Chapter Forty-Nine
Hayley cannot believe her mother.
On the phone, she thought at first that Mom was just disappointed about her not going to the beach with Dad because it was supposed to be a family thing.
But apparently, that’s not it. She’s all freaked out about Hayley being here alone.
She actually wanted to drive back and pick her up. “Just put on your bathing suit and be ready when I get there.”
“Don’t come. I’m not going to the beach.”
They did a few rounds of yes, you are and no, I’m not before Hayley said, “I’m just not comfortable in a bathing suit right now, okay?”
It isn’t true.
But it worked as intended.
“Fair enough. But I’ll come back and stay with you.”
“Why?”
“You know why!”
“Seriously? You’re going to ruin Caleb’s only beach day of the whole summer to come back here and babysit me?”
Invoking Caleb is genius, because they both know he won’t want to stay there without Mom.
“He loves the beach, Mom. It’s not fair to make him leave if he’s actually having fun for a change. And you’ve been looking forward to it, too, to spending time with Aunt Kelly. And I know how to take care of myself for a little while. Didn’t you, when you were my age?”
Her mother agreed to let her stay. “You’re right. Okay. But you have to make sure all the doors are locked. And you can’t let anyone in if they come knocking.”
“Who’s going to come knocking?”
“You never know. A chef, or a delivery, or a neighbor, or—”
“Or an axe murderer?”
“Hayley—”
“Relax, Mom. I’m just kidding around. But what am I supposed to do if, like, the chef shows up to make dinner?”
“If anyone shows up, just call me immediately. You are not to open the door for any reason.”
“Can I open it to sit on the porch and read, or do you want me to, like, climb out the window?”
“I want you to stay in the house. No going outside for any reason.”
Hayley rolls her eyes. She can’t resist asking, “What if the house catches on fire? Do you want me to burn to death?”
“You know what I mean. Oh, and I don’t want you turning on the stove or oven either. Got it?”
“You want me locked up and starving to death like a prisoner. Got it.”
“This is your choice. I can come get you if you want—”
“I don’t,” Hayley says. “I want to stay here. I’ll be fine. Have fun. Bye-eee.”
She drifts downstairs, pretending she’s the lady of the house and wishing she were dressed in a sweeping ball gown, or even the white eyelet dress she wore at dinner last night.
That was her plan, but unfortunately, she must have somehow sat on a crumb of chocolate soufflé, and it left a brown smudge in the back.
She left the dress in a heap on the floor.
Maybe Mom has OxiClean with her, or Kelly has some she can borrow to remove the stain.
She just hopes no one noticed it last night, because that would be totally embarrassing.
She’s not going to waste time worrying about it now, though, because she wants to enjoy her time alone. Well, alone except for Kelly’s cat, Bibi. But Kelly said she’s shy and mostly stays on her bed, so Hayley hasn’t even seen her yet.
She keeps an eye out for Bibi and an ear out for ghostly voices as she makes her way through the first-floor rooms, noticing that the house is much quieter than her own house.
No creaky floorboards, squeaky door hinges, or dripping faucets.
She hears only clocks ticking, appliances humming, and her sandals flip-flopping across the marble, wood, and carpeted floors.
In the kitchen, she finds a white bakery box with a scrolled blue label written in French.
It’s full of pastries that look like miniature works of art.
She chooses a chocolate tart-type thing and gobbles it down while she’s standing at the counter, because there’s no one here to tell her to sit down and get a plate.
Thirsty, she opens the fridge, bypassing the lemonade for a pretty blue bottle of sparkling water. It kind of looks like champagne. She pretends that it is, and it’s half gone before she wishes she’d poured it into a stemmed crystal flute.
If only Chloe were here. Hayley snaps a few selfies to send her, making sure to get the beautiful cabinets and black granite counters in the background.
Noticing the half-full coffeepot, she sees that there’s a Post-it stuck to it. It says, Help yourself.
Kelly probably meant that for Mom and Dad. But then again, maybe it was for Hayley too. Kelly treats her like a real person.
The thing is, Hayley doesn’t really drink coffee. Unless you count the time when Mom ordered something at Starbucks called a macchiato with whipped cream and caramel drizzled on top and she let Hayley try it. It wasn’t bad, but it was nowhere near as good as hot chocolate.
