Curious about what Weston Hall had looked like in its glory days, Erik turned to the internet. He found photos of the building over the years of its checkered existence, as well as its long-ago British namesake.
The Cape May version of Weston Hall bore only a passing resemblance to its English cousin, an odd combination of British estate with elements from Cape May’s Victorian and Edwardian opulence.
When Erik saw that Weston Hall had a narrow Tiffany-style arch over a main hallway, he felt certain he had found where the Commodore Wilson’s dome had been languishing all these years.
Bartolo probably intended to install the dome to build on the archway Weston Hall already had. But what if he sent it there and then didn’t live long enough to do anything with it?
Boxed in crates, the dome could easily be forgotten in the warehouse as the Weston became abandoned. No one would have known to look for it, and with the building left empty, the odds of being discovered by accident were slim. Erik hopedvandals hadn’t happened upon it, but the heavy crates might have seemed too boring to attract attention.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced Erik became that Weston Hall was a likely resting place for the missing dome. When he searched online for photographs, he found relatively recent drone footage that showed the warehouse behind the main building covered with vegetation, nearly invisible behind an overgrown lawn with a sagging chain-link fence to keep out trespassers.
Erik couldn’t wait to tell Ben about Weston Hall, but his call went to voicemail. Outside, the storm had grown worse, with the rain spattering against the windows in fat droplets, hitting hard enough it sounded like they could break the glass. Erik guessed that Ben had his hands full dealing with his property inspections and didn’t envy him the drive home.
A crack of thunder made Erik jump. Then the lights went out.
“Shit.” Erik took his laptop upstairs and got out enough candles to light the kitchen, glad that a gas stove meant he could at least make a hot dinner.
His phone rang, and he answered automatically, expecting a return call from Ben.
“We have him,” a gravelly voice said. “And if you want him back, you will follow my instructions exactly.”
SIX
BEN
“I’m cold, annoyed, and soaked to my skivvies,” Ben grumbled as he unlocked the next-to-last of the houses he and his assistant were checking. The ones he’d thought likely to have problems, he’d already inspected with his maintenance crew. It was off-season, so more of the rentals were unoccupied than during the summer, when tenants usually called to report problems. The week of heavy rain and high winds made leaks and damage that much more likely.
“We’ve been lucky that the damage is minimal,” Jenny replied. She had gone with him to help catalog what would need to be repaired. “We’ve had worse with other storms.”
They wore hooded rain slickers to avoid dealing with umbrellas as they went in and out of houses, but at this point their coats were too wet to be fully water-repellent. Cold rain soaked Ben’s face and ran down his neck. Good boots kept his feet warm and dry, but the rest of him felt cold and clammy.
“One more left after this,” Ben remarked. They made quick work checking for the most common areas for storm damage. The house had been cleaned since the last tenant, but a dog collar lay on the counter with a dangling license, name tag, and tracker.
“We should probably call and see if they want this back,” Ben said as he peered at the information on the license. He shoved the collar in his back pocket. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Do you mind handling the last house?” Jenny asked when they reached the door. “I’m supposed to call a prospective renter at four, and the paperwork is back at the office.”
“Go ahead,” Ben said. “I figured I’ll head home after I’m done. I’ll type up the damage report, and we can deal with that tomorrow.”
He waved as she got in her car, then crossed the street to the last rental house on the list. It was a cute cottage painted light blue with white filigree trim, not as large or fancy as some of the neighboring houses, but just right for a single renter or couple to spend a few months near the beach.
Mindful of Erik’s warnings that morning, Ben sized up the area, taking in parked cars and looking for anyone who didn’t belong. He had his pistol under his slicker, something he didn’t usually feel the need to carry, since Cape May had a low crime rate, especially during the quiet season.
He couldn’t help feeling jumpy, but nothing struck him as dangerous, and Ben chalked it up to cop nerves, a common side effect of hypervigilance.
Ben let himself into the house and locked the door behind him. He left his dripping slicker on the welcome mat and switched on the lights. They had done the outside checks on the property the previous day, leaving it to today to check inside the houses for evidence of leaks or water damage.
He headed to the second floor to check the small attic first. Nothing looked amiss, but Ben still couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong. He heeded his intuition and came downstairs with his gun in hand, sheepish when he faced an empty hallway.
Outside, thunder shook the house, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky through the windows. Ben couldn’t wait to get home and find out what Erik had learned from his research.
He checked the bedrooms, making sure no water had gotten in around the windows. Ben tensed at an eerie whistling sound, and relaxed when he realized it was just the wind whipping around the house.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a brilliant streak of lightning and a loud burst of thunder made him jump.
The lights went out.
Ben froze, not because of the sudden darkness, but because he picked up the faint scent of aftershave that hadn’t been present when he entered.
