Dark Echo

Chapter 6

December 15, 2014, Alcott EstateThe tap of fingernails on laptop keys resound throughout the sizable master suite, as Laura Alcott delete tons of junk email accumulated while on assignment in Maine. Annoyed, she considers deleting all, but fears she'll erase important messages. Sitting with her laptop in the four-poster bed, surrounded by soft pillows and textures, Laura wants nothing more than to relax in the comfort of her space. However, disassociating emotions from her last assignment, the beautiful interior design for the 2015 sweepstake home, is challenging.

After months of watching her designs come to fruition, the beautiful Maine home was hard to abandon. And as usual, like every assignment she's completed, separation anxiety will subside when a lucky sweepstake winner claims the new home. Laura diverts her yearnings back to reality. The reality of a widow, she thinks while rubbing the empty space that once cushioned her husband. Quickly, she focuses on her present life.

The reality of a widow,Home for two weeks, she ponders the approaching Christmas holiday and her plans for Christmas Eve with the girls. Sammie, her Bichon Frise, sitting at the bottom of the bed glares expectantly with sporadic barks at the laptop. Laura recognizes that face. Sammie knows the laptop means less attention for him. “Just a minute Sammie, I'm almost done,” she placates and brushes her well-manicured toes against his white fur.

Appeased for a moment, Sammie stops barking and lowers his head on her ankle. With the sullen expression, a stab of guilt invades Laura's mind. Look at those sad eyes. She ponders the many months away from him and can't bear ignoring him any further. Resolute, she closes the laptop. “This can wait.” With the click of the latch, Sammie's head pops up with an inquisitive stare. “Come on Sammie, let's get some breakfast.”

Look at those sad eyesJumping off the bed, Sammie follows Laura to the staircase, hopping and pausing between leaps. Laura turns around with a chuckle and scoops him up, making her way down the long, winding staircase. At the stairwell, crystal inlays on the large floor medallion twinkle, catching light from the chandelier. Respecting the Alcott family crest, she veers around the colophon as she always has. Something about the symbol is so sacred. She's noticed over the years every home owned by the Alcotts contains this medallion—even the Sweepstake Dream Homes.

“It's a family thing,” her husband Daniel had revealed their first night in the home. She remembers his warm, engaging voice as he explained in detail. “The symbol represents a harmonious balance between heaven and earth.” Circling the outline, he'd deferentially stated, “The three symbols—circle, square, and triangle—together represent the persistent effort required to achieve a supreme goal.”

It's a family thing“The symbol represents a harmonious balance between heaven and earth.”“The three symbols—circle, square, and triangle—together represent the persistent effort required to achieve a supreme goal.”This always fascinated Laura. Over the years, she'd learned the espoused symbol belongs to the Gowan women, her ancestors. Curious about the medallion, she'd researched and studied the importance of the combined symbols. The circle represents a sacred space of unity, wholeness, and female power. The square symbolizes a quest to find one's true path in the world. And the triangle's three points signifies the past, present, future—mind, body, and soul, and the process of growth, and attainment of spiritual transformation.

As she makes her way past the stairwell, the home's sweltering heat sends her veering toward the thermostat. She lowers the temperature then circles to the back door of the veranda—letting in the warm breeze off Charleston's Harbor. A strong gust rushes through the door, brushes her face, and ruffles Sammie's fur. He squirms and leaps from her arms, scampering with delight onto the veranda. For an instant, Laura glimpses the multicolored skyline inspiring sensations of a new day and new possibilities. She watches Sammie scamper to the backyard, running around trying to catch the breeze. If only life were as simple as that.

If only life were as simple as thatDown the hallway, at the main entrance, Laura hears a male voice say, “Thank you.”

Jennie, the maid, responds, “Have a good day.”

A few seconds later, gravel crunches under a vehicle moving down the private road. Jennie pauses at the kitchen, unsure whether to stop or continue down the hallway. “Good Morning, Mrs. Alcott,” she says in a high-pitched voice, which sounded like a question rather than a greeting.

“Good morning, Jennie. Who was at the door?”