She looks through the cabinets for a cup. There are mugs, and a lot of stainless-steel ones with lids. Mom would probably tell her to use one of those so that she doesn’t break or spill.
Annoyed, she closes the cabinet and goes into the dining room.
There’s a glass-fronted cabinet filled with elegant dishes and stemware.
She sees a whole set of the gold-rimmed china they used at last night’s dinner, but there are other kinds too.
Some of it looks really old, like the set with the scalloped edges and little roses.
Taking out a plate, she sees that it says Haviland Limoges on the back, which sounds classy, maybe even French.
She’ll use this for her breakfast. Kelly won’t mind. She won’t even have to know. Hayley will wash it and put it away as soon as she’s done eating and FaceTiming with Chloe.
She stacks a plate, saucer, and cup and steadies it with two hands as she carries it to the kitchen.
Opening the bakery box, she selects the prettiest pastry, a flaky confection filled with cream and dotted with sugary flowers and cherries and chopped nuts.
She doesn’t like nuts, but they look nice, and she’ll pick around them.
She puts it on the fancy plate, then pours some coffee into the fancy cup and takes a sip. It’s hot and bitter and awful. All the whipped cream and caramel in the world couldn’t make it better, but that’s okay. She doesn’t have to actually drink the stuff.
She balances the cup on the saucer in one hand and carries the plated pastry with the other, walking very slowly to the dining room table. She sits with the elegant marble fireplace behind her and holds up her phone, reversing the camera so that she can see how she looks.
Perfect, other than the bright-green T-shirt. She considers borrowing something from her mom. Or better yet, from Kelly. But it’s one thing to help yourself to food and nice dishes and another to go into someone’s closet without asking.
She lifts the cup in her left hand as if she’s drinking, and she holds her phone in the other, holding it high and at an angle. Then she uses her thumb to FaceTime Chloe.
The first thing she’ll do is sip her coffee. Then she’ll be sure to mention that she’s here alone, just to remind Chloe that she’s not a child of eleven, like Maddie is.
Then maybe she can take Chloe on a tour around the mansion.
She can tell her that it’s haunted too. Chloe knows a lot of ghost stories from camp.
Most of them are just silly, but there’s one that still gives Hayley the creeps, about a strange figure called the Hatman who haunts people in their beds at night.
Chloe showed her an article about scientific research claiming it’s an inexplicable phenomenon tied to something called sleep paralysis.
The phone keeps making its vibrating FaceTime ring sound. Chloe always answers right away. This time, she doesn’t answer at all.
She can’t already be out shopping with her mom and Maddie, can she? Even if she is, why wouldn’t she pick up? Unless she’s in the shower.
That makes sense.
Then again, she always has her phone with her, even in the bathroom. Once when Hayley tried to call her, Chloe stuck her hand out of the shower to send one of those auto-reply messages about can’t talk right now. And she called back even before she dried her hair.
So, yeah. No. There’s no good reason she’s not picking up. There’s a bad reason, and that reason is Maddie.
Hayley disconnects the call, tosses the phone on the table, and plunks the cup down in the saucer, forgetting that it’s fragile, old porcelain. She hears a loud cracking sound.
“No!”
Looking down, she sees that the saucer has broken in half.
Alarmed, she snatches the cup and jumps to her feet. Hot coffee sloshes over the gold rim, burning her hand. She drops the cup.
It doesn’t shatter, because it bounces off the cushion of the chair beside her and lands on the plush rug under the table. Brown liquid spatters over the polished wood surface and pools on the pale upholstery.
“No! Oh no, please, no!”
Oh yes.
Hayley jumps up and gapes in horror at the mess.
Snapping out of it, she races to the kitchen, grabs a huge wad of paper towels and some cleaning spray from under the sink, hoping it’s OxiClean or something like it. She races back and sprays it all over the table, then the chair, then the rug, and begins wiping it all up with paper towels.
The cleaner is leaving a white film on the dark wood surface and splotchy white marks on the cushion and rug. Crying now, she rubs harder, but that only makes it worse. Realizing that her shirt front is covered in little white dots, too, she looks at the spray bottle.
It isn’t OxiClean at all. It’s bleach.