Death Lies Between Us (An Angel Falls Book 1) Read online

  “Wonderful,” Yvette says, “it is a pleasure to meet you. Lance is in his office. This way please.”

  The office we enter is similarly decorated, with the addition of a desk and a conference table. All heavy wood and all polished to a gleam. Yvette leaves us as someone opens a door at the far end of the room. He walks in and offers his hand to Jared.

  “Hey, how’s everyone doing? I’m Lance De’Lao. Did you find me all right? Castle Hill is pretty remote.”

  He shakes each of our hands as Jared introduces us.

  “It was no problem. Everyone knows where this place is. I’m Jared Crowson, my sister Juliana, Caleb Pomeroy, Derrick Brewer, and Dan Ross.”

  Lance De’Lao is young. That’s my first thought. I would be shocked if he were older than twenty-four, only a few years older than I am. With his dark olive skin, and his tousled black hair, he looks as if he spends a lot of time on the beach, or on a yacht. I feel a little better about my casual clothes since Lance is wearing jeans and a T-shirt like the rest of us, except Lance still manages to seem more refined around the edges. It could be the designer jeans, the perfect haircut, or the expensive shoes, but most likely it’s the combination of all the above. Not to mention the obvious fact — we’re standing in his multi-million dollar mansion.

  Caleb says, “How did you like our show at The Edge?”

  “You guys were tight. Great crowd. They were really into it. Your sound is perfect for my label.” Lance nods his head as he talks as if agreeing with himself.

  The guys nod with him. Everyone is smiling.

  “Yeah, we hope so,” Dan says.

  “You brought your equipment, right?” Lance asks.

  “Absolutely, just show us where to set up.” I can tell Jared is excited again. He bobs up and down on the balls of his feet, unable to contain all of his energy.

  “Fantastic.” Lance claps his hands together and then directs us toward the door he came through. “Let me show you the recording studio. Then I’ll show you where the stage is. Some friends and business associates will be watching with me this evening.”

  “Sounds cool,” Caleb says.

  Standing over a huge expanse of sound boards, covered with hundreds of knobs and dials, we peer through a thick glass window. A lone microphone stands in the midst of crimson padded walls. I try to picture my brother making an album in there and the image comes easily. I’m more and more impressed by the second. Jared has to feel like he has hit the music industry jackpot. By the look on their faces, I’d bet they’re about to wet themselves with excitement. This recording studio is what they dream about, awake or asleep. I try to get a better look at Jared’s face, but all I see is his stubby ponytail. I can hear him yakking with Lance at about a thousand words a second. He’s revved up. It should be a good session tonight. Jared’s energy is always contagious.

  Lance opens another thick door for us and we enter a short hallway which leads into what must have once been the castle’s ballroom. My eyes are drawn to the ceiling. The exposed timber-framed roof is at least thirty feet high. The wood beams are assembled to match the pointed arches of the windows and doors of the castle. It’s beautiful, but my mind tries to estimate how many trees it took to construct such a ceiling and can’t. The number’s too high.

  We make our way across the parquet floor toward the stage. Stacks of speakers taller than Jared mark the edges of the stage. I’ve never seen anyone’s private stage before, but this is by far the nicest set up Mostly Mayhem has ever played. Lance points to a set of double doors on the far side of the room.

  “That’s the stage door. You can pull your vehicles around the house and unload right outside.”

  He gives some other directions I don’t hear. I’m too busy looking around. A large bar takes up most of a wall at the back of the room. It’s complete with padded bar stools and rows and rows of alcohol. Leather club chairs and more couches form a seating area in front of the bar, inviting people to get comfortable.

  I just notice the stained glass when I dimly realize Lance has asked me something.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I didn’t see you at The Edge last Saturday. Are you part of the band?”

  “Oh, no. I’m…” I stall, trying to find the words to explain that my brother likes me to tag along as his watchdog and babysitter. I got out of going to the show last weekend, at my least favorite venue, because I had to work.

