“I need to tell you something,” he says urgently. “And I need you to listen.”
I narrow my eyes at him, waiting. He shuffles a bit on the spot, like his legs are struggling to keep him upright. If I run inside right now, I think, he won’t be able to keep up. I glance desperately at the front door, and he steps forward, blocking my path.
“I’m here to warn you.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “About what?”
His entire body is trembling. He’s wobbly and unfocused, and his eyes are wide with fear. He glances at the house yet again, like he’s afraid to speak in front of it.
“What is it?”
He bites his lip, eyes flicking back and forth between the house and me. He leans in. “There’s something in the attic,” he whispers.
“The attic?” I repeat stupidly.
“That’s what Bill kept saying.” He jerks his head at our sloping roof, the one that’ll cost us ten grand to fix. Urgently he whispers, “He said he heard noises coming from the attic. Especially at night.”
“What did he think it was?”
He shuffles in his spot, and I notice how pale he’s gotten. “He wasn’t sure…but he insisted something was up there, watching them. He was so paranoid that he started sleeping up there.” He swallows hard. “But he never did find out what it was.”
“What did Susan say about it?”
“She was worried, but not about the attic. It was Bill she was concerned about. She thought he was losing his marbles. Plus”—he frowns—“they were arguing all the time.” He glances nervously at the house again, like he’s sure it’s listening. “They’d sunk a lot of money into the house, and they couldn’t really afford it. And Bill…well, he hid it as best he could, but he had some problems.”
I fidget with my car key, running my thumb across the cool metal. “What kind?”
“Drinking, mainly. And”—his voice drops—“I guess you’d call them mental issues these days. But back then we just said he was highly strung.”
Marriage, financial, and mental health issues…Huh, same.
Mr. Whitman stares grimly at the front door. “The house made him crazy,” he mutters. “I know it did. Plus, there was something that didn’t add up about Bill. We always felt he was hiding something about his past.”
Aren’t we all?
He wheels so quickly that it catches me off guard. His red-rimmed eyes flick over me. “Where did you say you were from again?”
I tilt my chin up. Look him straight in the eye.Trust me,my eyes say.I’ve got nothing to hide.I open my mouth, and my lies come out so smoothly you’d think I’d spent hours and hours practicing them.
Which I have.
“Oh, I moved around a lot.” I smile blandly. “My parents never liked to stay in the same place for long.”
“Where are your parents now?”
I can answer that truthfully, at least. “Dead.”
He flinches. “I’m sorry.”
I’m not.
“Thank you.” I shuffle from foot to foot and hope he’ll get the message. Then I remember what Joe said about being nice to the neighbors. That’s Joe. He needs to be liked, adored even, but not by me apparently.
I chew on my lip, thinking. If we intend to sell this place, it will help if the neighbors are on board. It might put off future buyers to know the neighborhood hates their guts. So, I add grudgingly, “We’ll have to have you and Mrs. Whitman over for coffee sometime.”
“No!”
Now it’s my turn to flinch. He’s staring up at the house again with that nervous look. He turns back to me, his mouth a grim line. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could ever step foot in that house again.”
