Page 10 of Before the Bond
ASHWOOD.
Chapter 3
Olivia
The Ashwood estate was as foreboding as it was old.
At the front was a dark, wrought iron gate covered in vines along its poles. Meanwhile, the manor sat at the end of a gravel lane that curled through a forest so dense the light came through in thin, sectioned pieces.
The place looked old. Colonial, maybe. Three stories of timber and dark stone, grown into the hillside behind like it had always been there. Moss grew along the stone foundation. The windows were large and dark, and the whole structure sat with its back against the mountain like it didn’t need to worry about what was behind it.
The Blackwater Tap folks weren’t exaggerating. I could definitely see why anyone would think this place was haunted.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I inched my car forward.
It was the morning after receiving the assignment.
My car was parked just outside the gate and there was no sign of anyone letting me in.
Daisy told me during the last bits of the phone call to head here as soon as I could. I contemplated messaging her, but as soon as I tried, the gate creaked open.
I jumped in my seat.
Haunted. Definitely haunted.
My eyes went to the far edge of the gate, where a woman in her forties stood in housekeeping attire. She waved at me from a distance and spoke into the wall, probably the intercom.
Seconds later, the gates swung even more open.
My car crept along the gravel road. Fortunately, it wasn’t as unattended to as the gate was.
Once I was parked, the woman nodded at me with a warm smile.
“You must be Olivia Cruz,” the woman said. “I’m Maureen. Welcome.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll find everything you need here,” Maureen said, ushering me and my belongings through the front door.
The exterior and the interior of the manor were like night and day. Inside, everything was polished wood — clean, well-kept, lived-in.
Art lined the walls. There were old, native tapestries. Others were portraits of people I didn’t know, but looked important.
As Maureen guided me along the halls, she continued speaking.
“The house tends to be quiet,” she said. “But there’s plenty to do. There’s a library upstairs, a lovely garden, and the kitchen is available at all hours.”
As she said the last part, we paused by an area leading to the back. A tall, broad-shouldered, older man entered.
“That’s Tomas,” Maureen pointed at him. “He’s the groundskeeper.”
Tomas greeted me with a stiff but not unfriendly nod.
I was still in the entryway with Maureen, getting the general layout of the ground floor, when footsteps came from the hallway to my left.
He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. He wore a loose shirt over a pair of lax trousers. His hair was a golden wheat color, his skin pale, and his eyes gentle. He grinned widely.
“Ah, you must be the nurse!” the young man said. “Please don’t be alarmed about the pale skin. I promise I’m not a ghost."
