Before I left, Rumor fixed me with a glance. “Be careful,” he said. “We believe someone killed Adeline. And now here you are, taking her place, asking questions. Remember that one of these people could be Adeline’s killer.”

  I picked up Hugh’s book and stuck it in my tote bag. I planned to ask him to sign it. It would be a way to start a conversation with him.

  Rumor seemed happy to see the book leave with me. He said one last goodbye, and then I set out to walk to Whittaker House. I had put the address into my phone and discovered it wasn’t that far away. And once I started walking, my feet seemed to know where to go. I kept the app on just in case; my sense of direction had never been that good. But I felt like I was being pulled on my route to this house that was part of my history.

  When I reached the end of a block, I felt like someone was watching me. When I looked back, I found myself looking up into the eyes of a very amused Trevor Whittaker.

  “Ella, isn’t it?” he said. “Fancy meeting you here. Are you coming to the reopening?”

  “Yes,” I said. I wanted to keep walking, but I found myself rooted to the ground. Trevor was tall—I would guess a little over six feet—and he wore an elegantly tailored suit, no tie, and a shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned, not that I was counting or anything. I felt underdressed in my flowered sundress. My tote bag wasn’t my wisest style choice. I also found it hard to take my eyes off him.

  “Yes,” I said, “and you’re Trevor Whittaker.”

  He looked amused that I even had to say that out loud.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” I said. “I thought you’d already be at the event.”

  “I like making entrances,” he said. Raising a brow, he continued. “You and I could create quite a stir, coming in together. What do you think?” He extended his arm to me.

  But I found myself shaking my head. I imagined Rumor at home, telling me to be careful.

  “Come on,” he said, “you can’t deny the chemistry. It seems to happen with our families.”

  I backed up a few steps. “I know a little bit about how that works out. No, thank you.”

  He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Have it your way.” He started walking, whistling a cheeky tune. “But I think we could change the ending.”

  I stood there and waited until he was out of sight. I kept my eyes on the tree on the other side of the road. If he turned around, I didn’t want him to see me staring at him. The tree was charming, too. It was easy to admire, and it felt much safer than staring into the eyes of a Whittaker man.

  When I first saw Whittaker House, I heard a hum in my head, one of those siren songs that makes you wish you could enter a dream and never leave. The house was elegant, mysterious, and compelling, with glorious grounds filled with flowering bushes and trees in the front. There was a sign on the lawn pointing to the reception in the back. I could hear a jazz combo and people laughing and talking.

  I slowly followed the sound, although I would’ve much rather stepped back, listened to the hum, and gone inside the house. People were on the patio. A bartender busily made up cocktails. The jazz quartet played. I noticed several incredible hats, big and bold. There was a flower garden to the side of the patio, and I could see fruit trees behind the musicians and more gardens, with a small house in back that I assumed must be where the caretaker lived. Off to the side of the band, I recognized Hugh Whittaker and Chloe standing behind a table of books. I chose that as my first stop.

  As I walked over, I felt people’s eyes on me. At the café, when customers saw me, they gave me a hug and welcomed me to town. Here, they didn’t approach me. I saw their eyes widen—I assumed due to my resemblance to my aunt—and then settled into a cool appraisal. Some took it one step further—they turned away and willed me invisible. Others continued to look. I took my place in the line that formed in front of Hugh’s table.

  When it was my turn, Hugh gave a bit of a start. In real life, he had that quality I had noticed in his photograph. He focused on the person in front of him so intently, causing them to think they were the only one in the world. Now I stood in front of him, but when he locked eyes with me, there was an instant where he looked rattled before he composed himself and became the glamorous author again.

  “You must be Addie’s niece,” he said.

  “Ella,” Chloe told him. “She came into the store and bought your latest last night.”

  “And already finished it,” I told her. “I couldn’t put it down.” I looked back over at Hugh. “Would you mind signing it for me?”

