“Yeah? I want you to trust me.” He leans back to look me in the eyes.
Really, I do.
I trust him to protect me as long as we’re both sharing this house. The trouble comes if that changes and I decide to stick around a little longer, but I won’t dwell on that for now.
“After breakfast, I want to check out the garden. Looks like decent weather today for another run at Gramps’ mystery,” I tell him, getting started on some waffles. “Not sure I’ll find anything, but I should at least check.”
Plus, focusing on our mystery will give me something to do besides worry about more burglars.
“Sounds good. I’ll give you a hand. I also promised the kids some time on the lake, and you’re welcome to join us,” Kane says.
“No, you guys go ahead.” I shake my head gently.
He doesn’t say it either, but we’re both thinking the same thing: distraction.
Before this day ends, I wonder if I’ll need them by the bushel.
I’m shocked and sad.
The garden is just as large as I remember, but way more overgrown, abandoned since PopPop’s death and left to go wild.
The only building is the old storage shed, and that’s where I head after breakfast.
Inside, it’s dark and dusty, the air stale with cobwebs splayed between windows.
When I was little, Gramps had people keeping this place nice and tidy, but like everything else, it’s been derelict for years.
There are ghostly gaps in the dust where Kane stepped, where he’s taken out tools and replaced them.
Weird.
For all his money, Gramps was pretty handy when he was younger. He could patch up the fence or hang pictures or paint, and he’d always come in here for his tools. Sometimes we’d catch him on lazy evenings pruning trees or weeding.
Having Kane show up with his money and fame with the same willingness to swing a hammer feels like a strange coincidence across time.
Like maybe this old house still attracts a certain kind of person.
Yeah, I need to get out of here before I go all sentimental.
One last scan to make sure there’s nothing out of place, and I shut the door, glancing at the lake.
Kane and the kids are out on the canoe, a distant shape far from shore.
It’s the kind of lazy boat ride to nowhere we’d do all the time, and their shrieks of laughter carry across the still water.
They’ve been out there for a while. I think they’ll be coming back for lunch soon.
Smiling, I turn back toward the house.
That’s when I remember what Mrs. Griffith said. I can picture it tucked in the trees and overgrown grass.
Bigger, grander gardens. A flat piece of land, and on it—
The gazebo.
A chill zings down my spine.
The grass catches in my legs as I walk forward, a few scattered branches tripping me up, and then I’m at the old stone base half-covered in dirt.
