Chapter 3
If you’ve never moved to a new town, been a murder suspect, and inherited a haunted mansion before, let me tell you: it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.
Most people probably don’t think about the fact that, if a lot of the town still partially suspects you might have killed someone, they’re not inclined to be chatty.
And that’s on top of the usual small-town reserve, the inclination to treat anybody who didn’t grow up there, who doesn’t have three generations of ancestors buried in the local cemetery, like a permanent outsider.
And even though I had friends—good friends, actually, who had helped me when I needed it—the reality was that I was alone in a new place. And I was lonely.
So, I got up at an ungodly hour (the devil invented nine AM—I’m not willing to hear opinions to the contrary).
And I got dressed. The day was clear but windy, and I had a feeling that jeans and a jacket were the right choice.
And because I was feeling virtuous after that tremendous display of willpower, I stopped at Chipper to get myself a banana cream latte and a lemon poppyseed muffin.
And a blueberry muffin. And these little granola bites that look dangerously healthy but are actually delicious.
Because I needed to keep my strength up.
By the time I got to the state park, a small group of people—maybe ten—was already gathered in the parking lot.
I recognized a few faces from around town, but I didn’t know anyone by name.
I considered turning around and going back to Hemlock House and spending my day in the company of my muffins.
And then I told myself no. I needed to socialize.
I needed to see other people, real people.
I needed to talk to people. Apparently. Which was definitely a surprise because if you’d asked Hugo, he would have sworn that I could have had a very successful career as a hermit.
The knock at the window made me jump.
Deputy Bobby leaned down, his face set somewhere between brooding and perfect. I had a momentary flash of the last time I’d seen him. He’d been actively—enthusiastically, vigorously, one might even say, like a champion—kissing West. My face heated.
He rapped on the glass again.
I buzzed down the window.
“We’re about to leave.”
“Hi, Deputy Bobby.”
He winced and rubbed one eye. “Get out of your car.”
“Funny coincidence, I’m not here for the hike—”
“Out.”
I got out of the car.
Deputy Bobby gave me a very cop-like assessment and said, “Did you eat two muffins?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Officer.”
He rubbed his eyes again. “All right. Here we go.”
I trudged over to the group, mostly because Deputy Bobby was careful to stay a step behind me in case I got any crazy ideas, like trying to make a run for it.
The hikers numbered fifteen now, counting me and Deputy Bobby, and they were all friendly—men and women in middle age, who welcomed me with smiles and nods and the occasional handshake.
Nobody screamed, “Murderer!” Nobody fainted.
I realized, too late, I hadn’t paid attention to their names, and as we set off on the hike, I decided the only safe thing to do was hang back to walk alongside Deputy Bobby.
I’d been right about the day: clear skies, warming nicely, but with a wind ripping through the stands of spruce and fir that made me glad for the jacket.
I was learning—slowly. The air smelled like moss and resin and damp soil.
The massive sitka spruces creaked and rolled their branches.
Ferns and bracken hissed in the breeze. It was too crisp and too bright and too beautiful not to feel awake and alive and happy.
I figured the muffins and latte probably hadn’t hurt.
When I glanced over, though, Deputy Bobby was stifling a yawn.
“You look beat.”
“Thanks.”
“God, no, I just meant—are you okay?”
“I’m tired.”
“But you still came to the hike?”
“I like hiking.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I can tell.”
After a moment, he gave me a crooked look. I let a smile slip out.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I worked third watch, and I spent half of it dealing with angry messages and trying to explain why being too tired is a valid excuse not to go to a party.”
“Oh,” I said.
“West really wants to go.”
That part, I’d figured out myself.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Deputy Bobby made a strange noise; it took me a moment to recognize the little scoff as a kind of laugh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“No. I want to hike. And I want to enjoy this hike. In silence. And then I want to go home and sleep so I can go to this stupid party.”
“I’m going to go home and stare at a horse,” I said. “Wanna trade?”
“Did you hear the part about silence?”
I grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
We were starting uphill. Ahead of us, the occasional snatch of conversation drifted between hikers. The sound of the trees blended with the sound of the ocean. Then he looked over at me, and amusement crooked across his face again.
“What was that thing about a horse?” he said.
“I thought this was a silent hike.”
“Uh huh.” It was clear he hadn’t heard me. “So, you don’t have plans tonight?”