Haunting Ellie Read Online Free PDF

continuous ring and finally the voice on the other end, but he said nothing—just hung up again and took a long swallow of beer. He’d wanted to ask his cousin if he’d had a successful hunting trip yesterday, if he’d made a bundle. But he had no proof against Matt. Over the years, Jon had searched again and again for evidence to prove his cousin’s outfitting business, like his real estate practice, had produced more ill-gotten gain than legitimate profit. But Jon had continually failed. He didn’t want to fail again.
    He picked up his beer, downed the remainder, crushed the aluminum in his fist, and easily tossed it into the trash across the room.
    He looked through the stack of sketches again, his eyes resting finally on the one he’d just done of Elizabeth. He ripped it out of the tablet, crumpled the thick paper, and tossed it just as he had the crushed and empty can.
    He couldn’t allow himself to think about her, not as a friend, not as the woman he wanted to sculpt. No, he had more important things to deal with now.
    Plowing his fingers through his hair, he went to his desk, flipping through the Rolodex till he found the number he wanted. He stabbed the buttons on the phone, listened to the ring and the voice answering on the other end.
    “It’s Jon Winchester,” he said. “I have a plan.”

Chapter 3
    Dust permeated not only the chesterfield’s worn fabric, but Elizabeth’s clothing, her nose, and her lungs. Every pore in her body felt as if it had been invaded by dirt. She knew she should climb into the tub and wash away some of the grime, but she couldn’t work up the energy to test the water in the bathroom. Three long days of sitting in the car and one long day of fighting spiders had sapped her strength. Now it felt good just sitting on the comfortable old sofa, not moving a muscle.
    For the first time in hours she relaxed and took stock of things that needed repair or replacement other than the cracked paint and peeling flowered wallpaper. The red, blue, and green fleur-de-lis that had been stenciled over the doorways and windows had faded with time. It would take patience and a steady hand to restore them to their original beauty. Heavy velvet drapes with fringed hems no longer swagged in the wide windows and doorways, but she had easily seen the richness of the fabric and wanted to duplicate them exactly. Now, though, they lay with all the other tattered and torn items in a heaping pile.
    It might have appeared dismal if Elizabeth hadn’t seen the charm deeply hidden away.
    Gilt mirrors and framed landscapes and portraits hung on the walls and made her smile. They’d look good as new, once they were cleaned, and they’d add a wonderful touch of authenticity to the room when the walls were repainted and papered and new drapes were hung. And the pink marble fireplace—she’d never seen such beauty, carved with rosebuds and twisting vines.
    The only down side to the whole place was that she couldn’t get used to the cold.
    She hadn’t ventured to the basement to check out the furnace. She had no wood to burn, and that pile of ragged drapes was looking like the perfect thing to toss on the hearth. She longed for a blazing fire, something to warm her insides. She hadn’t been this cold since... since she’d been trapped beneath the stucco and plaster and wooden beams of her former house in Los Angeles.
    A lone tear puddled at the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She refused to cry. She’d cried too many times for all the things she’d lost when the earthquake hit and her house had slid from its cliff side setting, slid away from its view of the city lights, from the gardens she’d lovingly planted and nurtured for years.
    There was nothing in this room that brought back memories of the ten years she’d collected Tiffany lamps to brighten the rooms of her home, or the pieces of Wedgwood she’d found while haunting thrift stores and estate sales.