  Jared finishes for me. “Juliana’s part of the band. She’s our good luck charm, and she writes for us.”

  Lance nods at his answer and then turns to me. “You’re the lucky one?”

  “Not hardly.” That reminds me I’m trying not to embarrass myself while I’m here.

  He looks amused by my answer. “Did you write all of their songs?”

  “Only a couple. Honestly, I came to see your house. It’s sort of famous around here. All the history, you know.”

  “Ahh, I see. Not interested in the rich new owner, just the history of an old haunted castle.”

  He’s smiling as he teases me.

  “Something like that,” I agree, still being honest.

  He addresses the guys. “While you’re setting up, I’ll go find my sound man, Larry. He can help if you have any questions.”

  “Sounds great,” Jared says. The four members of the band trot off and I start to follow them, but Lance stops me.

  “Juliana, unless they need you, would you like to see more of Castle Hill?”

  “Sure, thanks,” I say. “I’m more of a liability to them than anything else. It’s best if I don’t touch the instruments.”

  “Are you warning me?” He’s still grinning as he asks. He has a very likeable face.

  “Definitely.” I sound like I’m kidding but the way today has been going, I’m actually not.

  I dislike being the center of attention so I change the subject back to our surroundings. “How long have you been remodeling? It’s really beautiful; hard to believe there was ever a fire here.”

  “So you know a bit about Castle Hill’s history?” He doesn’t wait for my answer before continuing. “The renovation has been a long process. And thanks, I’m pleased with how it’s coming together.”

  “Was the stained glass part of the original structure?” I point to the eight large windows high on the west wall. They glow in every royal color in the evening sun.

  “No, I was inspired in France by all the cathedrals and decided to put the glass in back here.”

  “Sort of reverent, churchlike.”

  “Yes, it adds to our Sunday sermon,” he says.

  “You hold church service in here?” I ask sounding a little too surprised. It came out before I could stop it and I feel the warmth of embarrassment flush my face. I don’t want to talk religion with someone I just met.

  “No, I was just messing with you. I do call this room “the church” but its sole purpose is for business, which translates to parties.”

  I pray — funny because I’m in “the church” — my face is not flaming red. A drawback to being so light skinned is that my cheeks betray me every chance they get. Lance doesn’t seem to notice, or he’s too polite to make it worse.

  He tips his head toward the bar. “Come with me.”

  When he’s behind it, he places his hand on one of the smooth wood panels and it swings inward without a sound. Holding the door open he gestures for me to enter. “It wouldn’t be a castle without secret passages.”

  I step past him into the dark. He smells nice, like warm clean clothes and spiced tea. “If it’s a secret, why are you showing me?”

  He lowers his head close to mine and whispers, “You know you don’t have to whisper. This isn’t really a church.”

  I see a flash of perfect white teeth as he smiles at me and I’m grateful for the low light. I’m sure this time there’s a vast quantity of blood moving into my cheeks. “Oh, right,” I say in a normal voice. I hadn’t realized I’d whispered. Maybe there’s no
help for embarrassing myself. It’s inevitable.

  “It’s not a secret. It’s more of a shortcut not everyone knows about. I’m hoping it’ll keep partygoers out of my kitchen,” he explains.

  My eyes adjust to the light and I can see we’re in a wood paneled hall. Lance reaches around me, but his arm stops in mid-air. A quiet buzzing noise breaks the silence and Lance reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

  He answers his phone. “This is Lance.” He’s quiet for a moment and then says, “I can come right over.”

  He turns to me saying, “Yvette needs me to look at something. Will you wait in the kitchen for me? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure,” I say. I have no idea where the kitchen is but Lance lifts his arm again and pushes another secret panel. I see countertops and cabinets so I step inside. Lance gives me a wink and the door swishes closed behind me.

  I thought I had entered the kitchen but now realize it’s a butler’s pantry, even if it is roughly the size of my own kitchen at home. It opens to another room and I head in that direction but stop short when I hear someone talking. I don’t want to intrude. As I turn around to go back into the hallway, I freeze with shock as I hear a rough voice.

