Ghosts

by Alexandra Ivy

Genres: Thrillers

Synopsis

From the New York Times bestselling author comes a tale of dark secrets and revenge centered around an exclusive boarding school in historic Salzburg, Austria. Will appeal to readers of suspense and fans of authors including Lisa Jackson, Iris Johansen, Kat Martin, and Lisa Childs.
 
Rayne Taylor found unexpected happiness at St. Cecilia’s. But all that came to a tragic end when her roommate, Natalie, committed suicide . . .
 
Only when Rayne finds a box of mementoes from that time does she realize how wrong she may have been about Natalie’s death—and how far someone will go to keep the truth from surfacing . . .

*Previously published in the collection Afraid

Release date: December 26, 2023

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 112

Sample

Shelton Taylor purchased the house in the early eighties, more as an investment than as a place to raise a family. The savvy businessman never made a decision that wasn’t calculated to improve his portfolio. Still, he’d allowed his ex-wife and daughter to live there even after he’d left Chicago to expand his business in Singapore.

Parking her van next to the curb, Rayne Taylor climbed out and studied the impressive structure. This had been her childhood home, but she always felt like a stranger when she came here. Maybe because her parents divorced when she was eight. Or because her mother had remarried a man who had no interest in children, and she’d been packed off to St. Cecilia’s School for Girls in Salzburg, Austria, by the time she was ten. Or because when she’d graduated from St. Cecilia’s she’d returned to the States to go to art school in New York City, and from there had spent the past ten years traveling around the country, painting the landscapes that captured her attention.

Her van was more a home to her than this sturdy structure.

With a shrug, Rayne climbed the steps to ring the bell. Several minutes passed and Rayne briefly wondered if her mother was still in bed. It was just past eight a.m. and the older woman never liked mornings. At last, there was the impatient click of stiletto heels on a marble floor and the door was yanked open to reveal a tall, painfully slender woman with bleached-blond hair pulled into a smooth knot at the base of her neck and an oval face that was carefully coated with layers of cosmetics.

Tami Taylor Jefferson might be fifty-five years old, but she was rabidly determined to appear thirty, no matter how much stretching, filling, and numbing she had to do to keep her skin smooth.

“Rayne.” The older woman’s green gaze narrowed as it roamed over Rayne’s black curls that tumbled carelessly down her back and the pale face with big, misty gray eyes that had never been touched with makeup.

“Hello, Mother,” Rayne murmured.

“I . . .” Tami cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Rayne held up the box that was wrapped in bright red foil. “I was passing through Chicago and I thought I would deliver my Christmas present.” She shrugged. “A couple of weeks late, but better than never.”

“Oh. Thank you.” The older woman stepped back, waving her hand toward the narrow foyer. “Come in.”

Rayne stepped over the threshold and paused to set the present on a side table before removing her heavy parka and tossing it on a chair. Her mother wouldn’t bother to open the gift. And even if she did, the delicate crystal ornament that Rayne had found in a charming art shop in Mexico would be shoved into a closet. The two women couldn’t be more different.

As if to emphasize the point, Rayne glanced down at her soft, handknit sweater and faded jeans. They were a direct contrast to Tami’s designer pantsuit and silk top. A wry smile touched her lips.

“Are you hungry?” her mother asked as a middle-aged woman in a gray dress and white apron appeared from the back of the foyer.

“No.”

Rayne emphatically shook her head. She never ate in front of her mother. Rayne considered herself a normal size, but Tami was obsessed with weight and over the years she’d hounded her daughter for being too “solid” or too “stout.” Thankfully, Rayne had never paid much attention to her mother’s chiding. She’d accepted she was a disappointment to Tami by the time she’d entered preschool to see other daughters with their mothers. They were never going to have a normal relationship.

“Tea or coffee?” Her mother continued her role as hostess.

“Not for me,” Rayne insisted. She didn’t intend to stay longer than necessary.

“That will be all for now,” Tami said to the housekeeper.

“Yes, ma’am.” The woman turned to disappear toward the back of the house.

“We’ll go into the sitting room.”

Tami didn’t wait for Rayne to agree as she headed through an arched opening into the long room that was dominated by the wall of windows that offered a view of the lake. Rayne arched her brows as she glanced around, her gaze skimming over the low, white sofas and matching chairs that were arranged on a white carpet with walls painted white. Even the brick fireplace had been whitewashed. It was as if someone had come through and sucked away all the color.

“You’ve redecorated,” she muttered.

“Yes.” Tami paced toward a glass coffee table to grab her pack of cigarettes. “I used LeChez. They’re supposed to be the best in the city.”

Rayne silently translated the best to the most expensive.

“It’s very . . . bright.”

A brittle smile touched Tami’s lips. “Mark says it’s a perfect backdrop for me.”

Mark Jefferson was Tami’s husband. The washed-up actor had a few minor roles in the late eighties, but his true talent was conning women into giving him money, gifts, and a bed to sleep in. He’d hit the jackpot with Tami. She’d not only been willing to share her bed, but she’d agreed to marry him so he could get his hands on the generous dividends she received from her shares in her ex-husband’s corporation.

“How is he?”

“Fine.” Tami lit her cigarette, her motions jerky, as if she was hiding some inner emotion. “He’s flying home from Los Angeles today.”

“Was he working?”

“Soaking up the sun. He claims that Chicago is colder than the arctic during the winter.”

Rayne grimaced. She’d forgotten how bitterly cold the city could be in January. “He’s not wrong.”

Tami took a deep drag, blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth. There was a tension around the older woman that made Rayne wonder if all was well between her mother and her younger, overly handsome husband.

“So why are you here?” Tami abruptly demanded.

Or maybe the tension was because her daughter had landed on her doorstep, she wryly acknowledged.

“I have a show next month. I brought my paintings so the gallery can frame and mount them.”

“Ah, yes.” A genuine smile touched Tami’s lips. She might not have motherly feelings for Rayne, but she was willing to take pride in the fact her daughter had become a world-famous artist. “I read the article about your exhibition in the Tribune. Do you want me to hold a reception here?”

Rayne shrugged. The reception was always the worst part of an exhibition. If it was up to her, she’d give it a miss. Unfortunately, the gallery owner insisted that she spend at least a few hours mingling with the guests.

“I think the gallery has already arranged something.”

“Of course.” The smile faded. “How long are you staying in town? I can have a room prepared.”

“Thanks, but I already have a reservation booked at the Drake. I’ll only be in the city for a night or two before moving on.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence settled between the two women. Rayne squashed a sigh. It was painfully familiar.

“If you don’t mind, I have something in the attic I’d like to get.”

Tami blinked. “The attic?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s been up there in years. I’ll send Mary to clean—”

“There’s no need,” Rayne interrupted. “I don’t mind a little dust.”

Tami wrinkled her slender nose, but she managed to avoid glancing down at Rayne’s jeans, which were clean but speckled with flecks of paint.

“What do you want up there?”

Rayne hesitated. She didn’t really want to answer. The past was something she firmly believed should be left where it belonged. Locked in a dusty attic. But over the past couple of weeks, she’d been plagued with a need she couldn’t shake. At last, she’d crawled into her van and driven from Nevada to Chicago, determined to clear her mind. She . . .