Chapter 13
When I pulled up to Hemlock House, the sun had slipped below the horizon, and the last light of day hammered coppery divots into the water.
The windows of the old house glowed against the coming darkness, which was good—it meant someone was home.
It was disorienting to realize I’d lost most of the day at the conference, but as I got out of the Jeep, my stomach rumbled; I’d also missed at least one meal (or three hobbit meals), a matter I was determined to rectify as soon as I had a copy of Dropped Stitches in my hand.
I crossed the vestibule, stepped into the hall, and called out, “I’m home,” as I made my way to the stairs.
The doors to the billiard room were open, and the lights were on.
Indira stood there, facing the billiard room, hugging herself.
She glanced over at me. And I know I make a big deal out of the whole witch thing, but I swear to God, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
One foot on the stairs. “Everything okay?”
No response. But she was still looking at me, and I sensed a bad case of frog coming on if I didn’t do something, and fast.
Changing course, I made my way to the billiard room.
Keme sat on the chesterfield, his long, dark hair stringy with saltwater.
I knew it was saltwater because the faint tang of it ran like iron under the usual smells of leather and old books and the fireplace.
He was dressed in sweats, with a blanket around his shoulders, and his face was blank.
Millie was snuggled up against him, her expression tight.
And Fox, who had apparently found time to change clothes since the farmers market, was now dressed somewhere between merfolk and Knott’s Berry Farm employee.
(The emphasis was on shiny red-and-white scales.) They examined me with what a writer prone to cliché might have called a murderous disposition.
“Uh, hey.” I glanced around again. Millie wouldn’t look at me. Keme wouldn’t look at anyone. Fox wouldn’t look at anyone but me. And I wouldn’t look at Indira. “What happened?”
“You—” Fox began.
Red-eyed, Millie raised her head from Keme’s shoulder. “YOU MISSED KEME’S SURF COMPETITION! AND IT WAS IMPORTANT TO HIM!”
“What?”
Okay, that was definitely the wrong thing to say, because I could feel static electricity gathering behind me like Indira was going to blast me.
“Oh my God,” I said. And then I said a word that I knew you weren’t allowed to say at Knott’s Berry Farm. “Keme, I’m so sorry. I got distracted—”
With surprising gentleness, Keme slipped out from Millie’s embrace and padded toward the door. He was barefoot, and a fresh scrape showed where he’d caught up on a rock.
“No, wait, please—” I reached out, but I didn’t touch him; my hand floated there, doing nothing.
And then he was gone, heading down the hall. A moment later, the sound of bare feet on wood came from the stairs.
“I didn’t mean to forget—” I explained to the other three, who were currently competing for the roles of judge, jury, and executioner.
Fox hissed at me.
“WHERE WERE YOU?”
“I was trying to solve a murder! Two murders, actually! Someone else got killed today. And in case it matters to anyone, yes, I’m still the lead suspect.” That bit of steam ran out pretty quickly, though, and in a more subdued voice, I added, “I didn’t mean to forget.”
“Well,” Fox said with their usual aplomb, “you did.”
“Yes, I’m aware—”
“AND IT HURT KEME’S FEELINGS! AND HE’S A BOY SO HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU!”
“Yes—”
“SO I’M TELLING YOU!”
“I got that part.”
“AND YOU NEED TO FIX IT!”
“Okay, jeez, I—” Millie didn’t actually screech like a banshee in rage, but something in her face suggested this was a distinct possibility, so I checked my ’tude and in a, uh, better tone said, “I know. I will.”
A chorus of sniffs and huffs and dirty looks suggested I was not forgiven.
“I know,” I said. “I screwed up.”
“It’s all right, dear,” Indira said, which is proof she might be the kindest person alive. She even patted my shoulder. “You have a lot going on. I’m sure he’ll understand when you apologize.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure. Because Keme didn’t extend his trust lightly, and even though he and I had been through a lot together, I also knew that his natural tendency was to draw back and protect himself.
Well, I had nobody to blame but myself. Although weirdly, I wanted to blame that call with my parents. Because I’d been planning to go. I had. It was that there had been that call, and I’d been thinking about the show, and then there’d been Steven’s murder to deal with, and—
And a lot of excuses.
“I’m going to go upstairs,” I said. “See if I can apologize.”
Indira patted my shoulder again. Millie wiped her eyes—they were angry tears, but they still made me feel about an inch tall. Fox pretended I didn’t exist or had never been born or something and busied themselves checking their merfolk boots.
Upstairs, the hall was dark, and no light showed under Keme’s door.
I knocked softly. “Keme? You in there?”
No answer.
I knocked again. “Hey, I’m sorry about missing your competition. I know it was important, and I messed up majorly by not being there. I want to apologize if you’ll let me.”
Nothing.
“I totally get that you need some time and you don’t want to see me right now,” I said.
I pressed my fingertips to my chest and tried to follow my breathing.
I kept my voice as easy as I could. “So, I’m going to try to apologize later.
But if you could give me a sign, you know, that you heard me, and you’ll eventually forgive me, even if it means I have to grovel for the next hundred years, because believe it or not, this is doing some crazy stuff to my anxiety.
” Pause here for an absolutely insane laugh.
But still nothing. “Okay. Right. Going to go now. Leaving now. And…goodbye.”
Yes, not my finest moment. I’m fully aware.
(I also did this super weird little bow when I said goodbye. I wasn’t going to tell you because it was so bonkers, but I told you anyway, so now you know.)
Ideally, this would be when I slunk into my room and disappeared forever, hopefully into some sort of enchanted wardrobe full of animals who would solve my life problems and feed me English desserts.
But since I was an adult, and I actually didn’t like Turkish delight all that much, I decided to slink in a different direction, and I made my way into Vivienne’s study.
I hardly ever went into Vivienne’s study.
The same went for the massive bedroom that had once been hers.
I’d lived here for over two years. The house was legally mine.
But they still felt too much like Vivienne’s—like she might come back and claim them again.
That wasn’t going to happen now, a part of me recognized, but it would take a while before the difference actually felt, you know, real.
When I stepped through the door, the sound of the ocean was louder—closer. Cold air brushed my face. Even though the lights were off, the study was brighter than the hallway. Much brighter. The last bit of daylight funneled in through the doors to the sleeping porch.
Which stood open.
And they were never open.
I reached for the light switch. I was on autopilot, and my brain hadn’t caught up to my body.
The doors to the porch were open. Drawers hung free from the desk. Papers lay everywhere.
Something dropped in front of my face, a flutter of movement.
And then the cord snapped tight around my neck.