“Is there a child in the house?” Melissa asked.

“No,” Philip said. “There is no child.”

From such hot passion just a moment before, now Philip’s blood ran cold.

A baby cried again. It sounded as if it came from the living room.

“There is a child here!” Melissa insisted. “I have to go check!”

“No!” Philip insisted. “Don’t go out there!”

She gave him a confused look. “But if someone is here…we can’t get caught!”

Again the child cried from the other room. It was an insistent cry. Terrified. It grew from a few anxious yelps to one long wail now. Melissa ignored Philip’s objections and pulled on her jeans and threw a sweatshirt on over the teddy. She headed out toward the living room.

“Don’t touch it!” Philip shouted, following her.

Indeed there was a baby sitting in the middle of the living room. It wore just a cloth diaper. It couldn’t have been much more than about six months old. It was crying ferociously, its pudgy little hands in the air.

“The poor child!” Melissa cried.

“Don’t touch it!” Philip repeated.

She looked at him as if he were mad. “The child is terrified, maybe in pain…”

“No!”

Suddenly the crying stopped. They both turned to look at the baby. It began to crawl away from them, across the carpet and behind the divan. Melissa hurried to follow it. But as she crossed the room, she discovered the baby was gone.

But in its place were a series of bloody handprints, staining the white carpet in a horrible trail. The handprints ended abruptly in the middle of the room, as if the baby had just disappeared into thin air.

Chapter Seven

Uncle Howie had sure gone all out for this meal. At some point even before Douglas had gotten up, a whole army seemed to have descended on the house. Whereas yesterday there wasn’t a servant in sight, today the place was buzzing with them. Housekeepers were doing his laundry and making his bed. An assistant was heading into town with a van to haul Douglas’s repaired bike up to the house. And in the kitchen, a dozen cooks and waitstaff were preparing the most elaborate breakfast Douglas had ever seen-let alone tasted.

“The bread is all fresh baked,” Uncle Howie was saying from the head of the table. “There are fresh croissants and scones and brioche. The fruit is all local. Strawberries, blueberries, apples, peaches. The eggs will be out in a moment. You’ll find an assortment of cheeses and fresh herbs on the table to add to your meals as you choose. Basil, oregano, cilantro, rosemary-all grown here on the estate. And you have your choice of Canadian bacon or smoked lox-or you can have both, of course.”

Douglas was famished. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He glanced over at Carolyn Cartwright. She smiled, seemingly overwhelmed by all the food.

“And save room for dessert,” Uncle Howie added. “They’re making chocolate waffles with maple syrup and fresh cream.”

“Awesome,” Douglas said, piling his plate high with strawberries and sliced apples with cinnamon.

“All I usually have for breakfast is coffee and a bagel,” Carolyn was saying.

“Do you want a bagel?” Uncle Howard asked. “We have bagels.”

“No, thank you,” Carolyn said, laughing. “These scones are delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it,” the old man said, watching them both eat.

He himself had little on his plate. When the eggs came, he took a small helping and ate them with a small slice of wheat bread. Douglas, meanwhile, was gorging himself.

The dining room was dominated by a large crystal chandelier hanging over the enormous table, which sat thirty people. On the walls were hung paintings by Renoir and Matisse. An elaborate floral display sat in the middle of the table, a fresh delivery that morning. Fragrant white lilies and purple asters were complemented by a surprising burst of orange birds of paradise.

A server came by to bring Douglas a plate of bacon. He helped himself eagerly.

“You act as if you haven’t eaten in days,” Carolyn observed.

He grinned. “Well, I haven’t, unless you consider Big Macs and Taco Bell eating.”

“I do not,” she said, smiling.

“Uncle Howie always puts out the best spreads,” Douglas said, looking over at his uncle and giving him a thumbs-up.

The old man patted his mouth with his napkin. He had finished his small portion. “Well, you two take your time and enjoy the rest of your meal. I’m going out for my morning walk.” He stood. Immediately a valet was behind him, helping him from his chair. Howard Young waved him away, insisting he would be fine on his own. “Douglas, find me afterward. Out on the lawn.” He paused. “We need to have a conversation, and I’d like to have it before Carolyn leaves.”

“Okay,” Douglas said, his mouth full.

Carolyn’s eyes moved from uncle to nephew and then back again. Poor Douglas, she thought. He has no idea what Mr. Young will tell him. No idea of how his life will change once he learns about the room…

She watched as the old man walked slowly, and just a little falteringly, out the French doors and onto the terrace. Carolyn presumed he was too proud to use a cane. Outside she could see that the sun was bright. Gulls were swooping in long, languid arcs across the blue sky. The crash of the surf filled the room now that the doors were open.

“What was it like,” she asked, “coming here as a child?”

Douglas took a sip of coffee and sat back in his chair. Finally, a break from his ravenous consumption of food. “Well, when I was very young, it was awesome. I mean, what kid wouldn’t love coming to a house like this? I’d run through the halls, up and down those marble stairs, hiding in the attic…”

“I suppose attics and…basements…are irresistible to young boys.” She chose her words deliberately.

Douglas shrugged. “We weren’t allowed in the basement. I guess that’s where Uncle Howie kept all his treasures. But the attic was fun. So many little nooks and crannies where I could hide and jump out from to scare my stuck-up cousins Ryan and Chelsea.” He laughed, then returned to shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth.

“You don’t get along with your cousins?”

He shrugged again. “We’re just very different. They have an air about them. A certain superiority. I like my other cousins, okay, though. Paula and Dean. But they’re older. Ryan and Chelsea are my age.” He looked up at her. “I guess they’re probably about your age as well.” He smiled and winked.

Carolyn felt her cheeks blush. There were those dimples again.

She likes me, Douglas thought. He could always tell when women liked him. He was glad. He hoped Carolyn planned to stay a few days.

“But you said it was awesome when you were little,” she commented. “What about when you were older?”

Douglas sat back in his chair again. “Well, it wasn’t so great then. You see, my father died here. We had come up for the family reunion. They’re held every ten years, and everyone comes. It’s something that Uncle Howie insists upon.” He made a small laugh. “I guess everybody does it because they don’t want to be cut out of the will.”

Carolyn was studying him with her beautiful green eyes. “And your father died while you were all here together?”

Douglas nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was tight. “It was an accident. They found him in the morning. When I came down the stairs I remember seeing my cousin Paula’s face…she was crying. And I just knew. Somehow I just knew that my father was dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was ten years ago. Do you know there’s another family reunion scheduled for next month?”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes.” She paused. “Your uncle mentioned it.”

“So tell me about you,” Douglas said suddenly. “Enough about me and this house. I want to know about you.”

A server had arrived asking if they wanted their waffles now. Carolyn was so full she begged off, but Douglas said he’d have one in a bit. “First,” he said, standing, holding out his hand to Carolyn, “I think you might like to see my favorite place in the house. And as we head up there, you can tell me all about who you are and where you come from.”