“Ma'am, Rob from Janelle Launderette made his usual weekly pickup.”

“Oh, Jennie, that's right. Time is going so fast I can't keep up with the days,” Laura says with a smile. Laura loves the sound of maids in the home, even though they work only half a day. However short, Laura feels more secure hearing someone else in the vast estate.

Laura senses Jennie still standing behind her and pictures her eyes transfixed in a daze. She feels Jennie's unease and hears her thoughts of not wanting to intrude on her privacy.

Why can't the girl learn to relax?

Why can't the girl learn to relaxLaura hired Jennie because she adores her innocence and admires her sincerity. Her youthful insecurities remind Laura of her own at twenty. She realizes motherly instincts overshadows her role as employer, but she can't help feeling protective of Jennie. Again, Jennie's queries fill Laura's mind.

Her face is so flawless and fresh in the morning. She couldn't possibly be a natural strawberry blonde. All the Gowan women are brunettes. Well, she's nothing like the wealthy women I've worked for, so humble and sweet. Is she truly clairvoyant?

Her face is so flawless and fresh in the morningShe couldn't possibly be a natural strawberry blonde. All the Gowan women are brunettes. Well, she's nothing like the wealthy women I've worked for, so humble and sweet. Is she truly clairvoyant?Laura considers replying, but instead, she turns, interrupting her reverie. “Jennie, I'm so glad to have you here. You've been invaluable the last two years. I hope you realize that. I don't know what I'd do without your help.”

Realizing she's been gawking, Jennie states bashfully, “Thank you, ma'am,” and rushes down the hallway.

Tickled by Jennie's obvious embarrassment, a grin rushes across Laura's face. She's caught her staring on several occasions and understands Jennie's interest in the Alcott family and the Gowan gift. It always makes her laugh knowing her Gowan bloodline causes such curiosity in the maids. Their inquisitiveness doesn't bother her. On the contrary, she tries to ease their concerns. She refuses to be the boring, privileged-socialite cliché she's met over the years—only concerned with money and prestige. Born of a different cloth—the Gowan blood—she never tolerates the spoiled, pampered women she's seen around Charleston.

However, piqued by Jennie's musings, Laura glances across the hallway at her reflection in the mirror—not a strand of hair out of place. At forty-five, Laura is grateful the wrinkles she's seen on women of her persuasion and age have yet to appear. With not a drop of makeup, her skin is flawless. She throws herself a wink, pushes hair behind her ears, and studies her face from side-to-side. “Hmmm, you're a perfect Southern Belle,” she mumbles, then chides her vanity with a shake of her head.

Southern Belle, yes indeed, she affirmed. Laura loves her Southern roots and Charleston's lifestyle. Although well-traveled, she can't imagine living anywhere else. But Laura always ponders the ease in which she acquired her wealth. Born of modest financial means, she married into one of Charleston's wealthiest families. Unexpectedly, affluence found her.

Southern Belle, yes indeedLaura wanders out of the kitchen through a separate hall leading to the pantry. She recalls the disorientation she'd felt the first day in the Alcott estate. The hallways are so tricky and disjointed; one wrong turn can lead to a separate wing of the home or to another hallway leading to other corridors. In the long, well-stocked pantry, she browses rows of bagged, bottled, boxed, and can goods. Laura's mind roams to the day she'd become lost in the corridors, blushing at embarrassment she'd felt venturing from one hallway to the next in search of the kitchen. All the while, she'd called out to Daniel, as a clue to her whereabouts. How stupid she'd felt when he'd rescued her from the maze. Daniel appeared red-faced and apologetic for laughing at her confusion.

Laura married the man of her dreams and raised her beautiful daughter Callie in this home. Now, twenty-three years later, she can't believe this all belongs to her. She grabs a box of cereal from the pantry and glances at the sharp turn made years ago. The enduring memory reminds her of what she's lost. She peers at her bare feet taking, familiar, sharp steps into the kitchen. Ghostly sounds greet her from the past—metallic rattle of pots and pans, utensils clanking on plates, and happy chatter of Daniel and Callie enjoying countless homemade meals. The many hours spent with her family around the kitchen island, are now long gone. Their favorite spot, the beautiful kitchen, is desolate without them. At the island, she pauses wistfully. The humming stainless steel refrigerator and gurgling coffee pot never sounded as loud as they do now. Laura's heart sinks, and she aches a little more.

