Hours and hours later, I turn for home. Or what used to be home. Even in the dark, the old mansion is still beautiful. Moonlight turns the white columns almost silvery, makes my mother’s climbing white roses bone bright. Ten bedrooms, fourteen baths, a kitchen that could cook for a football team, and an actual ballroom, the place was made for entertaining, which was probably why my mother loved it. She adored parties.
I can’t remember the last one we had. A year after she died? Two? The Colonel had spent most of it locked away in his library.
A humid breeze stirs as I hike up the front steps, carrying the scent of roses with it. I kick off my work boots by the door and let myself in just as the ancient grandfather clock chimes eleven. Long day of work, even for me, but tomorrow will prob
