Bones and Roses by Eileen; Goudge Read Free Book Online

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    Twenty minutes later I’m turning onto the private drive to the Trousdale estate, fifteen miles south of town in the village of La Mar. I think about the less-than-cozy family reunion in store for Bradley Trousdale, which in turn leads to thoughts of my brother. I dread breaking the news to him about our mom. Arthur’s brain isn’t wired like other people’s; it has no shock absorber—in stressful situations he tends to shut down. There’s no telling what this could do to him.
    The drive meanders for a half mile through landscaped grounds maintained by my boyfriend, Daniel. The setting sun casts a sparkly net over the ocean visible in the distance. Minutes later I’m pulling up in front of the house, a sprawling cedar and glass structure. Inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs, it’s built to blend with the landscape rather than dominate it; from a distance, partially hidden by the surrounding greenery, it’s barely distinguishable from the bluff on which it sits. The wraparound deck and floor-to-ceiling picture windows offer unobstructed ocean views from every angle. It’s so quiet out here that when I pull to a stop and cut the engine, there’s only the sound of the wind blowing off the ocean, whistling amid the rock formations.
    Daniel occupies the smaller of the two guest cottages. Small being a relative term: each one boasts a fireplace, galley kitchen, and bedroom. I don’t see his Jeep in the driveway, so he must still be at work. He has a part-time job, as research assistant to Professor Gruen, the head of the marine biology department, in addition to his teaching position, which means he often works until late in the evenings. I don’t know much about the research, except that it has to do with the nervous system of lobsters; I only know I’m the happy beneficiary of the by-product. Daniel makes a mean lobster bisque.
    I let myself in the front door of the main house with my key, but when I go to punch in the passcode, I notice the system is disarmed. The housekeeper must’ve forgotten to set it when she was leaving earlier today. I make a mental note to speak to Lupe about it. Luckily no harm was done. I see no evidence of a forced entry. The house is silent, the only sound the squeaking of my rubber soles against the tiled floor as I make my way down the hall.
    I pause on the threshold of the great room, but I don’t notice its majestic proportions or open-beamed cathedral ceiling, Mission-style furnishings, and museum-quality artwork. It’s the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows that draws my eye. It’s like I’m standing on a ship’s deck with the ocean all around me. The sun is setting, the sky along the horizon painted with brushstrokes of gold and coral. Breakers roll in toward the cliff below the house. It’s a shame the Trousdales don’t get to enjoy it more often, but I can’t say I mind having it all to myself. Especially feeling as I do now, like my head is about to split open and I’ve been stripped of my skin.
    In the kitchen, with its acres of granite countertop and center island ringed with hanging copper pots, I grab a vase from the walk-in pantry. I fill it with water and arrange the remaining flowers from Trader Joe’s, then head for the largest of the two guest suites. Bradley Trousdale isn’t due to arrive until tomorrow, which is why I’m startled by the sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom as I enter the room. I see no evidence of a newly arrived houseguest. No clothes in the closet, no luggage even, just the frayed and filthy backpack on the floor by the king-sized bed. In that moment all I can think of is the recent break-in at one of my other properties, where I arrived after having been alerted by a neighbor to find the intruder, a homeless man, in the kitchen making himself a sandwich. My heart starts to pound. My shot nerves are humming like a