Every time Leslie walked by the dismantled stair rail in the foyer, she was drawn to it. There was something about that slender, gaping channel that ran halfway up the side of the stairs that called to her. It needed to be cleaned up—all that insulation and dust lingering in that hole were releasing God knew what into the air; not to mention critters using it for nesting. Besides, she wanted to know what that mold or discoloration was from anyway.

Not that she didn’t have a million other things to do—but thank goodness she’d found someone to help out with some of them. Stephanie Lillard had been eager, smart, and willing to jump in and help, and though Leslie had originally thought she might want to hire someone a little older, Stephanie had come highly recommended and Leslie decided to give her a shot.

It was into the evening before Leslie decided to tackle the project of the insides of the stair railing base. Between meetings all morning with contractors, then one with her bank, the late afternoon tea at Orbra’s, and an extended appointment with an interior designer to work on new window treatments for the entire house (Leslie didn’t even want to think about that bill), she’d hardly had a moment to spare, and she’d hardly been home.

“It’s really not that important,” she told herself as she donned heavy gloves and located the broom and vacuum cleaner. Declan Zyler was just going to put the railing back the way it was; who cared if there was dust or debris inside it?

But something compelled her to poke around in the long, narrow hole.

“There could be rodents nesting in there,” she muttered to herself, and shined a flashlight down into the depths. The sun had nearly set, and the light in the front hall wasn’t as bright as it would eventually be, because two of the sconces had to be rewired.

“I wish I could figure out what that rusty discoloration is.” Oh, damn—she needed to get a mold expert out here to check it out to make sure it wasn’t something she had to treat. “I knew I was forgetting something.” She made another mental note to call tomorrow. “Maybe I’ll send a sample off to one of the universities to see if they can identify it.”

With her gloved hands, Leslie began to pull out debris from inside the railing base and tossed it onto a large tarp she’d spread on the foyer floor. As she removed a large piece of something that looked like pink insulation, she realized with a start that it wasn’t insulation at all.

She withdrew the piece and held it up, frowning. It looked like a wide scarf, or—no, it was a lady’s wrap. The large crystal button, the size of a half-dollar, would have held it together right in the center of her bosom, and the stole would have covered the woman’s upper arms and torso like an off-the-shoulder dress. It was lined with white satin, and the exterior had been a lush rose-pink velvet. But now it was discolored in areas with rust. Or something else.

Weird location to put something like that. How in the world had it even gotten there in the first place? Leslie felt a shift in the air…something cool and eerie stirred, sending a chill skittering along her arms. She tossed the wrap aside—but not on the tarp—and gingerly looked back down into the hole. There was a definite lower temperature emanating from the darkness there, accompanied by the smell of age and…

Perfume?

She pulled back and sniffed the air. Yes, all at once there was the faint scent of something floral and musky in the air.

Leslie shivered a little and looked around. The windows were black, for the sun had set and she was still waiting for the curtains to be installed. The nearly leafless trees, pines, and thick bushes that in the daytime provided charming seclusion for the house now rose in dark shadows to ban more than a hint of streetlight and other illumination from the town below. The flashlight in her hand and the lamp that burned in the foyer reflected in the dark windows, and all at once she felt very alone. Very alone.

Silly.

This was the same house she’d slept in for weeks now, the same lovely, charming building she’d adored for decades, the same home that looked cheerful and welcoming during the day. The simple matter of the sun setting didn’t change a thing.

But the opening of the stair rail did.

Leslie caught her breath. Again with the creepy thoughts from nowhere! But the hair on the backs of her arms was taut and raised, and she rubbed herself briskly through the sleeves of her shirt.

The house had sighed when they pulled away the railing, hadn’t it? The entire place had sort of…exhaled. Shuddered. She hadn’t imagined it, had she?

But how could a house exhale? It was silly.

She looked at the exposed opening, slender and unassuming as it appeared.

What else could be down in there?

At least it’s too small for a body.

Leslie felt a wave of relief when she realized that and gave a short burst of nervous laughter. After all, Fiona had found a skeleton in the closet of her antiques shop back in Philadelphia. But Leslie was being ridiculous—how often did that sort of thing happen in real life? Never. Hardly ever. This house had been lived in for decades. Surely if there was anything to find, it would have been discovered long ago.

And about the cold chill…probably the base of the stairway butted up to the cellar below, and that was likely the source of the draft, coming up from down there.

Nevertheless, she felt slightly off balance as she beamed her light down into the narrow opening and began to use the broomstick to poke around in there because it was too deep for her arm to reach any further. Besides…she didn’t know what she was going to find, did she?

Leslie dragged the handle along the bottom of the hole and felt it catch against something. Carefully, she slid it up along the side until she could remove the object. An evening glove, dirty and dingy, with three round gold buttons on it about the size of peas. It was stained with the familiar rusty discoloration that she wasn’t certain was actually rust.

Well, at least it’s consistent.

That chilly draft seemed to be a little stronger now, and Leslie just felt…strange. Like there was something in the air.

Maybe if I had a cat, it would sense the supernatural. Or better yet, it wouldn’t sense anything and I’d know for sure.

Once again, she looked around, half expecting to see something…and at the same time, berating herself for being silly. Forcing her attention back to the project at hand, though part of her was actually considering aborting it, Leslie dragged the broomstick through the bottom again. This time, she heard a soft metallic sound as it brushed something against the wall.

Shining the light inside the hole once more, she peered down, one eye closed, and saw the way the light glinted off something shiny in the depths. Not silvery—so not a nail. But goldish.

She tried for several minutes to use the broom handle to fish out the object, but it was too stubborn and kept sliding off. A wire hanger, she decided, suddenly determined to discover what else was down inside there along with a glove and a wrap.

Leslie hadn’t forgotten the legend about Red Eye Sal’s supposedly hidden jewel cache, and though she didn’t put much stock in rumors like that, she was curious. What if?

Suddenly a little more enthusiastic, she hurried off to find a hanger. She was halfway to the kitchen when there was a loud crash from the foyer. The sound made her heart catapult into her throat and her head go light before she realized it was probably the broomstick she’d hastily shoved against the wall, falling over.

Jumpy much, Les?

Nevertheless, her knees were still a little weak and her insides a bit tumultuous as she continued into the kitchen—which was probably why, when she saw the face at the door, she shrieked.