Obliviously, Laura pours cereal into the bowl, while recalling the first time she'd met Daniel. Till this day, she wonders why the Alcotts hired her fresh out of school. Of all the established Interior Designers in Charleston, why had they chosen me? She couldn't believe her first commissioned assignment was with Daniel Alcott—a prominent architect. She recalls the nervousness she'd felt whenever their eyes met. Instantly, she'd sensed his attraction. All his thoughts and emotions flooded her mind and body. His steamy sentiments had caused her to blush and made concentration incredibly difficult. One day, she'd said flippantly, “Now how do you expect me to get any work done with all your gawking?” Daniel, caught off-guard, stammered inaudibly and walked away. She'd laughed when he turned like a pup with his tail between his legs. She'd made the mighty Daniel Alcott stammer.

Of all the established Interior Designers in Charleston, why had they chosen me?“Now how do you expect me to get any work done with all your gawking?”Daniel believed Laura's nervousness stemmed from efforts to impress him with her designs. But he'd failed to realize it was both his prominence and strong attraction that aroused her, although she hadn't let on. Laura played ignorant of his attraction and feigned the eager designer, merely looking for approval. A year after they married, he'd confessed, “Laura, I cared less about the interior design. I was so captivated by your charm, you could have painted the house black, and I wouldn't have objected.” Of course, Laura already knew. A month after completing the assignment, Daniel's family secured her a position at AHD. Several years later, they granted one of their prime real estates as headquarters.

“Laura, I cared less about the interior design. I was so captivated by your charm, you could have painted the house black, and I wouldn't have objected.”A whipping breeze rushes through the French doors. The glass panes vibrate under its strength, reminding Laura of nature's cruelty. She closes her eyes, remembering the terrifying hurricane two years ago when Daniel tried to make it home. “So stupid of you, Daniel,” falls off her tongue. She's still angry with his hapless decision but feels partially responsible for his actions that fatal day. She's recounted their brief conversation many times, wishing she'd been more forceful and fearless of being alone during the storm.

“Laura, don't worry; you're safe. I'll be home shortly.”

“Laura, don't worry; you're safe. I'll be home shortly.”Laura remembers listening to the weather report as she'd spoken with Daniel on the phone. “Daniel, the weather channel says the hurricane won't hit land for a while, but I still believe you shouldn't drive home.”

“Daniel, the weather channel says the hurricane won't hit land for a while, but I still believe you shouldn't drive home.”“I'll be al'right, honey. I've driven in storms worse than this. Besides, the drive is only thirty minutes from the office.”

“I'll be al'right, honey. I've driven in storms worse than this. Besides, the drive is only thirty minutes from the office.”“Daniel, are you sure—”

“Daniel, are you sure—”“Laura, stop worrying,” he'd retorted, unwilling to listen to her concerns. “I'll see you soon. Batten down the hatches for me, darling.”

“Laura, stop worrying,”“I'll see you soon. Batten down the hatches for me, darling.”She'd perceived his doubt but hadn't stopped him. If only I could go back in time and change his actions. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten in the car if I'd been more persistent. He might still be alive.

Maybe he wouldn't have gotten in the car if I'd been more persistent. He might still be alive.Laura stares beyond the great oak and palmetto trees, toward the boathouse, remembering the storm like it happened yesterday. Coastal winds lashed about the home and century-old oak trees bowed under its pressure, bumping against the walls. The boat heaved with choppy waters and tidal winds, banging a dull drum on the boathouse. Alone in the home, she'd listened to eerie winds wail like human voices through crevices. Frighten from the hurricane's force, she'd curled beneath the flannel throw praying Daniel would make it home. For an eternity, she'd sat by the fireplace, watching flames cast shifting shadows along the walls, and trying to dispel ominous warnings.