  “Certainly,” he said. I saw his hand shake ever so slightly as he took hold of the book and began to sign it.

  “I was wondering,” I said, “was the character of Camille based on my aunt?”

  That snapped his head up. The pen ran down the page in a straight line.

  “People ask Hugh questions like this all the time,” Chloe said. “But Hugh always makes up all his characters.”

  “They’re figments of my imagination,” Hugh said. “Literary ghosts.”

  I picked up the book and thanked him.

  “I’m sorry about the sloppy signature,” he said. “I’ve had a few cocktails. I’m not quite myself.”

  I looked down at the inscription and the dramatic line down the page.

  “That’s a unique scribble,” Chloe said. “It will be worth something someday.”

  Hugh was already looking past me at the next person, but I said, “Wait a minute.” I showed him the page. “You signed it to Addie.”

  Hugh looked like he was trying to control a blush from overtaking his face.

  “Chloe,” he said, “let’s give Ella a new copy.” He reached for mine. “I’m sorry. You haven’t caught me at my best moment.”

  “No, that’s fine,” I said, backing up and holding the book firmly in my hands. “That makes it special. Truly.”

  Before I turned away, I could see Chloe turning to the next person in line, apologizing for the wait.

  I headed toward the bar, but not for one of the fancy cocktails in honor of Whittaker House. Tea had always been my drink of choice. But since that wouldn’t be on the menu, I asked the bartender for a seltzer water. As I waited, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned around, I found myself face to face with Mary Whittaker.

  “I told you to stay away from my husband,” she said. “What were you doing over there?”

  The sheer force of her energy made me feel unbalanced.

  “He just signed my book.”

  She gave me another one of those ice-cold smiles.

  I closed my eyes for a minute and felt the chill. If I didn’t do something, she could render me frozen solid. What would heat me up? A shot of honesty. I saw Rumor’s worried face in my mind for a minute, but I barreled on.

  “I think I remind him of my aunt,” I said.

  Something flickered in her face for a moment. Was it fear, anger, hate, all of the above?

  “And look what happened to her,” she said in a low voice before she sashayed away.

  I took a long draw of seltzer. Did I really hear her right? What should I do now?

  A white iron bench under a stately oak tree looked inviting. I made my way to it. Before I sat down, I gave the tree a smile.

  “No.” Jake slid down beside me. “You cannot interact with trees here. It’s just not done.” I gave him a surprised look, and he laughed. “I saw the smile.” Then his face turned more serious. “I do feel a bit responsible because I encouraged you to go to this event.”

  “I was going anyway,” I said.

  Jake sighed. “While you’re here, pretend the trees are just trees.”

  “So you know they’re something more.”

  “I’m a reporter,” Jake said. “I’ve been around the block. I’ve picked up on the tree love in your community. Despite what Sage thinks, I want the best for everyone.” He continued, “I think you’ll like your story tomorrow.”

  I hoped I would, but I didn’t want to talk about it now. I had just caught sight of Trevor Whittaker. Surely he had gotten there ahead of me, but this was my first glimpse of him. He was conferring with the bartender. It looked like he was brainstorming a special drink meant only for him. If I wanted to talk to him further, I figured I should grab my chance.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Jake. He gave me an aggrieved look. “I’m doing you a favor,” I said. “If you hang out too long with me, no one else will want to talk to you.”

  But before I could reach Trevor, his mother had joined him. I certainly did not want to tangle with her again. So I did an abrupt about-face and nearly collided with Rowan.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said.

  Rowan shrugged. “It’s good for business to go to town events.”

  I hoped he never played poker. His face telegraphed the lie.

  “Sage told you that I was going to go, and you’re here to look out for me.”

  Rowan nodded. “I do go to town events,” he said quietly, “but I would never have gone to this one if it weren’t for you. Marketing Rosalind’s home as a haunted house is beyond wrong.”

  I was about to tell Rowan that I wholeheartedly agreed when Carol slid up and demanded a hug from him.

