“You’re done.” Declan put a hand on the man’s elbow and steered him toward the kitchen. In there, the place hummed with caterers and clanging dishes, the low lights casting the whole room in odd shadows.
Very odd shadows.
As he walked to the back door, Declan slowed his step when he saw the flickering kerosene lamps on the wall.
“Who lit these?” he demanded.
A black-clad waiter stepped next to him. “For authenticity,” he said. “It puts us in the mood.”
“Turn them off,” he demanded.
“Who the hell are you?”
“The next chief of the fire department,” he said, catching a glimpse of Bell going right up to the brass fixture to examine it like the lights might be part of the house purchase he was never going to make.
“But they work fine,” the waiter said.
Declan glared at him. “You do not light kerosene lamps in a hundred-and-twenty-year-old house. Do you understand how easily they could start a fire? Catch one bit of oil on one of these outfits, and someone could be engulfed in flames.”
The man drew back at the force of the words. “I’ll turn them off.”
“And leave them off.” Just then, he saw Bell disappear out the back door.
He waited a split second, then decided to follow, standing on the back step to watch the man skulk through the shadows to the other side of the house.
Where he crossed the patio to stand outside the sunroom.
The son of a bitch was going to come right back in, wasn’t he? Declan marched after him, the low-grade annoyance fully amped up to pissed-off now.
He found him on the patio, hands cupped against one of the French doors, peering inside the sunroom.
“Can I help you find the front of the house?” Declan said in a voice that left no doubt how he felt about the encounter.
“Gotta say, Mahoney.” He inched away from the glass and turned to Declan. “You’re the last person I thought would care about this house. On the contrary, I’d expect you’d like to see it burned to the ground.”
Some heat fired through his veins, but he didn’t say a word.
“I mean, if my study of Gloriana House’s history is right, then…a man named Joseph Mahoney died right on this spot. Wild guess—your father?”
Declan swallowed, tamping down a temper that rarely showed its face. “If you keep going to your right, Mr. Bell, you’ll see the driveway. Come on, I’ll take you.”
As he got closer, the other man stepped back.
“But think of it like this,” Bell said. “Sell me the house, and you marry the woman who owns it, and you get a nice big payoff for your grief.”
“Who the hell are you?” Declan demanded through a clenched jaw.
“I’m a history buff,” he said quickly. “And I’m a man madly in love with a woman who wants this house and everything in it. And I happen to be rich enough to get it for her. And I know you don’t want to live where—”
Declan got right in his face. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know people,” he said, undaunted. “And I suspect you can’t walk into that room…” He gestured toward the sunroom. “And not wonder what happened. I doubt you can stand under this overhang and not think about the moment he died. I’m sure you can’t sit in that sunroom on a nice day and not think about your father.”
Declan’s hands fisted into such tight balls he could feel his nails dig into his palms. “What is wrong with you?”
“I want this house.”
So he’d do and say anything to get it?
Declan took a quick step closer, grabbed the guy by the collar, and shoved his fist under his chin. “What you are is so far out of line, your head could snap. Or I might help it.”
“I want the house,” he mouthed the words. “And you want to be free of it. Why are you fighting it, my friend?”
“You’re not my friend. And you’re not welcome here.” Declan pushed him away. “Leave. Now.”
“Fine. But get this straight, pal. I get what I want, one way or another.” He started off in the direction of the driveway.
Digging deep, Declan forced himself to stare straight up at the overhang and imagine the sound and sight of it collapsing. The flare of sparks. The flash of fear. He could smell the smoke and feel the pressure on Dad’s gear. Did he burn? Did it crush him? Break a bone? Kill him instantly?
He took a slow, steadying breath, erasing the sensations.
It’s not the same. It’s not the same building.
But could he ever forget that? Could he so cavalierly say he’d live here with Evie?
For a long moment, he stood there, adrenaline dumping like a waterfall into his blood, his chest rising and falling with each pained breath. He could feel himself falling and falling…down to the dank, dark, awful place that consumed him.
The freaking basement.
He dropped his head back and rooted for the strength to grab hold of something, anything, and kick that door shut once and for all. For Evie. For the baby they would have. Yes, for this house that meant so much to her, her family, and his hometown. He needed to keep this house so dimwits like Bell couldn’t ruin it.
But the questions still echoed.
What had his dad seen that night? Why would he make a move without his partner? There were still so many unanswered questions. Questions he needed to at least try to answer.
He pulled out his phone, tapping the contacts to find Chief Winkler.
“Declan,” he answered with warmth in his voice. “I thought you were at the big party.”
“I am, but I want to take you up on your offer, Chief. I’ll take that list of everyone who was at the fire that night. I want to talk to them. I want to talk to them all. I have to know…” He swallowed hard. “I’ll take that list,” he finished.
“Will do, Dec.”
He hung up the phone and turned to head back to
