Isabelle Brownstone

Isabelle Brownstone

By Liberty Dendron

MaMbabooks.com, United States/Mamba Books & Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Lafayette A. Johnson Jr... All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. No part of this book or this book as a whole may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or means without written permission from the publisher. Graphics used in this book are licensed and © Mamba Books & Publishing, License Notes This e book is licensed for your personal use only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of Liberty Dendron.

Published By MaMbabooks.com, United States/Mamba Books & Publishing

A passionate romantic-suspense of love, betrayal, and obsession, Isabelle Brownstone will have you falling in love and wondering if you can trust anyone right up to the last page.

This baffling mystery story seeks to find who killed Nancy. Was it one of her friends, her servants or someone else? This book captivates the reader with characters, clues and intrigue. Jonathan and Isabelle closely observe all suspects to find a pattern to lead them to her murderer.

Review:

I really like how the Author took his time to describe the disasters at the pinnacle of terror. It really opened my eyes, and allowed my imagination to wonder while indulging in each fulfilling chapter of this wonderful book. The story composition is consistent, and the characters are well-defined. Overall, it's a fantastic story, Liberty Dendron has a gift to write with creative, limitless passion!! Deirdre Lori-School Teacher.

Chapter One

A Place To Call Home

In Norfolk. A flash of light dashed across Isabelle’s eyes. She was walking towards the section of Gent. She looked down the street and spotted a shimmer of light dancing on the cobblestone sidewalk and thought children were playing with mirrors, reflecting light from the sun, but there were no children insight. The next time it happened she glanced up and saw the reflection beaming from a window. After a few moments she glanced up at the window again. On the second floor sticking out of an open window, pointing in her direction were binocular. When she looked in that direction it quickly moved back, another flash of light dashed across Isabelle’s eyes.

From a window on the second floor someone was watching her, and now the binoculars were pointed in a different direction. She leisurely walked over and pounded on the door. Whoever was watching her was hiding behind the curtains.

The door was open by a black young maid who was uncomfortable when dealing with strangers. Isabelle took advantage of her youth and told her that she was doing nothing wrong if she let her in. While the girl was thinking Isabelle heard footsteps coming down the stairs in her direction. Suddenly appeared a stately looking elderly woman, standing at the top of the stairs. She was short and dignified. She was wearing a hat and adjusting it with her fingers, on each hand she had huge diamond. She walked down the stairs majestically and the entire room seemed to mimic her presence.

Why didn’t Goleta answer the door, Hanna? She asked her maid. Goleta’s in the servants quarters getting her palms red.

Is she? said the mistress of the house, her voice was harsh and stern. That’s all for now, she grumbled, dismissing her servant while shoving the front door wide open. She smiled at Isabelle, looking like she had been standing on a balcony in the governor’s mansion, the woman couldn’t have looked more elegant. She was so stately looking that Isabelle could barely restrain herself from curtseying.

Good afternoon, she said.

Isabelle explained her mission with passion. The smile faded from her face.

Oh no, she said. No.

Standing in the heat, Isabelle said, I’ve been to every home in River View, no one will rent me a room.

She scanned Isabelle from head to foot for a few seconds as though she were a slave standing on an auction block waiting to be sold.

Did Roger Whittington in Harbor Point tell you he had no room?

She murmured. Yes.

Have you spoken to Mrs. Janice Byrd, down the street? If you were a handsome young sailor she would have rented you one. This statement was spoken with a gleam in her eyes, with malicious wit. It was plain to see that she’d been rejected by those people, and, she disliked them. Have you been to Mrs. Saunders?

She was very rude to me.

Was she? She extended her arm with a warmhearted gesture. Come in, young lady, and have a glass of ice tea. You must be tired."

