move on him. Then again, there really wasn’t another solution to expand Craig Mountain Brewery. And if the expansion was as important as Zach made it out to be, then she’d provided the only solution possible.
They finished breakfast and headed for the north tower. She’d already been up in the center tower. It was easily accessed by a half flight of stairs from the fourth floor. The north tower was a little tougher to access. They made their way to the rear service area, where they came to a narrow, curving, stone staircase that spiraled up in a dim passage. Ozzy gazed up the stairs as if considering his options, then, evidently having decided to skip the climb, settled on a worn, padded bench seat in the stream of sunshine from a recessed window. He wasn’t the most athletic dog in the world.
“You’re not planning to imprison me up here, are you?” Abigail couldn’t help joking as she and Zach made their way up.
“It’d be perfect for that, wouldn’t it?” he said over his shoulder.
“If you ever had a fantasy about being an evil count, this would definitely be the place to act it out.”
“Scream as loud as you like, sweet darling,” he intoned in a dramatic, dire voice. “No one will ever hear you.”
“I wonder why they built it this way.” She couldn’t see any particular use for a room this inaccessible.
“According to Lucas, Lord Ashton modeled the entire castle after one his family owned back in Britain.”
“Either that, or he had a crazy wife he needed to imprison.”
“That would be my second guess.” Zach stopped at the top of the steep staircase, bracing his shoulder against a thick, rough-hewn, oak door.
“I hope she’s not still in there,” Abigail joked as the hinges squeaked.
“I don’t think anyone’s been up here in fifty years,” said Zach.
“Seriously?” Now she was really curious.
“I’m joking. Apparently they clean up here periodically.”
She socked him in the back. “Not funny.”
“I wasn’t really spooking you, was I?”
“No.” Well, not exactly. Coming across the skeletal remains of someone’s long-dead, imprisoned, insane wife- now,
The door opened to reveal a surprisingly brightly lit room. It was wide and round, with an abnormally high ceiling and at least a dozen lead-paned windows recessed into the stone walls. The air was still, warm and musty, and most of the contents of the room were boxed in cardboard or aging wooden trunks. It didn’t seem to have antique furniture like the center tower and some of the other upstairs rooms. She supposed nobody would want to carry a dresser or cabinet up that staircase.
“I can’t even imagine what’s inside all these.” She glanced around, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.
Zach pushed his shoulder gently against hers. “Have at ’er. All this is the property of DFB Incorporated.” Then he took the easiest pathway through the boxes to one of the windows, pushing it open and letting in a welcome breeze.
She zeroed in on the trunk that looked the oldest. There, she crouched down on her knees, popped open the center latch, flipped the two end catches and eased up the lid.
Zach squatted beside her. “What did you find?”
“Candleholders.” She pushed wads of yellowed newspaper to one side, lifting the first of a matched set of ornate, thickly tarnished silver candleholders. It was heavy in her hand, and Zach took it from her, lifting it and the other, and setting the pair on the floor between them.
“And serving trays,” she announced, leaning over the edge of the trunk and digging deeper. To her delight, she also found a tea service and a velvet-lined, mahogany chest of silverware.
“This is great stuff,” she enthused, reaching into the depths of the chest.
“Be careful feeling around in there,” Zach advised. He reached to the very back of the trunk and pulled out a long, silver object. Rising, he revealed a sheathed sword. He took a step back and withdrew the blade.
Abigail turned, taking the burden off her knees by sitting down. She leaned against the side of the trunk as she gazed up at the sharp, jeweled-hilt sword. It was pretty impressive. Then again, it might be the man brandishing it who was impressive. “That would go great on the restaurant wall.”
He stepped back, swishing the blade through the air. “Lord Ashton…” He whistled. “What did you get up to?”
Abigail chuckled. “I hope we find a diary, or some letters or something. I’d love to know more about these people. Hey.” She had a sudden idea. “What if we used an old-English-script motif for the menus? We could go with parchment and leather bindings.”
“Sure,” he agreed, carefully replacing the sword in its sheath. “We’ll do them however you want.”
She couldn’t help feeling pleased by his approval.
He set the sword aside and again peered into the crate. “Here we go.”
“What is it?”
“The other sword. It’s a matched set. I guess when you challenge someone to a duel, you’re obligated to offer evenly matched weapons.”
“Or it could be a spare,” she reasoned. “Do you think Lord Ashton had a shield to go with them?”
“Not in this trunk.” It was obvious they’d come to the paper-lined bottom. “But let’s open another.”
Nine
Zach watched Abigail’s slow smile as, one by one, she unveiled the watercolors they’d discovered behind a canvas sheet against one wall of the north tower. He was content to stand back and observe her reaction to the paintings. Time had slipped away while they worked. Midafternoon, and they were now surrounded by treasures both valuable and absurd. He had no desire and no intention of reminding her that it was getting late.
She favored her left hand as she awkwardly lifted one of the larger paintings. He quickly stepped up and took it away, positioning it so that she could get a better look. It was the view from the cliff beyond Lord Ashton’s statue, a man standing in the foreground on a sunny summer day, with Lake Patricia and its two small islands as the backdrop.
“Whoever painted these did a really good job,” Abigail observed.
Zach squinted down in front of himself, trying to make out the scrawled signature in the bottom corner. “E. Ashton.” At least that’s what it looked like to him.
Abigail stepped around the clutter on the floor, dusting off her jeans with one hand as she moved. “E. Ashton,”