Seconds and minutes crept by as she'd listened for crunching gravel and watched for shining headlights on the private road. With every noise, she'd rush to the window, staring at the driveway. A vestige of fear, an instant pain, slowing breath, and then blackness gripped her senses. She'd felt the impact of the car tumbling off the road and the tree as it squashed the car, killing Daniel instantly. The moment his life slipped away, she'd sensed his last breath and lay motionless, hoping the storm would take her with him. Twenty-one years of a blissful marriage cut short by a hurricane.

Laura closes her eyes and whispers into the air, “Daniel, I can't believe it's been two years without you,” as if he were in the room.

Wistfully, Laura swirls the spoon around the cereal bowl. Leaning over the kitchen island, she sighs and thrusts thoughts of Daniel from her mind. Through the massive dining room windows, beyond the boat dock, and across Charleston's Harbor, she fixes her gaze on the horizon. A horizontal shade lifts with sunrise, revealing Charleston's Battery Promenade and historic homes glistening along the waterfront. In the distance, long spiraling steeples of the Holy City—St. Matthews and St. Michaels—dot the skyline, protecting the city from harm. With a piercing squint, she detects the Pink Lady shimmering among historic homes.

Laura loves this view of Charleston and begins most mornings staring at the harbor. She recalls the moment Daniel blindfolded, guided, and positioned her in front of the massive windows. When he'd removed the blindfolds, Laura gasped at the treasure bestowed her. Instantly, she fell in love with the home and gorgeous views beyond.

On their wedding day, Marion and Anson Alcott gave Daniel the keys to their sprawling estate as a marriage gift. Laura still hears Marion's words and sensed she'd known of her and Daniel's special bond long before they'd met. Laura recalls her surprise when Marion reached skillfully in her bag and placed the keys in Daniel's hand. Laura had heard the words in Marion's mind before they escaped her lips.

“Fill this house with warmth and magic.”

“Fill this house with warmth and magic.”Shocked by the Alcott's generosity, she'd stood frozen, mouth agape, and a stupid expression of astonishment on her face. Twenty-three years later, she's still living in this massive twenty-thousand square feet palatial home, situated on fifteen acres with one-hundred-eighty-degree waterway views of downtown Charleston. How will I manage here alone? With thirty rooms, four separate wings, plus the carriage house, Laura realizes the house is too immense for just her and Sammie. She's considered selling many times. However, thoughts of Daniel and his love for the home prevent her from doing so. She swears Daniel's presence is still in the house. How can she possibly sell it? Their history is here. The thought of selling is unbearable. Besides, Callie gets so obstinate whenever she mentions putting the house on the market.

How will I manage here alone?How can she possibly sell it?She still hears Callie's adamant cry several weeks ago when she'd broached the topic. “No, no, no mom! You can't. This is our heritage. Dad wouldn't approve of complete strangers living here.”

“No, no, no mom! You can't. This is our heritage. Dad wouldn't approve of complete strangers living here.”Although Callie is grown with a small place of her own near the University, regularly, she runs back home, finding security and comfort in the place she grew up. The Alcott estate will always be their heart which makes selling it excruciating.

Sammie's sharp bark startles Laura from her reverie. She's surprised he's inside so soon. He jumps up and down on her leg and circles his bowl. “You hungry, darling?” Laura opens the cabinet and pulls out a can of his favorite food. “There you go, boy,” she muttered, filling his bowl.

Watching Sammie eat, she's surprised he's grown so fast. He was just a pup when she left for her last assignment. Marion fed you well while I was gone, she thought. Laura recalls Christmas a year ago when Callie pulled a tiny, white puppy out of her bag. “Mom, you need company in this home. I thought about getting you a bigger dog, but I know you've always loved this breed.” Laura fell in love with Sammie immediately. She dreads the thought of leaving him for her next assignment, wishing it possible to bring him along. Thank goodness for Marion Alcott's love of animals. She welcomes Sammie until she returns.

