Afew hours passedthis way until her door flew open. Camilla had her own key and sure wasn’t afraid to use it. She blew through the apartment with all the grace of a hurricane.
“Listen, I have something to ... Oh, you don’t look so good, you have dust in your hair.”
Julia raised her brows. “Not all of us can look so put together after a night of sobbing their heart out.” She shook her hair uselessly. Only a modicum of the dust that had made a home there deigned to fall out.
“I’ve Googled this place. This so-called manor of yours. You do know its history, right?”
Julia’s heart began to thump. “Right,” she said, feigning an air of certainty that Camilla could likely slice through. “So, I don’t need to hear about it.”
Camilla looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Don’t need to hear about it? Julia? Someone was murdered in that house! What on earth would possess you to choose...” she trailed off. “God, you’ve gone pale. Sit,” she said. “Sit,” she ordered, when Julia’s legs wobbled like they were going to give way.
What had she done? She was a smart woman, degree educated, had sold her shop for a decent amount of money, and then along came that auction and she’d seen a few photos of a manor house in England and bought it sight unseen. She wanted an adventure, but she hadn’t banked onthis. Murder. A murder house. Murder manor, she supposed, would be a more apt description.
Camilla sighed, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “It doesn’t change anything, babe. It’s an old house. An old house will have had plenty of deaths. Hell, even new houses.” She squeezed her shoulder. “It doesn’t change anything,” she repeated.
When Camilla spoke like this, she was inclined to believe her. Camilla was the editor-in-chief of an award-winning online paper,True Perspective, who made anything feel possible when she was in boss mode. Maybe she needed some of that confidence. Julia wiped away some moisture from the corner of her eye and took a deep breath.
“You’re right. I won’t let this affect me. It changes nothing.” She gave her best friend’s hand a squeeze and stood, surveying the bomb site that was her living room. “Come on, you can help.”
“Honey, I’m wearing vintage Prada. The most help I’m going to be is delegating,” Camilla said, examining a manicured nail.
“Princess,” Julia muttered, bending to pick up a box.
A stuffed animal hit her shoulder. “Heard that!”
They grinned at each other.
“I’ll miss you, C.”
“I’ll miss you, J, but don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.” Camilla smiled, pulling out a sheet of paper from her purse and fanning herself with it. Flight tickets. “In just three months’ time, I’ll be banging on your doorstep.”
Julia squealed and pulled her in for a hug.
Chapter Two
Julia thought her boneswould break and her clothes would be ragged from the crushing hugs and the amount of moisture they were absorbing.
