Chapter 33
The ghost will get you too.
Penelope’s words echo in my mind as Olivia and I settle into our Adirondack chairs under a vault of stars, the mist creeping beneath our feet like a specter.
Mercifully, Eric’s putting the girls to bed, so I can enjoy a moment’s peace, free of their psychological warfare.
The crickets are in full song tonight, but I can still hear the croak of my friend, the lonely frog.
I trace the Big Dipper, noting the sparks of light along its handle.
Before coming here, I would have scoffed at ghost stories.
Now, with every passing day, their possibility inches closer.
I think of the girl outside my window last night, and I shudder.
Was she even there? Or was I just hearing Carlos and projecting?
I take a sip of tonight’s signature cocktail that Eric prepared, a bitter concoction, and let an audible sigh escape my mouth.
“The fair wear you out today?” asks Olivia with a knowing smile.
“That’s putting it mildly. Carlos made an unannounced visit at one a.m. last night. Then, today I ran into him at the fair. With another girl.”
Her shrewd eyes widen. “Yikes.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what to do.” I feel myself blush at the thought of Carlos, Kenzie looking doe-eyed at him. “I like him, but…I don’t know.” I pause. “Then the girls were begging to ride the—” I pause again. “Rides. It was a lot.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “I love those two, but they can be a handful. It’s my mom’s fault. She babies them too much; lets them get away with everything. Somebody needs to teach them a lesson. What’s that saying? Spare the rod, spoil the child.”
There’s a touch of venom in Olivia’s words, but I laugh it off. “Well, it’s certainly not going to be me. I’m more comfortable bribing them with ice cream and mini doughnuts.”
“That’s another approach.”
I lean forward in my chair and drop my voice. “Penelope did say something to me today I wanted to ask you about.”
She tilts her head. “Really, what?”
Before I can speak, the patio door slides open. Eric emerges, a triumphant grin on his face. “I’ve done it. After the third reading of Paddington in London, the girls are finally asleep. Hallelujah.”
I whisper to Olivia, “I’ll tell you later.”
Eric pours himself a gin and tonic with a splash of soda—a “gin sonic” as he calls it—and strolls over to join us. He lifts his gaze to the dazzling night sky and whistles. “This is why I bought this place. Russ Neuman’s going to have to pry the deed out of my cold, dead hands.”
“Don’t tempt him, Dad,” says Olivia.
He takes a deep breath of the night air. “I’m thinking of taking a little moonlight stroll along the shore. Any interest?”
“Shouldn’t somebody stay with the girls?” I ask.
“I think they’ll survive thirty minutes without us,” he says.
Olivia downs her drink and waves off. “That’s all right. I’ll stay back. This little kitty needs some sack time.” She rises from her chair and waves good night.
“Then I’m in,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
“Fantastic,” he says with a clap. “Warning: The terrain gets a little choppy, but it opens up to a stunning view of the cove.”
“Sounds great to me.”
Eric and I stroll to the front of the house while Olivia retires for the evening. A crisp autumn breeze off the lake chills me as we reach a clump of wild, dark, overgrown vegetation. The crickets scream louder, as if they’re warning us.
“Are you sure this is a path? It looks more like the remains of a path to me,” I ask.
“Admittedly, I need to do some grooming, but trust me. Once you get past this narrow part, it opens up.”
I look at him sideways. “If you say so.”
We hack our way through the tangled brush, and my initial discomfort gives way to the beauty of the forest under starlight.
The air carries the scent of a distant campfire and pine.
As we crunch through the woods, my boot catches, and Eric grabs my hand.
I feel an unspoken bond with him, as if we were two explorers charting unknown territory.
After a couple of minutes of walking, the brush opens up and a soft, leafy path emerges.
He releases my hand, and we stroll side by side, enjoying the silence.
I want to enjoy the moment, but questions keep nagging at me. The ghost. The note on the door. Heathcliff.
“Did you ever hear from the vet?” I ask.
“Funny you should ask. I heard from her today,” says Eric. His neck is bent, and he says it more to the ground than to me.
I slacken my pace. “Really. What did she say?”
He slows to match me and keeps his eyes pointed downward. “She said that she found grape skins in his gut, and that’s likely what killed him.” His gaze flickers to me, then to the lake.
“Oh,” I say, my pitch rising. My mind flashes to the plate of grapes I found in the girls’ room, their mention of the “ghost” killing Heathcliff.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was just surprised,” I lie.
He tilts his head. “Charlotte, I heard the tone of that ‘oh.’ Spill the beans.”
“Okay, but it’s probably nothing. And you can’t tell the girls I told you, because they’re still getting to know me.”
“Word of honor. Now tell me.”
“After we found Heathcliff dead, you remember, Laelynn asked me to go upstairs and watch the girls.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, when I went to their room, I found grapes on their desk. So I asked the girls about it, and they reacted a little…odd.”
“Odd? Like what?”
“I can’t really put my finger on it, but it just stuck with me.”
He straightens up. “Are you saying the girls fed grapes to Heathcliff?”
In my mind I think, “yes,” but I’m not about to tell their father that. “No. But I thought they might know something.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t seem like much.”
“No, it doesn’t. And that’s why I kept my mouth shut. But then, today at the fair, they said something strange that made me question it.”
“What did they say?”
“They said a ghost killed Heathcliff.”
Eric resumes walking. “Hmm. A ghost?” Silence. A stroke of the chin. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s probably their imagination.”
“Well, that’s the other thing. Last night I woke up to a strange crunching noise, and I swear I saw a girl outside my window.”
