CHAPTER 1
Hallelujah! One more consultation, and I was free. The double-sided gate to Raymont Manor stood open. It had been almost four decades since I'd last driven the winding tree-tunneled lane to the big house, which looked more like a castle with its red brick, turrets, and ivy than a house. The manor sat nestled on its own private lake in St. Joseph County just across the one and a half-lane road from LaPorte County in Northern Indiana.
"Whew, Sampson, we are good so far. No dead bodies." I said to the chocolate Labrador Retriever puppy beside me as the black wrought-iron gate appeared in my rear-view mirror. His nose was plastered to the slightly opened window sniffing every available scent. No bodies, what a relief. A huge relief.
To my right, the sun glistened off paper-thin ice patches on Raymont Lake. The old rope swing twisted in the slight breeze. Oh, how I had loved that swing. It beckoned my inner child to play, but my dashboard thermometer read 50 degrees in early March. Much too cold to swing out over the water.
A white bunny hopped into the middle of my path, shaking his little head. Sampson responded with a low growl and slapped my arm with his tail.
“Thanks, Sampson. I so needed that.”
I was late. I was always late. Not because I didn't plan, but I was always lost. GPS and I had issues. It never knew where it was, and it hated me. I'd tried using my phone and all the portable devices on the market. No dice. GPS and I were not meant to be together.
This time, I thought I knew where I was going. This time, I thought I’d arrive on time. I was sooo wrong.
But, I was only thirty minutes late. And I had texted Bonnie, Crescent Homescaping's scheduler, to ask her to notify Mr. Raymont.
Would Mr. Raymont remember me after all these years? How was I going to explain to him I was late because I'd gotten lost? As children, he’d lectured his daughter and me about the importance of punctuality. I remembered the lesson. What could I say? Universal forces conspired against me.
Rounding the last twist, the Manor came into view. I'd been here dozens of times, but I was twelve, and four decades later, the state moved the roads. Roads are supposed to be permanent things. Something you can count on. Stable, always there for you. Yes, there is always road construction, but typically, they don't move whole road groupings. This time, they had.
I stopped the car in front of the manor's grand entrance. Funny, in my decades as a Feng Shui Practitioner, I'd worked on some extravagant houses. Double, triple, even quadrupled the price. I expected Raymont Manor to look small, but it still held the same wide-eyed wonder from my youth. Pieces of glorious memories darted across my mental screen, and a smile and happy tears found a place on my face. Raymont Manor held my best childhood memories.
Back then, the twenty-minute trip from our house in Abracadabra, Indiana, to The Manor felt like hours, but when my parent's or grandparent's car pulled to the door, Lizzie, her mom, and Mr. Raymont were always outside to greet me before the car stopped.
Today, the front door remained closed. Mr. Raymont didn't know that Faith from Crescent Homescaping was Little Faith Bracken, who used to sit in the middle of his workbench chattering away.
The woman exiting her rented Mercedes in his driveway was now fifty-plus and the top consultant at the exorbitantly priced New York, Santa Barbara, and L.A. Homescaping firm. I scanned the front landscaping and climbed the wheaten-colored stone steps to the massive front castle door. Hmm. They'd installed a Ring Doorbell. Technology had invaded history. I liked the old one better. It had an ominous sound. Reminded me of a doorbell Lurch should answer.
No answer.
Hmmm.
Not good.
The Mr. Raymont I remembered was not the type to blow you off. If he were angry because you were late, he'd let you know in about three words. If he was glad to see you, everybody—friend or soon-to-be friend—received a big bear hug.
Maybe he was out back. He'd always had a workshop in the backyard. It smelled of sawdust and his unique mixture of varnish.
Should I walk around back? I was surprising him.
Because my schedule consisted of stops in Florida, Nashville, Indianapolis, and Chicago, our scheduler had placed Mr. Raymont on my calendar at the last minute. I didn't tell Bonnie Mr. Raymont was an old friend. The less Gabby-Mouth knew, the better.
In exchange, Bonnie moved the Chicago client to my nemesis in the company. Fine with me, I needed to escape on vacation. I was never coming back. But Gabby-Mouth didn't need to know that. No one needed to know that yet. I was done.
Anyhow, I didn't often get to work for people from my childhood. Mr. Raymont was my second since I'd joined the company decades ago. I followed the sidewalk around the house. They'd added two Orangeola Weeping Japanese Maples to the yard since I'd been here last. Nice touch. I highly approved. Yard and Garden Feng Shui are my specialties, but I'm fluent in all aspects of Feng Shui. Over the years I'd been in the business, I'd developed my own special style.
I scanned the pool area and back terrace. No Mr. Raymont. Where was the ubiquitous housekeeper and gardener? I'd never been to The Manor when there wasn't at least a few house staff here.
"Mr. Raymont," I yelled.
No answer.
I knocked on the door of his woodshop. A machine ran inside. I knocked again. No answer. He probably couldn't hear over the machine's noise. I opened the door. Mr. Raymont's body thudded at my feet. So much for no dead bodies.
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