Marion fed you well while I was gone“Mom, you need company in this home. I thought about getting you a bigger dog, but I know you've always loved this breed.”Down the hallway, Laura hears Jennie humming a tune. The washer and dryers swirl and bang. White noise drones from the vacuum cleaner in another wing. The cacophony of housecleaning noise is disturbing. Collecting her coffee from the granite island, she heads to the foyer, collects the morning paper Jennie left on the sideboard and escapes to her office in the old guest wing at the far end of the home. At a distance from the rest of the house, it seems separate, its own contained space.

Down the long hallway, Laura strolls barefoot in her silky blue pajamas. At the end of the hall, a light glows brightly through the window. She stares admiringly; failing to realize the sun never shines through windows at the northern end of the home. Oblivious, and lost in thoughts of Daniel, she ignores this fact. Down the stairs to the ground level, she enters a long, narrow corridor of windows and stone-tiled floors. Five large hanging glass cloche pendants light the area. Windows run along the entire corridor, providing views of the swimming pool, and the guesthouse. Laura loves the way natural light floods the hallway during the daytime, however, at night the passage is frightening. She laughs at childish thoughts of ghost and ghouls lurking in the dark—fears embedded from countless horror movies watched as a child. At night, the corridor brings back those images as darkness turns the interior view inside out. She believes some ungodly figure glares from the opposite side of continuous glass panels. Most nights, she rushes through the corridor to her office.

Arriving at two massive barn doors, she slides them open to a large white room with a sparkling chandelier and floor to ceiling windows running corner to corner. The room's white walls and furnishings accented with blue, red, and tan stimulates her creative mind. Standing at the threshold, she stares beyond French doors framing oak trees, lush gardens, and Charleston's waterways. The room appears part of the outdoors.

Pensively, Laura glides to the sitting area across from her desk and flops onto the white sofa adjacent to the fireplace. Calm tinged with sadness invades her mind, but the feeling is fleeting. Before long, restless and bored, she'll deliberate how to fill her vacation days—unable to bear sitting around idly twiddling her fingers. She places the coffee cup and newspaper on the large oak coffee table and rests her eyes on the blue velvet chair directly across from her. Blue velvet, a vestige of her childhood, always soothes her. She remembers the blue velvet throw she'd cuddled as a child. The blanket's protective warmth forever calmed her anxious mind.

Over the fireplace, the painting reminds her of another incredible day with Daniel. It seems only yesterday she'd dragged him to a yard sale, where they'd found an abstract painting lying among various artworks. The moment she'd noticed the enigmatic painting, she'd visualized it hanging on the walls of her office. Daniel thought the painting odd but approved when he saw the colors in the white room. “You have a good eye, Laura. I wouldn't have chosen this painting for your office, but it works,” she hears Daniel say in a rich, honey-laced voice she loved.

“You have a good eye, Laura. I wouldn't have chosen this painting for your office, but it works,”Across the room, Laura stares at the lengthy white seesaw desk and the blue velvet wing-back chair. She smiles at the framed picture of Daniel and Callie shadowed by red and white stripes of Morris Island Lighthouse, sparkling in the background. That was a perfect day.

That was a perfect dayWith the coffee cup suspended to her lips, she steps toward her desk. At the barn doors, an apparition of Daniel bringing her coffee appears, turns, and then fades through the entrance. Memories of him flood the room—a shadow of him on the couch, standing at the fireplace, everywhere watching over her. Finally, she takes a delayed coffee sip and glances at Dream Home 2015 sketches lying cluttered on her desk. She's not ready to file them away just yet and lingers momentarily on another accomplishment.

She stacks them neatly, and then thoughts of Daniel, toasting champagne to the 2012 Sweepstake Dream Home, enter her mind. “To another successful project and my beautiful wife,” rings in Laura's ears. A much-needed tear escapes, falling to the corner of her mouth. Does this get any easier? “Okay, Laura, get a grip.”

