“Probably not.”
Night pressed against the bay windows behind Tina, broken only by the stars and the tiny dot of light indicating a ship out to sea. The wind had picked up after sunset, and the old house creaked as its boards chafed uneasily. The stiff breeze had also chased out much of the day’s collected heat, and even the humidity didn’t seem as bad.
It would have been a great evening for a romantic walk on the beach with Nigel. But even without the threat of Ethan chasing them down, they had work to do. Romance would have to wait.
They geared up and returned to the stairs, climbing up to the third floor, which proved to be the most heavily renovated of the entire house. The walls of the main hall were painted a soft cream, and set closer together than the more spacious ones on the other two floors. More doors opened onto it as well, some of them standing open to reveal tiny rooms that felt even more cramped thanks to the slant of the roof.
The air was breathlessly hot, all the heat of the day risen to collect in this space just beneath the roof. Oscar went to the end of the hall above the first floor parlor, where a small window looked out onto the night. The frame screeched and fought him, but he managed to force it open and let some of the breeze in.
“This must have originally been the servants’ quarters.” Oscar wiped sweat off his brow.
Nigel pushed up his glasses; they kept sliding down his nose thanks to the sheen of moisture from the heat. “Naturally. They’d put the servants in the smallest, most uncomfortable rooms in the house.”
Oscar couldn’t imagine how unpleasant it must have been up here back in the day. How did the servants even manage to sleep? “Let’s take a look around.”
Judging by the renovations, the Vanderwalls had intended to use this floor as their living quarters, as well as storage for all the things needed to run a bed and breakfast. There was a spacious bathroom that had been remodeled to include a shower, a combination living and dining room, a storage room with shelves that were mostly empty except for a few mildewed linens, a handyman room full of tools and cleaning supplies, and a laundry complete with industrial-looking washer and dryer.
The tower room on this floor had also been used for storage, with an ’80s-era vacuum tucked inside along with a mop and broom. Behind the cleaning implements were a number of objects covered in sheets—extra furniture, maybe. Some of them appeared to be the paintings missing from the walls downstairs, the edges of their frames just peeking out from behind a sheet draped over them.
At the far end of the hall were two bedrooms set aside for the family. One had a large fireplace, modern queen-sized bed, and built-in closets that had obviously been added during the renovation. The only window was small; had they planned on installing AC at some point? Surely they must have, if they wanted anyone to stay there during the peak summer months.
The other bedroom was the one they glimpsed in the tape. Andy’s room, stripped of toys but with the Transformers bedsheets still in place, albeit beneath a thick coating of dust. The furniture had been left behind in the family’s haste to abandon the house, just as in the parents’ bedroom.
“Are you sensing anything?” Nigel asked.
“We’re being watched, I think, but the sensation is faint. Probably Ullman, seething because we’re still in his house.”
Since the floor seemed quiet, at least for now, they returned to the hall and the stairs leading up to the tower. The stairway narrowed for the final flight, then ended on a small landing. A slender window on the landing overlooked the beach and ocean, currently lost in darkness except for the far-off lights of ships. Stars spangled the sky, but the sliver of moon had set shortly after the sun went down.
The door off the landing was the most ornate they’d encountered in the house so far. Originally a rich shade of scarlet, the paint had become mottled over the years, irregular patches of black creeping over its surface. Oddly, there was a knocker set in the center: a wolf’s head with a ring in its mouth.
On impulse, Oscar reached out, grasped the brass ring, and knocked.
On the other side of the door, something knocked back.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
They all froze. Nigel’s heart leapt into his throat, and a part of him wanted to retreat down the stairs. The quiet on the third floor had lulled him into a false sense of security, as if the ghosts had gone to sleep or left on a trip. “Oscar?” he asked warily.
Oscar was silent for a moment, his eyes going unfocused as he used senses Nigel didn’t possess. “Gloria,” he said at last.
It was exactly the sort of thing a living child might do—playfully knock back on a door. But Dr. Lawson said the ghost girl had seemed to go through a transformation during the first investigation. “Does she want us to join her?”
“I think so?” Oscar swung open the door.
The heat was stifling, though not unexpected. The room was a small square with three large windows, one in each wall not adjoining the stairwell. Or rather, two intact windows and one covered in boards.
This was where Robin had fallen to her death.
An iron ladder led up to the trapdoor in the stamped-tin ceiling, which presumably opened onto the gallery deck. Most of the room was occupied by a single, round table surrounded by seven chairs. They were all in surprisingly good shape, the solid oak appearing as sturdy and unwarped as the day it was built. A gold-plated candelabra sat in the center, black candles still in place. The decades of heat had caused them to warp until they bent almost in half, wicks pointed at the table.
In front of the candelabra, covered in a layer of dust, was a Ouija board.
Anxiety squirted adrenaline into Nigel’s blood. Not because of the Ouija board, but because of those two inviting windows that a spirit might throw one of them through.
At least they overlooked parts of the roof. A fall from them wouldn’t be fatal. Probably.