  “We’re like-minded business colleagues showing up for each other,” she declared.

  I wondered if Rowan had confided in her about his true reason for coming, but given the look of discomfort in his eyes, I was guessing not.

  I could hear it again, the house calling me. It felt urgent, intense. It felt like a solo mission.

  “Excuse me. I have to go powder my nose,” I told them. Those were words I never thought would come out of my mouth, but I somehow summoned them up. And with that, I scooted into the house. As I passed him, Rowan looked at me wildly. Did he just not want to be alone with Carol, or did he want to protect me from something? Was there a reason why I shouldn’t go in the house? At that moment, I didn’t care about the answer. I made my escape.

  10.

  Once inside, I found myself in an entry hall that led to a grand room with a fireplace and two portraits hung on the wall above the mantle. One was of a young man looking very lord of the manor, with an upward tilt of his head and that same darn cleft in his chin. Grant Whittaker. The other was of a young woman with a swanlike neck and big eyes that looked out at you as if asking for help. I felt like I could get lost in that face.

  Outside, the music stopped.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice said. “Welcome to the Whittaker House grand reopening. Most of you know me, but for the few who may not, my name is Trevor Whittaker. I’m the son of Hugh and Mary Whittaker, and I’ve been away from my home for too long, pursuing academic interests. But now I’m back and ready to start this new business venture with my father. Together we are reopening this grand structure, Whittaker House. This house has been in my family’s possession since the early 1900s, but no one has lived here since the death of Rosalind Whittaker.” He gave a dramatic pause. “I’ll fill you in on all of the details during the tour. Are you ready?” He lowered his voice. “Just to give you fair warning, there may be a scary moment or two along the way. They say Rosalind’s ghost has never left this house, and she may have a few things to say about us being here. But as my father would say, ‘This is our house. It’s time for us to take it back.’” He raised his voice. “Are you with me?” The crowd cheered. “Let’s go!” he said, and I took one last look at Rosalind’s face before I ducked down a hallway and locked myself in a bathroom.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. Really? But what else was I going to do? Walk out the front while everyone was walking in and get stared at again? “This is better,” I told myself. “If Trevor decides to show them the bathroom, I’ll unlock the door and join them at that point. There were no porta-potties or anything at this event. I’m sure others have used the facility. I could even sneak out and join the tour in progress.” But I found I didn’t want to. I felt it, that sense of proprietary justice. I didn’t want to be part of that crowd, contributing to this folly. I didn’t care what Trevor said; this was Rosalind’s house, and she had been done wrong. I knew it straight down to my bones.

  “Here we go,” I heard Trevor intone through a portable microphone. Was it that loud, or did I just dread hearing the words he was going to say? “We’ll start in the grand room with the portraits of the people who lived here, husband and wife Grant and Rosalind Whittaker.”

  “Look at this dashing fellow,” he said. “Legend has it that he was wanted by every woman in town. But he fell head over heels in love with Rosalind. I’m asking you as impartial observers, is she really all that? So then you must ask, did she use witchcraft to make him marry her? And did the spell wear off?”

  I waited for questions, for challenges to what he said. Certainly, in this day and age, we didn’t put up with that characterization of women. Did we? But the people just murmured to each other in what sounded like agreement with his words, and Trevor moved on.

  “Notice the negative space here in Rosalind’s portrait. The artist had originally painted in Rosalind’s black cat there, her constant companion. After the portrait was completed, Grant had asked the artist to paint over that part, causing the painting to look slightly unbalanced.” He let out a little chuckle. “But perhaps that was fitting for this portrait.” I could hear people laughing. I gritted my teeth, thought of Rumor, and was glad that his ancestor had run away once Rosalind was gone.

  Trevor then talked about the furniture in the room, pointing out a fainting couch, all in the tone of what I was beginning to call the Whittaker smugness.