  “Lance is an idiot. Gullible as a girl.”

  Someone else speaks, “You told him it was just a bunch of junk in there?”

  “Yeah, and he had the nerve to ask me to clean it out.”

  The other voice, higher pitched than the first and a bit nasal, asks, “What did you tell him?”

  “Told him I’d start immediately. It’s perfect. Now I don’t have to worry if he sees me going over there. He’ll think I’m working.”

  “Oh you’re working all right,” the nasal voice jeers. “The last stuff was the shit.”

  The rough voice lowers and says, “Don’t talk about it in here, dirtbag.”

  “Sorry man,” the nasal voice says, groveling.

  “Just shut it. We have the perfect setup. I don’t want anything screwing it up,” rough voice replies harshly.

  I make myself move toward the hall door. The conversation is making me nervous. I’m certain I shouldn’t have heard any of it and I don’t want to put a face to anyone who would call Lance a gullible idiot in his own home. I reach for the door — it looks like a door from this side — and it moves toward me without touching it. My brain burps as it tries to figure out how it’s moving of its own accord. Then like a kick in the head I realize it’s Lance. He’s pushing it open from the other side. I jump back and to my left trying to avoid the door before it hits me and I trip over my own foot. I flail through space expecting to hit the floor but instead I land on my rump on a wooden staircase. Lance’s head appears from around the edge of the door. He looks at me sitting in his stairwell and I can’t tell if he knows I just fell or not, but to my relief, he doesn’t mention my clumsiness.

  “You didn’t have to stay in the pantry.” He sticks his hand out to help me up and I take it, but let go as soon as I’m back on my feet.

  The warm feeling coming from Lance is mildly distressing. I wouldn’t want to give him the impression I’m interested. Then a shock of cool breath tickles my neck and forearms. I spin my head around expecting to see someone on the stairs, but there isn’t anyone. I brush off the feeling and will my gooseflesh to return to normal and then bring my attention back to Lance.

  “Oh, yeah… I was….” I couldn’t finish by saying ‘feeling awkward and nervous,’ so I bumble out, “Um, it’s all right.”

  Lance turns and cruises into the kitchen saying, “The kitchen’s my favorite room in the whole place. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  I plaster my face with a fake expression of what I hope looks like curious interest and follow Lance. At the end of a long expanse of granite countertop, two guys stare at us like we just landed on earth.

  “How’s it going, Mason?” Lance says.

  “Ducky,” the larger of the two men answers in a rough voice.

  The second man must be the one with the nasal voice. They’re both tall but Mason is about four times the brawn of his friend.

  “Juliana, this is Mason and his friend, Fredrick.” I hear Lance’s emphasis on the word his.

  “Hello.” I smile at them, trying to make it look innocent.

  Mason asks, “You Lance’s new girl?”

  He looks me up and down with assessing muddy brown eyes in the middle of his thick face. It makes me want to go wash. I look over at Lance to see if he noticed, but he’s behind a stainless steel refrigerator door.

  “No,” I say appalled.

  “You don’t have to be a bitch about it. I was just asking.”

  Lance does hear that, and pipes up. “Hey, Juliana is a guest here. Don’t speak to her that way.”

  I move farther away from the two guys and closer to the fridge. Fredrick looks shifty. His eyes dart around the room and his hair is greasy. Mason is the opposite, he’s rock solid and he stares at me with direct calm. He moves around the edge of the counter and leans against it so I can see just how scary he is. The polish on his hair matches the tips of his heavy black boots and the stretched fabric over his arms and thighs shows off how bulky his muscles are. He looks like he eats whole babies for breakfast before washing them down with a steroid cocktail.

  His thick arms are crossed over his barrel chest as he answers. “Whatever, boss.”

  Then he addresses me again. “Are you from around these parts?”

  His voice makes my skin crawl. I don’t make eye contact as I answer. “Yes.”

