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Mystery at Woodcliff Hall
Mystery at Woodcliff Hall
Mystery at Woodcliff Hall
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Mystery at Woodcliff Hall

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When 17-year-old Alyssa Reed takes a job as a teacher’s aide at an exclusive private school in upstate New York, she looks forward to revisiting the Adirondack Mountains she loved as a child.

But now the woods seem less sunny...and more sinister.

Because Woodcliff Hall’s past conceals a murder, and the deeper Alyssa digs, the greater her chances of becoming the next victim.

Just as Athena was born fully formed from the head of Zeus, so Virgina Jones was born from the creative minds of Virginia Farinacci and Joan Dermatis. Virginia and Joan met as members of a local writers group, and when they discovered a mutual interest in YA fiction, they embarked on the journey of writing together.

Born in upstate New York, Virginia Farinacci fell in love with Gothic romances at 10 years old when she read Rebecca. She fell in love with the Adirondacks thanks to frequent visits to her uncle on Lake George. After studying at the Institute of Children's Literature, she hosted Storytime, a weekly radio show on which she read and discussed classic fairy tales.

Published in both fiction and non-fiction, Joan Dermatis has lived on the edge of the Adirondacks for 40 years. She is the mother of three adult daughters who were once teenagers.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 6, 2014
ISBN9781310920844
Mystery at Woodcliff Hall

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    Book preview

    Mystery at Woodcliff Hall - Virginia Jones

    MYSTERY AT WOODCLIFF HALL

    Virginia Jones

    Electronic edition published 2014 by Soul’s Road Press

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright © Virginia Jones. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

    Inquiries should be addressed to

    Soul’s Road Press

    info@soulsroadpress.com

    http://www.soulsroadpress.com

    Cover images © sue120502 / Shutterstock.com, Graphicstock.com.

    Soul’s Road Press logo © Designs by Trapdoor

    Start Reading

    Table of Contents

    About the Author

    Copyright Information

    Prologue

    1951

    JACQUELINE LAWRENCE dug her walking stick firmly into the mossy crevice of a rock and took a cautious step toward the edge of the cliff. She stabbed the stick at the unyielding stone of the mountaintop beneath her feet, as if staking a claim to it.

    In recent years, she was finding the trail increasingly challenging. But there was peace here, a tranquility shared by a single bald eagle gliding on the air stream high above. Today, in her fashionable worsted wool slacks, suede jacket, and rugged hiking boots, she’d ventured out from her kingdom, Woodcliff Hall.

    Reaching this mountain peak symbolized her attaining the high peak of her career. This solid, serene majesty was a silent, shrouded, white summit in winter; a thriving habitat for flora and fauna in summer; and a colorful splash of raining leaves in autumn. Now it was spring. The newness of the season meant everything was possible, all things fresh. Water, held hostage all winter in the form of ice, exploded from cracks in the rocks. It tumbled and pushed and showered down.

    She loved this place. She saw the world stretch out before her from the surrounding high peaks of the Adirondacks. Her world. At the top of her profession. Headmistress of a leading private school. Respected and admired. No one would ever guess she had not been raised at the highest social level. She was pleased. She closed her eyes and pulled the crisp scent of pine and pure air into her lungs.

    A twig snapped, and Jacqueline was jolted back to the present. Another snap and she spun on her heels. Her eyes widened, then squinted almost shut, and her mouth twisted in disgust.

    "What are you doing here? she demanded. You stupid idiot…" But Jacqueline never finished. Her screams were masked by the cascades of water crashing onto the rocks below. Along with Jacqueline.

    Chapter One

    22 years later

    I TREKKED FORWARD on the cobblestone drive toward the stone façade of Woodcliff Hall. I’d dismissed the cab driver at the entry gate to give myself time to approach the school on my own terms. Tall and slender birches stretched toward the sun, and the wind whispered secrets through the pines. It almost seemed as if it were trying to tell me something…and the sound sent shivers down my spine. A damp, earthy smell rose from the ground. We’d had a morning rain. I breathed deeper and briefly closed my eyes.

    Suddenly, for just a moment, I was back with my parents in upstate New York as a child on summer vacation in the Adirondacks.

    This part of the country had left a lasting impression on me. There were long days of swimming in the lakes, picnics, and canoeing. My father would fish while mother and I started a fire and cooked dinner as the sun set over the mountains.

    Today my stomach was tight with anticipation. What would it be like this year, as a teaching aide at one of the most exclusive private schools in the Northeast?

    When my guidance counselor approached me in my last year of high school with what he described as a fabulous opportunity, I could not resist the temptation. Even with a college scholarship, I needed money for other expenses.

    Woodcliff Hall offered several teaching aide jobs to top new high school graduates who intended to pursue a degree in education. My salary would be generous and I’d get a head start on the lessons I’d study the following year in college. As valedictorian of my small high school graduating class and with excellent character references from my teachers and pastor, I qualified. And here I was.

    I filled my lungs with air, expanding my chest, and reminded myself that Woodcliff Hall benefited as well. This plan attracted bright students who might otherwise never consider applying to a school in such a remote rural setting once they became certified teachers.

    There was plenty of time, I told myself, to check in with the headmaster. I wanted, though, to stop and stare at these formidable buildings—half a dozen structures filled with character and history. How lucky I was!

    The main academic building sat like a prince on a throne, as the last bend in the cobblestone drive became a straight line leading to the circular driveway at the entrance. So, I did stop for just a minute to set the impressive sight in my memory. The massive stone building looked like it could survive eternity. The arched doors and rooftop gargoyles gave the structure a gothic touch. Though I wasn’t cold, I shivered again. Must be nerves, I figured. Then with a yank on the handle of my large, over-packed suitcase to start it rolling forward again, I shrugged my heavy backpack into a more comfortable position and moved toward my destiny.

    It was two in the afternoon. More than enough time to meet the headmaster and settle myself in my room. The closer I came to the wide granite steps, the faster my heart beat.

    I straightened my spine, grasped the heavy brass doorknob in my hand, and entered the marble foyer of Woodcliff Hall.

    *

    You have the distinction of being our youngest staff member, Alyssa, the headmaster told me.

    That’s a dubious distinction. I smiled up at the elegant older man who had greeted me just inside the foyer when I arrived. Douglas Grant had been waiting for me. The careful tailoring of his navy jacket almost disguised his few extra pounds and I was sure I could see my reflection in his well-polished shoes if I leaned closer.

    He led me to his office nearby and waited until I parked my suitcase and slipped off the backpack. He motioned me to a nearby leather chair and seated himself at a carved walnut desk.

    I’d like you to review this packet. He handed me a folder embellished with the school crest and leaned back in his chair. It will explain policies and procedures, and tell you where the staff have their meals and how to navigate the campus and outbuildings.

    He must have read the expression on my face as overwhelmed, for he hastened to add, "But we won’t expect you to know your way around for quite a while. Only the dining facility and your own lodgings will be important to you now. And, of course, the location of your classroom.

    The biggest adjustment our aides find is doing without television, he continued.

    I noticed that in the letter you sent with the application form.

    The headmaster nodded. Yes, no television was a decision made by the school and one that was wholeheartedly supported by the parents. In return, we offer an extremely wide range of activities and educational material, all geared to entertain as well as teach. The students are never at a loss for things to do. And, of course, they have access to current news events suited to their grade level.

    Yes, sir. The variety and number of extracurricular clubs and activities really impressed me.

    He smiled, clearly proud of the school’s assets. "More have been added even since we sent you the brochure. If you like winter sports, we have ice skating, a toboggan slide, and a ski hill. You are encouraged to join in any activity

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