  I heard them walking away from that space. Trevor pointed out the grand chandelier and began talking about the dinners they had at Whittaker House, and that was when it started. The lights went on and off in a rapid pattern.

  I heard Trevor laugh. “Apparently, we have a new guest with us. Welcome, Rosalind. I hoped you’d come.”

  The lights stayed on for a minute.

  “Leaving so soon?” Trevor said. “I thought you could tell us some things.” Then the lights went on and off again. I could hear people murmuring to each other, some walking away. Then the lights turned totally off.

  “Rosalind,” I whispered. “Are you here?” I stood in the silence. “This isn’t right,” I told her. “Adeline was my aunt. Did you know that she died? Do you know what happened?”

  I heard a commotion then, a thud, and screams. I ran out of the bathroom, following people out of the house and into the courtyard, where a body lay face down on the concrete patio, blood spilling out in a pool around him. Hugh Whittaker was dead.

  11.

  Up above, the door to the second-floor balcony hung open, and the long curtains swayed in the wind. I looked away to the oak tree by the bench. Surely I could receive some reassurance there. That’s when I saw Sage peeking out from behind the tree. She caught my eye and pressed her finger to her mouth, signaling me to be quiet. But Mary Whittaker followed my gaze, and she pointed dramatically at Sage.

  “Don’t you dare run! I should have known it was you.”

  All eyes focused on Sage. Rowan hurried over to his daughter.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Sage stood tall. “I wanted to see what was going on. I have a right to be here, Dad, just like everyone else.”

  Rowan put his arm around his daughter. They conferred for a moment and then walked over to the groundskeeper’s cottage. Before they even knocked, a burly, bearded man opened the door and gestured them in.

  “Whispering to each other, getting their stories straight,” Mary muttered. “Seeking comfort from Dennis, a Whittaker employee. Where’s Chief Davis?”

  Carol came over to join me then.

  “Do you think we should go check on Rowan and Sage?” she asked.

  I thought about how I had inadvertently blown Sage’s cover. And I imagined what Mary would say if I went to join Sage in the groundskeeper’s cottage.

  “Best leave them be,” I said.

  “You’re probably right,” Carol sighed, her hands fidgeting as we waited.

  When the chief arrived, he told everyone they would need to stay to be questioned. Then he and his sergeant examined the body, took pictures, and cordoned off the patio. Mary Whittaker stood behind him, as close to the yellow tape as she could get.

  “I need justice for my husband. Be sure you talk to that girl Sage and her father,” she said. “They’re in the groundskeeper’s cottage. And don’t forget her!” She gestured toward me.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” I told the chief.

  “We’ll get a chance to talk,” Chief Davis said. He told Mary, “I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll do everything we can to find the killer.” He guided her away from the crowd. “Perhaps we should talk first. Then you can go home and rest.”

  As they walked away, Mary’s voice carried. “Just make sure you talk to Sage. And to that tea shop girl.”

  As she and Chief Davis disappeared around the front of the house, two policemen escorted Chloe out of one of the side doors. She wore a Victorian nightgown and had a dazed expression on her face.

  “It was supposed to be a joke,” she said. “The tour would have come into Rosalind and Grant’s bedroom, and Hugh and I were going to be in bed, and then Hugh would announce that we were the new Whittakers.” The policemen held on to her tightly while guests stared. “He loved me,” Chloe insisted. “This was going to be our coming-out party.” She looked at everyone. “You think I did it. But I ran out of the room when the lights went crazy. Hugh had been teasing me, saying scary things, pretending to be different ghosts, and tickling me, and I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. So I ran. I thought he would follow me, but he didn’t.” She looked over at Trevor, who was standing by the bar, drinking another of his custom cocktails. “You knew about our plans to surprise the guests,” Chloe said to Trevor. “You told Hugh to do it.”

  Trevor put his drink down. He addressed the officers. “My dad did mention it to me, and I agreed to it because he seemed to think it would be fun. I’m sorry now that I did. It was in poor taste.”

 

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