Despite the fact that Isabelle couldn’t afford to waste time talking, she was controlled by the woman’s pleasant smile and her stately ways. She stepped into the house and she was led into the living room where she sat on a soft sofa. It felt good to experience a welcome of any sort. She kept her shoulders relaxed and back. There was something about this rich woman that made her act like a lady. A pitcher of ice tea was placed on an elegantly woven table cloth which was on a polished mahogany table; the kind of furniture found in great halls of English manor houses, with fancy carving, every piece of furniture was arranged in the room, with good taste. When the woman finished her tea, she reached out and touched the silver pitcher with the tip of one of her fingers, glancing down at melting ice; she rang the bell for Goleta and demanded a fresh picture of ice tea.

Goleta was an intelligent friendly young black woman, but at that moment she was unhappy. Isabelle could only hope that the results of her palm being read. Whatever it might be, would somehow protect her from whatever raft that was waiting for her because she had failed to answer the door when she arrived. The room was huge and painted white, furnished with expensive very old and elaborate pieces of antique furniture. Crystal chandeliers hung from plain white ceiling, casting dark shadows on above and below thick burgundy and white curtain. Huge antique books leather-bound cast tiny shadows on polished monogrammed boxes, that sat on a large rosewood desk and others on fancy oak tables with twisted legs. Every inch of the wall was covered with fancy framed pictures.

The woman escorted Isabelle around the room, and unlocked a cherry wood chest and took out a silver box, and sat it on an oak table in front of her. Isabelle realized that she was a foot taller than she was. Her perfect form and straight statue and her hat, made the old woman look taller. As she strolled around the room the woman said, "Good breeding, perfect, English; educated. A nice person. Another picture of ice tea arrived. Refilling Isabelle’s glass, she asked how Isabelle’s reception had been in Ocean View. Listening to Isabelle describing the receptions she started laughing while listening to Isabelle’s story. The woman told her, in great detail of the scandalous history of her neighbors. Isabelle began to realize that this was a very lonely old woman and she wanted someone to talk too. She explained that some of the homeowners in Gent had done their best to accommodate white soldiers, while others, like Roger, only pretended to cooperate. Isabelle took another sip of tea and said, I need to find a place to live." Isabelle smiled as she spoke and the woman smiled too. Then the woman stared at Isabelle and gave Isabelle a freshly baked cookie. A knock on the door indicated that someone was coming in the room, a woman in a navy blue coat. She paused as she entered the doorway, unsure whether to go or stay, because there was a stranger present. The old woman invited her in with a gesturing motion.

Come and meet our guest, she said. This is my sister, Katherine Halter.

Katherine walked over to Isabelle and they shook hands. And said. My name is Isabelle Brownstone.

I’m Nancy Driver, said the other woman. Katherine, here’s a glass of ice tea."

Katherine took it. And sat down, removing her hat, while her sister explained Isabelle’s presence.

Isabelle finished her tea and wondered if she should ask if they had a room for rent before leaving, the bell outside the door ring; both sisters stiffen a little and sat ridged in their seats.

Nancy asked, Are you expecting someone, Katherine? Katherine replied, No, then she asked as politely, Are you?

Isabelle sat with the empty glass in her hand, watching the two old ladies in the enormous room. Footsteps rushed down the hall, Goleta opened the door and whispered, Mr. Reseda, Ma’am.

Katherine remained sitting, her face grim. Nancy stood, erect, and walked slowly across the room.

Come in, Mr. Reseda, she said. Tell Dourine we need a fresh pot of coffee, she told Goleta, now halfway down the hall. Mr. Reseda Come and meet my friend Isabelle Brownstone.

Isabelle’s first impression was that he was a young man too good-looking to be quite true. Then after they shook hands she realized that he wasn’t as bashful as and far less confident than he tried to appear. He smiled, as though he was pleased to meet her. His face wrinkled revealing masculine lines with an air of charm that only handsome men display without trying. Isabelle didn’t embrace his willingness to meet her at the moment. Now any hope of asking for a room was out of the question.

I came over to see how you were doing. He explained. I wouldn’t have come if I had known you had company.

