Strangers in Paradise by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

together. And I’m sorry. I’m not patronizing you. It’s just usually so quiet out here that it’s hard to imagine...” His voice trailed away, and he shrugged again. “Come on, then.”
    Smiling, he offered her his hand. She hesitated, then took it.
    They returned to the hallway. Alexi nervously played the flashlight beam up the stairway. Rex grinned again and went to the wall, flicking a switch that lit the entire stairway.
    â€œGene did have a few things done,” he told her.
    There were only two other rooms on the ground floor—except for the little powder room beneath the stairway, which proved to be empty. To the right, behind the parlor, was the library, filled with ancient volumes and wall shelves and even an old running oak ladder reaching to the top shelves. Upon a dais with a wonderful old Persian carpet was a massive desk with a few overstuffed Eastleg chairs around it. Apart from that, the room was empty.
    They crossed behind the stairway to the last room—the “ballroom,” as Rex called it. It was big, with a dining set at one end with beautiful old hutches flanking it, and a baby grand across the room, toward the rear wall. Two huge paintings hung above the fireplace, one of a handsome blond man in full Confederate dress uniform, the other of a lovely woman in radiant white antebellum costume.
    Forgetting the intruder for a moment, Alexi dropped Rex’s hand and walked toward the paintings for a better look.
    â€œLieutenant General P. T. Brandywine and Eugenia,” Rex said quietly.
    â€œYes, I know,” Alexi murmured. She felt a bit awed; she hadn’t been in the house since she’d been a small child, but she remembered the paintings, and she felt again the little thrill of looking at people from another day who were her direct antecedents.
    â€œThey say that he’s the one who buried the Confederate treasure.”
    â€œWhat?” Alexi, forgetting her distant relatives, turned around and frowned at Rex.
    He laughed. “You mean you never heard the story?”
    She shook her head. “No. I mean, I’ve heard of Pierre and Eugenia. Pierre built the house. But I never heard anything about his treasure.”
    He smiled, locking his hands behind his back and casually sauntering into the room to look at the paintings.
    â€œThis area went back and forth during the Civil War like a Ping-Pong ball. The rebels held it one month; the Yankees took it the next. Pierre was one hell of a rebel—but it seems the last time he came home, he knew he wasn’t going to make it back again. Somewhere in the house he buried a treasure. He was killed at Gettysburg in ’63, and Eugenia never did return here. She went back to her father’s house in Baltimore, and her children didn’t come back here until the 1880s. Local legend has it that Pierre haunts the place to guard his stash, and the locals on the mainland all swear that it does exist.”
    â€œWhy didn’t Eugenia come back?”
    Rex shrugged. “He was a rebel. At the end of the war, Confederate currency wasn’t worth the paper it had been printed on. There was no real treasure. Maybe that’s the reason that Pierre had to come back to haunt the place.”
    Alexi stared at him for a long moment. There seemed to be a glitter of mischief in his eyes. A slow, simmering anger burned inside her, along with a sudden suspicion. “Sure. Those footsteps belonged to my great-great-great-grandfather. You will not scare me out of this house!”
    â€œWhat—?” He broke off with a furious scowl. “You foolish little brat. I’m not trying to scare you.”
    â€œThe hell you’re not! You want me out of here—God knows why. You don’t have to see me, you know.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I should leave now.”
    She lifted her chin. She wanted him to stay. She wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but someone alive had