“Maybe you left it at the store?” Nate suggested when she insisted that she’d bought a special surprise—Nate’s favorite—for dessert, but it was now missing. “Or just thought about buying it, then got distracted by all the other stuff on your list?”
“Maybe,” she said, beginning to doubt herself.
She couldn’t recall losing a single thing back in Connecticut. Keys and phones were misplaced from time to time, sure, but they always turned up. And back at the condo, they’d had a place for everything: a shelf for the mail, hooks by the door for keys, a charging station in the front hall for their phones. They’d lived an ordered existence. But here in Vermont, she’d somehow managed to lose an entire pie.
“Your phone will turn up,” Helen said.
Nate went back to the bedroom to check the bedding and under the bed in case it had fallen off the shelf.
Helen’s eyes went to the book, to the page Mary Ann Marsden’s phone number had been marking. The heading at the top of the page read, “7 Signs Your House Is Haunted”: unexplained noises, sudden changes in temperature, doors and cabinets opening and closing, strange odors, electronic disturbances, strange dreams, objects going missing.
She read the last sign again, then the description:
If an everyday item is not where you’re sure you left it, a spirit may be playing a trick on you. Most often, these items are returned, sometimes hours, days, or weeks later, usually left in the exact same spot you last saw the object. Spirits are borrowers. They are fascinated by objects from this world.
“Can you try calling it?” Nate asked from the bedroom, his voice muffled, like he was all the way under the bed.
“Sure,” she said, slamming the book closed. She dialed his number, listened to it ring and ring, then go to voice mail.
The house stayed silent. No happy birdsong ringtone.
“It’s not here,” Nate said, frustrated. This was followed by a bang and “Shit!”
“You okay?” Helen called.
“I’m fine. Just bashed my skull for the thousandth time on these godforsaken shelves.”
“We should get rid of the shelves. Let’s take them down. Right now. At least the ones right above the bed.”
“Sure, but not right this second. I need to find my damn phone.”
“We’ll find it,” she said, standing, looking around the kitchen more thoroughly. Then she walked down the hall to the bedroom. Nate was shaking out the covers.
“I’ve checked everywhere it could be, and it’s just not here.”
“You can’t be sure,” Helen said. “Didn’t you say it was almost dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, then that explains why we didn’t hear it ringing.”
“But I know I left it right here, Helen.” He hit the lowest shelf with his palm for emphasis. She saw his watch, wallet, penknife, and loose change. “That’s what’s driving me crazy. I left it right here!”
“Are you sure you didn’t take it? Maybe by accident?”
“I’m sure.”
He blinked at her, and for half a second, she was sure he didn’t believe her—that he thought she was lying to him.
“Why would I have taken your phone?” she said, the words coming out more defensive than she’d meant.
“Well, phones don’t get up and walk away on their own,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “They don’t.”
CHAPTER 8
Olive