Eric’s eyebrows scrunch. “Are you saying you think there’s a ghost on Big Island?”
“No. I’m not sure exactly what I’m saying. It just freaked me out.”
Eric nods and kicks at the leaves as he walks. “It’s probably my fault. I tell them ghost stories around the fire sometimes. They were probably playing ghosts and left the plate on the floor, and Heathcliff got to it, and they didn’t want us to be mad at them. I’ll talk to them about it.”
I stay silent, confident that that is definitely not what happened to Heathcliff but not wanting to rock the boat any further.
Eric puts a hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. “Thanks for telling me, Charlotte. Probably wasn’t the easiest thing to bring up.”
I put my hand on his hand. “Anytime.”
Around the bend, the trees part to reveal Vivek’s house.
The sight jars me. A sudden tremor in the night’s calm.
Vivek and his wife sit around a firepit, drinks in hand, with an older woman whose face I know too well.
There, as promised, is my mother, holding court, her gestures strident but composed.
Though I can’t see every detail, Vivek’s crossed arms and slumped posture betray his discomfort.
I wonder what his wife is hearing, and a blush creeps over my cheeks.
Eric notices my halt.
“What is it?” he asks.
I point. “That’s Vivek. And my mother haranguing him.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know his house was right here. Or I wouldn’t have taken us.”
“No, it’s fine. I just—” My voice falters as memories crest in my mind. I turn away.
“What?”
I hesitate to bring more chaos into Eric’s life than I already have. Then it just spills out. “He assaulted me yesterday.”
His eyes pop. “When you saw him on your walk yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“That motherf—” Eric strides toward the house, his chest out. “I don’t even know this asshole, and I’ve had it with him. What this guy needs is a good old-fashioned ass-kicking.”
I grab him by the arm, feeling the firm muscle beneath his jacket. “No. It’s fine. I’ve taken care of it. He won’t do it again. And once my mom’s done with him, he really won’t do it again.”
He stares at me, face red and lungs heaving.
“I promise,” I say.
His shoulders drop and his fists loosen. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
I release my grip and pat his chest. “I’m sure.”
A gust of frigid wind sends a chill through me. Eric slips off his fleece and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I say, though the warmth is welcome.
He tightens the jacket around me, drawing us closer. “If you won’t let me give Vivek a taste of his own medicine, at least let me do this.”
I relent and allow myself to be pulled toward him. The moonlight catches his northern-light irises, and next thing I know, I’m swept up in the moment. I close my eyes and lean in to kiss him.
I wait for his lips to meet mine, but it never comes.
I feel his grip release.
My eyes open.
He steps back like he saw a snake. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”
Blood rushes to my face, and my heart sinks. “No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. The tequila and the moonlight. I just got a little caught up in it all. That was totally inappropriate.”
The color of Eric’s face matches mine. “No, it’s fine. You’re stunning. I just, Laelynn—”
I wave him off, my eyes lasered on the ground. “Please stop. You’re making it worse.”
He chuckles, deep and soft, easing the tension, and puts a hand on my back. “Here. Why don’t we head back to the house and pretend this never happened?”
I laugh and brush the hair out of my face. “Sounds good.” I start to take off his jacket, but he pats me on the shoulder.
“Keep it.”
We walk home in silence. The embarrassment is so thick I feel like I’m walking against a stiff breeze. It takes everything in me not to jump into the lake and swim to town. Eric handles it with his typical class, chattering about various constellations as we stroll.
When we arrive at the house, his chatter dies. Hanging on the front door is another note secured with a rusty old nail. The same lined yellow legal paper snaps in the wind. I look at Eric, whose head sags when he sees it.
I catch a figure running into the underbrush. Heavy and halting. It looks like Russ Neuman, but I can’t be sure.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters under his breath. He storms toward the front door, and I jog to keep up with him. The crickets heighten their chirps as if they are feeding off Eric’s anger.
He snatches the note and reads it. I peer over his shoulder.
In the same crooked, deranged, immature handwriting, the note says:
PIGS GET FED
HOGS GET SLAUGHTERED
With every word I read, I feel my chest cinching. I search his face for shared dread, but he just clenches his jaw and shoves the note into his pocket.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, my voice coated with urgency.
He raises an eyebrow and glares. “I’m not going to do anything. This is a stupid prank by a lonely old man with too much time on his hands.”
“But you said you’d call the police? How can you be certain it’s Russ? It could be a psychopathic stranger.”
He rolls his eyes. “You sound like Laelynn.” The ultimate insult.
“The police have better things to do with their time. I don’t want to involve them in this.
Besides, she already reported this, and you see where that’s gotten us.
” He opens the door, lowering his voice.
“Now, I’m going to bed. It’s been a long night. ”
I follow him inside and whisper, “I just think it—”
“Good night, Charlotte.” His voice carries an edge I haven’t heard before. I watch him take the stairs up to his room.
“Good night.”
I shut the guest room door behind me and soak in what just transpired.
I notice my hands are shaking. None of this makes sense.
Why won’t Eric call the police? Russ Neuman, or whoever is leaving these notes, is definitely not just playing pranks.
But Eric was so insistent that we not involve the cops.
Why? What is he hiding? I look up at the beams of the old house running along the ceiling and think of Marjorie Neuman.
But that’s not what’s shaking me. I saw something in Eric tonight. An anger. Something I saw in my dad on those nights when alcohol seized him.
As I drift off, the warning lingers in my mind:
You should leave our dad alone. Or the ghost will get you too.