He smiled at Katherine, her sister answered, Isabelle is...

Isabelle thought that she was going to say that she was a stranger, but Nancy broke in and said, Isabelle has just come from Cape Charles, she said. She’s going to work for our military in the legal department. She smiled at Isabelle and said, Walter works for the local television station.

Nancy rudely interrupted saying, Katherine, go and find out what’s delaying Dourine with the coffee.

Katherine glanced at the bell on the table then stood and slowly walked out of the room. The conversation continued and flowed easily. Walter asked many questions, like most reporters do. Walter was very easy to talk to, when Katherine returned the three of them were laughing, at his description of something that had happened at the television station that morning. She was carrying a platter of freshly baked sweet-potato biscuits. As she approached the table she said, Have one of these, Walter. They are very good.

As Katherine placed the platter on the table, Nancy whispered in a low grandiose tone, These are the sweetest biscuits, while pushing the silver box in front of their male visitor making Katherine search for another spot on the table to put the platter. Katherine ate a sweet-potato biscuit and offered Isabelle one. Isabelle took one and bit into it, and drank the rest of her tea. Walter asked Isabelle where she was living. Isabelle explained her situation without going into detail, nor the reason for her presence in this house. Walter was more concerned about her housing than anyone she had met. Being a television anchorman, Isabelle thought, he’d been homeless himself sometimes working out of town assignments, he was able to visualize having no roof over one’s head. He knew her problem was not trivial, not something that could be handled offhandedly, as the others in the room had done.

Isabelle was thinking, when he asked, "Do any of the ladies in those cottages, in Ocean View; down by the shore have a room to rent?

Everywhere is full, Isabelle stated gloomily.

Do you have a place to stay tonight? He asked Isabelle. She said no.

I’ll tell you what I will do, said Walter. As soon as I return to my office, I’ll ask if any of the reporters know of any rooms for rent, I’ll find you somewhere to stay. If I can’t, you can sleep in my bedroom and I’ll sleep in my office on the sofa.

He was thinking that Isabelle was a friend of Nancy and she could come and go as she pleased. Isabelle started to reply, but Katherine cut in, it isn’t necessary for you to do that Walter. If I’m mistaken, rooms are always available for people working on the base. Isabelle has only to ask.

Isabelle wasn’t sure if Walter was as sympathetic about her situation as he was acting, before she could speak, Nancy rose to her feet and placed her hands on Isabelle’s shoulder and said, Come with me.

Are you saying you’ll let me stay here tonight? Isabelle asked.

No. Oh no, she said, leading the way pushing open the doors. You will live here. I will enjoy having you around. There was a faint twinkle in her eyes when she glanced over her shoulder, "Come with us, Katherine. I think the room between yours and the library will fit her needs. It has a clear view of the Elizabeth River.

Katherine dashed past them running up the stairs. It was evident that the room that Isabelle was to have was next to Nancy’s. Isabelle followed Nancy up the wide winding stairway; she was surprised to see Katherine carrying a white sheet full of small objects, to her room.

Dourine would have done that, stated Nancy.

Burley would complain, replied Katherine. He’s always complaining about something. I’ll do it myself."

If you wish, mumbled Nancy.

Nancy’s stately erect stature showed her dislike to do manual work. Isabelle caught a glimpse of Katherine’s elegantly furnished room before Katherine slammed the door. She looked into the room next to Katherine’s and saw a huge bed. The walls were covered with eggshell wall paper. From the window there was a lovely view of the river in its splendor beyond the willow trees. Isabelle turned and looked at Nancy; her face was showing approval and delight.

I’ll have Burley go and get your bags if they are at the station, she said. Dourine will let the servants know you will be staying here. They will make sure you have everything you need. She stepped back and told Isabelle’s. Make sure they do whatever you ask. She stated. Isabelle nodded. Be firm, my dear, Nancy said with a smile. "Negro’s are getting some very odd ideas