“How’s he doing?” Riley asked, glancing at Olive in the passenger seat beside her. “The no-bullshit answer, please.”
And there it was. But Olive was ready with a smile.
“Dad’s doing okay, really,” Olive said. “He makes dinner every night. Helps me with my homework, even. He’s getting me a computer of my very own soon.”
“And the renovations? Is he still spending all of his time with that?”
Olive shrugged. “Sure, we’re working on the house, but it’s not too bad. The living room’s nearly done. And I’ve decided to go ahead and do some work on my own room. Make it a little bigger, you know? So there’ll be room for bookshelves and a built-in desk for the new computer.”
Was being a really good liar a form of adaptation? Olive wondered.
Cleverness was, she believed.
But was Olive really being that clever? She wasn’t sure if Riley bought it, but her aunt pretended to, at first, and said, “That’s real good, Ollie. I’m glad things are going well. I know high school can be tough—it definitely was for me.”
“Really?” Olive asked.
Riley paused a minute, keeping her eyes on the road ahead, then said, “Yeah, you know, not everyone is designed to fit in. For those of us who don’t, those of us destined to blaze our own paths, well, other people can be downright shitty to us. Especially in high school.”
And Olive almost told her then. Almost confessed everything—how school really sucked, how she skipped more often than went these days, how her dad had started tearing her bedroom apart, how she really was looking for the treasure and hoped it would help bring Mama back.
But then Riley turned and smiled at her, and it was a genuine smile, radiating happiness and relief.
“I’m really so happy you’re doing well, Ollie. I think a computer’s a great idea! Let me know if you need any help picking one out or setting it up or anything. I’m not an expert, but I know enough to get by.”
Olive nodded.
“And you know,” Riley added, putting her hand on Olive’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “If things ever weren’t going well at home, you could always come talk to me. And my guest room is always open, you know that, right? You can stay with me anytime.”
“I know, thanks.” Olive loved the idea of staying with her quirky aunt, but she knew she couldn’t leave her dad for long. She was all he had left. “But things are fine at home now. Really.”
Riley gave her a smile. “Just keep it in mind, ’kay? My door’s always open. And we’re still on for this weekend, right?Bride of Frankensteinand a double pepperoni pizza?”
“Absolutely,” Olive said, giving her aunt the best happy, well-adjusted,I’m doing fine, reallysmile she could muster. “And don’t forget the Swedish Fish!”
CHAPTER 9
Helen
JUNE 9, 2015
Something was eating the trailer.
It was a little after two in the morning and Helen had just come to bed after sitting in the kitchen, doing research on the computer, reading her library books, and drinking two cups of herbal tea liberally laced with brandy to help her get to sleep. Country living was not doing wonders for her insomnia. Back in the condo, there had been hundreds of channels of cable TV and the constant noise of traffic from the highway to help lull Helen to sleep.
Of course her research hadn’t exactly helped. She’d done a search on Hattie Breckenridge and discovered a brief entry from a collection of Vermont ghost stories written in the 1980s:
Hattie Breckenridge, legend had it, was the wife of the Devil himself, with a beauty no man could resist, even in death. To this day, residents of Hartsboro claim to see her in the woods and bog where she once lived, and some have been unlucky enough to follow her, to answer her siren’s call, and never find their way out of the woods again.
Helen had switched off the computer, thinking the story utter nonsense. Where were the facts? Where were the names of people who’d seen her, people who’d supposedly gone missing? She crept into the bedroom and lay down, closed her eyes, took a deep sighing breath, willing herself to fall asleep quickly—and then she heard something scratching and chewing. It seemed to come from directly beneath her pillow.
“Nate,” she said, shaking him. “Wake up.”
“What?”
“Do you hear that?”
“Mmm?”