  I try to ignore him, or else I might run from the room. I go to see what Lance is looking at. Trying to keep up the small talk I say, “Awesome range. I love the copper hood.”

  Lance is moving things around inside the fridge. “You like the stove. Most people prefer the granite.”

  “The granite is gorgeous, but the appliances are impressive.”

  I’m not unaware that I’m still being stared at. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle in alarm and if I were a cat I would hiss and extend my claws, but since I don’t have claws, I’m not sure what else I can do about my discomfort.

  I hear Mason snicker, “Did you hear that Fredrick? Lance impressed a girl.”

  “Go away leeches,” Lance orders without much heat.

  He has two green glass bottles in his hands as he shuts the door. He rolls his eyes and mouths, “Sorry,” at me.

  I hear movement and glance over. Fredrick scurries out of the room, like the cockroach I suspect he is, but Mason lingers. He makes a face that should be a smile but looks more like a sneer.

  “Nice to meet you, Juliana. I look forward to seeing you another time.”

  I can’t manage to come up with a response that isn’t insulting and rude, so I don’t say anything.

  He slithers from the room and I look at the floor to see if there’s a trail of slime behind him.

  “I apologize about that. Mason doesn’t know how to behave himself.”

  Lance pops the caps off of two bottles with a bottle opener and asks, “Would you like a glass? It’s sparkling water.”

  “No thanks, the bottle’s fine.”

  He hands a bottle to me and I take a sip.

  “He works for you?” I ask while trying to shake off the lingering creepy feeling.

  “It’s complicated.” He takes a long swig from his bottle and then sets it down on the stone countertop with a little clink.

  He doesn’t elaborate so I make an attempt to be cheerful and change the subject. “Why is this is your favorite room? Is it the view?” Multiple windows look out over the lake, and beyond that are endless miles of pristine forest and distant white capped mountains.

  “The view’s great but I like the kitchen because I love to cook.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Cooking relaxes me and I like my appliances too.”

  “They’re pretty,” I agree. I take another welcome drink of the bubbling mineral water.

  “Mason and
Fredrick should be gone now. Ready for the rest of the tour?” He turns his smile on me once more.

  “Sure.”

  We leave the same way Mason did, at the far end of the kitchen, and we’re back in the wood paneled hall, only farther down. On my left I can see a formal dining room but Lance goes right and then turns left into another long corridor.

  We talk as we walk.

  Lance asks, “Have you ever been here before?”

  “Never.”

  “My realtor said a lot of kids like to sneak up here. You never did?”

  “No. I can respect fences.” I’m not going to mention my promise to Grandma.

  “That’s unusual, isn’t it? I mean it wouldn’t give most high school kids pause.”

  “I wasn’t most kids. Besides, I heard the castle was all boarded up anyway, so I didn’t see the point.”

  “It was sealed tighter than a vault. We had to deconstruct before we could even look inside.” Lance nods toward an open door. “This is my library.”

  I peek inside at the walls of bookcases and the cozy reading areas. A lady stands looking out of a tall window. She doesn’t turn to look at us. Which in itself is strange, but what really stands out to me is her unusual hair and clothes, very retro.

  Lance continues down the hall without mentioning the lady. A shiver runs over my skin like a million centipedes. I rub my arms and will the feeling to stop. It doesn’t.

  Lance holds open the next door and says, “The home theater.”

  There’s a huge screen on the wall and a wrap-around couch. “This looks like a great place for a movie.” With relief I see no odd looking people in this room.

  “It’s okay,” he says modestly.

  A dead space takes over the conversation so I try to fill it by asking him, “Why did you come to Colorado?” And buy a haunted castle. I couldn’t add this last part, as much as I want to, but from the moment I stepped inside the place I’ve been chilled and longing to get back outside. It’s hard to find the right words for something so intangible, but the feeling is still there. I can’t say this part either.

  “When I was a kid I used to come to Colorado on vacation. The mountains got into my blood and I couldn’t shake it. When I heard about this place, I had to come see it.”