Prologue
Leslie Nakano had neverin her life done anything so impulsive and impetuous. By all rights—especially in light of what had happened in the last year—she should have been clammy and sick to her stomach as she signed the papers, transferring more than three-quarters of a million dollars out of heraccount.
Three-quarters of a milliondollars.
What was Ithinking?
But when the realtor handed Leslie the keys, she felt a rush of anticipation, freedom, and only the tiniest tingle of apprehension. After all, she still had a good chunk of money left from the sale of her managing shares of InterWorks. And if this new project of hers didn’t work out, she knew she could find anotherjob.
Not that she wanted to be back in the cutthroat corporate rat-race that was the world of technology, but if her dream didn’t come to fruition, she’d just drag herself back up, dust herself off, and move on to Plan B. Whatever that was. If nothing else, the last two years proved she was both resilient andresourceful.
But as she looked down at the handful of old metal keys, Leslie could no more tamp down the surge of excitement and delight than she could turn out the sun, for Shenstone House—the turn-of-the-century mansion she’d been in love with since she was a teen—was nowhers.
Located in quaint Wicks Hollow, on the west coast of Michigan, the brick mansion sported turrets, dormers, a widow’s walk, narrow winding staircases, and a wraparound porch—and now it all belonged to Leslie Nakano, the founder and former CEO of InterWorksCorp.
As she walked out of the realtor’s office in Center City, Philadelphia—seven hundred miles away from the biggest impulse purchase she’d ever made—Leslie drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Less than a year ago, she’d been a single, career-driven businesswoman, engineering the successful public offering of the technology company InterWorks…and unexpectedlypregnant.
She’d had a short fling with a colleague from Denver—meeting up a few times during conferences and other business travel—which was quite unlike her anyway. But she and Eric hadn’t been involved other than superficially and when it was convenient, and though he pressured her to marry him, sherefused.
Whether she would have ever regretted her decision, Leslie didn’t know—and never would find out, for at five months into the surprise pregnancy, on October 15, shemiscarried.
Even now, ten months after that awful day at the Bryn Mawr Hospital emergency room, a wave of grief washed over her at the memory. The baby had been a girl. She would have been named Ella, after Leslie’sgrandmother.
Maybe that was why Leslie decided to upend her life, give up—no,change—her career (she’d still have a career; just a different one), and move back to Michigan. Back to the beautiful west side of the state where she’d spent so many summers with Grandma Ella and Aunt Cherry. It felt right to start over, and to start overthere.
Thanks to the IPO for InterWorks, she had the money and resources—though certainly not unlimited—to invest in something she’d often dreamed of doing: a bed and breakfast in the small, trendy tourist town she remembered visiting a few times in her youth. Located barely an hour from Grand Rapids (the largest city on the “west coast” of Michigan), and several hours from Chicago, Wicks Hollow was a tourist destination from May throughSeptember.
Leslie had been intrigued by Shenstone House the moment she first saw it at age thirteen—which made her new purchase even more fulfilling. She felt as if she would be coming full circle, returning to the town of her summer memories for a softer, quieterlife.
Leslie hadn’t seen the house in person for more than two decades, but she was a shrewd businesswoman and had done her due diligence before making the purchase—at a well-negotiated price. She knew exactly what she was getting into. The place needed a lot of TLC, some renovations to keep its historical building designation, and some updating as well, but she was more than ready to dive in and give herself something new to focuson.
The fact that Shenstone House was supposedly haunted didn’t bother her in theleast.
One
Leslie washeadfirst inside an alcove in one of the bathrooms digging out old insulation and rotted drywall when something shifted and a bunch ofstuffcame tumbling down on her. Pieces of drywall, plaster, and insulation—fortunately, nothing really heavy, but it was a messnonetheless.
Coughing and rubbing the back of her head, she backed out of the crawlspace where some old pipes had been laid to run water for an ancient bathroom. It was the only one that had never been fully modernized, probably because it was in the farthest corner of Shenstone House and accessed only by a narrow hallway that led to the back—likely servants’ area—of the house. That was another reason the bath had never been updated. Whose servants needed hot running water, afterall?
Drywall dust coated Leslie’s shoulders, arms, and torso, and still hung in the air, waiting for a place to alight. She brushed ineffectively at the powder, coughed some more, and berated herself for not wearing eye protection because she knew better. Her baseball cap had kept most of the dust from her face, and of course she’d been wearing gloves and jeans, but she still had some grittiness in hereyes.
It had been a very busy month since she’d arrived in Wicks Hollow on the tenth of September and dug into her new life. She’d moved into her Aunt Cherry’s guest room for the first week—just until she made certain the house was livable and the wiring was up to code. It was, and since then, she’d been living in a comfortable bedroom suite just off the kitchen, which was where the previous owner hadlived.
It had taken working with contractors that first week, plus the help of her aunt and her aunt’s best friend Orbra, to do a major update on the living suite (which included a luxurious bathroom, bedroom, and small office/sitting area): a hardwood floor, freshly painted walls, and new hardware and vanity in the bathroom. But that cozy corner of Shenstone House, right off the kitchen, was now her little sanctuary amid the rest of the construction and renovation. Hopefully before spring, the rest of the house would be updated and ready to be lived in—or, more accurately, rented out as bed and breakfast rooms. Contractors had been coming and going erratically, but Leslie, who felt the need to be hands-on as well as keep herself physically busy, was doing a good portion of the demo and cleanup workherself.
She suddenly became aware of an irritated voice in thedistance.
“Helloooo? Anyonehere?”
She frowned and grabbed her cell phone from the table where she’d left it for safety, and saw five missed calls and two texts.Oh crap.It was the guy for the wrought iron on the stairs. She’d been waiting a week to get him in here. Who’d have thought a blacksmith would be so busy in this day andage?
“I’m here,” she called back, then coughed again as she began to hurry from the back of the house, creating a cloud of drywall dust around her likePigpen.
“Hello?” The voice was even less pleased now, and it sounded furtheraway.
“Wait! Don’t leave!” she shouted, pushing through the double maple doors that connected the kitchen and dining room. They swung back into place behind her with gusto and a pleasantsqueak.
“Ms. Nakano?” the man calledback.