To anothersuccessful project and my beautiful wife,”Does this get any easier?Laura grabs the Post and Courier; removes the rubber band and unfolds the newspaper with an instant sigh of admiration. The Alcott Foundation made the front page again and “Another donation,” she mumbles. Remembering Daniel's fondness for his parents, she smiles at the picture of Anson and Marion Alcott sitting in the backyard of their massive estate in downtown Charleston. Casually dressed in a navy dress, Marion sits in a lounge chair next to Anson wearing similar colors as if they'd coordinated their attire. Wrinkles in both their faces set deeper than she remembers, but she still sees features of their younger years. They will never age in her eyes. She wonders if Daniel would have aged the same as his father at seventy-five. Yes, he would have, she believes. Daniel was the spitting image of his father—tall, dark, and handsome. Everyone in Charleston recognizes the Alcott men's signature strong jaw, dark brown hair, and sky-blue eyes. They're unmistakable.

The Alcott Foundation made the front page again and. Yes, he would haveThe newspaper article speaks of the Alcott's wealth and yet another philanthropic gift of land for a new medical research facility. Callie will appreciate their donation. Her daughter's passion for medical research is tantamount to her love for her family. Laura never doubted her calling as a doctor. Now, after many years of watching her passion bloom, Laura can't believe her baby is a first-year medical student. Daniel would be so proud. Laura stares at the pile of sketches again. “Well, it's time to put away all things old.” But I will never discard memories of Daniel.

Callie will appreciate their donation.Daniel would be so proudBut I will never discard memories of Daniel.Opening the middle drawer of her desk, files spanning the last eleven years of Dream Homes greet her. She places sketches of the twelfth Dream Home in a new folder and inadvertently glimpses the Vermont Dream Home file. An unfamiliar pang nips at her senses. She runs her hands over the folders. “Ow!” escapes her lips. Blood oozes from her finger, smearing the folder a bright sanguine. “Darn,” she murmurs while searching for the culprit. A corkscrew staple sticks out of the folder. She examines her finger, wondering how such a small cut can be so painful and bloody. The sight of blood makes her queasy. She reaches for a tissue, wraps it gently, and watches the white tissue saturate a ruby red.

Irritably, eying the spiky staple, she pulls the Vermont folder from the drawer. Just as she does, the chandelier grows brighter, as if about to explode—casting an eerie glow around the room. The light bounces off the French doors, then onto the photo. For an instant, she thought she'd seen a figure. She swings her head toward the backyard, but nothing's there.

The chandelier grows dimmer then lighter. Unease settles in Laura's mind, overshadowing temporary pain. The bloody tissue falls to the floor, releasing a bullseye drop of blood on the Vermont home photo. A sudden tingle runs across her hand. A chill invades her spine. She takes another tissue and wipes the blood from the picture, leaving a smear of brown. She peers at the chandelier and deliberates its sudden brightness. With an immense fear of electrical fires, she wonders if she should have the wiring checked. Once more, she examines the Vermont file and then pushes it aside. Disquiet invades her mind.

Tom

Tom peers at his car hidden on the roadside, hoping no one notices specks of red through the bushes. Slumping low between sculpted shrubbery and a large oak tree, he hides and waits near Alcott Estate's massive gate. He's perturbed by Tara's appearance at AHD. His attempt to leave packages for the team foiled. But more so, he's bothered by her odd glare. Was it a glare of recognition?

Was it a glare of recognition?If she hadn't been on the piazza, his trip would be going as planned. At first, the idea of leaving packages with the receptionist seemed simple, but now he realizes it was a stupid move. He couldn't possibly go back to AHD. It's much too risky. His only choice is to leave packages inside the Dream Team's homes.

He studies the gate's height, certain there's no way to climb it. Outside the entrance, a big oak tree with broad branches, too high to climb will serve no purpose. On the other side, another large oak tree teases him with its long, oddly curved branches sitting closer to the ground. And he wishes the tree was on the opposite side. The only way in, he determines, is through the gate—to wait for a car to enter and rush through unnoticed. He studies the area carefully. The estate is in a secluded area—miles from the nearest home; no one will see him enter or leave the premises.

Waiting patiently, he realizes it could be a while before a vehicle enters or exits. Seeking the perfect angle, he wriggles awkwardly between tall, sculpted shrubs. The sound of crunching gravel signals an approaching vehicle. He turns swiftly, colliding with pointed limbs. Grimacing, he pushes the bush aside.

“Perfect timing,” he mumbles, noticing the brown van approaching down the private road. Tom prepares to move. Stealthily, on hands and knees, he inches closer to the gate, ready to crawl through when the vehicle passes. Janelle's Launderette Service is illustrated in big bold letters on the side of the van. They must have dropped off or picked up laundry at the estate, which means someone's home. The van comes to a complete stop, waiting for the slow-moving gate to open. Tom moves behind the wide oak tree, certain the driver can't see him. Finally, the van moves forward inch by inch as the gate opens slower than flower petals unfolding in sunlight. Before moving on the main road, the driver looks left then turns right, driving away from the estate.

They must have dropped off or picked up laundry at the estatehich means someone's home.In disbelief, Tom stares at the plodding gate, realizing he can walk right through before it closes. But before he does, he checks for cameras. “Well, that's unusual,” he mumbles, amazed the Alcott's would forgo surveillance around such a wealthy estate. “Big mistake,” he mumbles with a chortle. With haste, Tom examines his surroundings and cautiously saunters through the gate. Pondering the home's distance, he warily makes his way along the private tree-lined road, edging toward his destination.

At the front of the home, the private road ends in a circular pattern. Without trees or shrubbery to hide, he heads toward a brick path at the side of the home. A salty breeze greets him as he makes his way along the trail. Carved, granite stones lead to a boathouse on the waterfront, forking left behind the home toward a garden and a pond.

Choosing the left fork toward the backyard, he spies for interior access, when a reflection jolts an alarming step backward. Slowly, he peers around the corner through a facade of French doors. At the center of the room, Laura pulls a folder from her desk at the exact moment the chandelier flickers, casting light in his direction. Blinded, Tom squints at a familiar glow, the same radiance that had circled Tara McPherson at AHD's gate. Laura glances in his direction and Tom jumps back. Warily, he waits a few seconds and then peeps around the corner again.

He ponders Laura's odd expression as she stares at a folder. She fumbles for a tissue and then wipes something reddish from the file. Bothered by the odd glow surrounding her body, he heads to the west end of the home. On the veranda above, sits an open door. With ease, Tom enters a low lying gate near the back porch, wanders up patio stairs toward the kitchen entrance, and listens for the right moment to enter. All the while, he ponders the white light that had circled both Laura and Tara.

Laura

As she waits for the MAC to power on, Laura notices Sammie has found her in her favorite spot and moves to his usual spot beside her desk. He jumps onto a pillow three times his size, turns in several circles, lies in a ball, and settles his gaze on Laura. Clicking the envelope icon on her desktop, an email from Tara exclaims in large-capped letters, LAKE TAHOE!

“Lake Tahoe,” Laura murmurs, recalling ski vacations with Daniel in the region and luxurious mansions surrounding the Sierra Nevada Mountains. She already knows the Dream Home architecture will be Mountain style and visualizes an interior design to complement the new Tahoe home. “Laura, what are you doing? You're on vacation. Stop it now,” she chides and turns off the computer. She looks down at Sammie's big-eyed stare. “Not today, Sammie, we're going for a walk.”

The consummate Southern Belle, Laura wouldn't be caught dead without her makeup—even if she's only going for a stroll along the waterfront. Her hair and face must always be sheer perfection. Callie would laugh at her as usual, believing her mom looks beautiful without makeup. Raised in the ways of the old south, Laura always upholds her physical appearance, even in the privacy of her own home. “There's no telling when a guest will drop by,” she would tell her daughter. Laura often wonders how Callie blossomed from a tomboy into a beautiful young woman who's passionate about medicine, not fashion and makeup. Raising her eyebrows, she wonders how that happened.

how that happenedPreparing for Sammy's morning walk, Laura's forgotten the open door on the veranda. While she dresses in the east wing, Tom waits near the kitchen, listening for Laura's exit from the home. When he's certain she's gone, he enters quietly.