Nigel glanced back at the dock as the trees closed in around them. The catamaran—their only way on and off the island—bobbed placidly on the waves.
His boot snagged on a clump of uprooted marsh grass, left behind by the cutting of the road, and he stumbled. Oscar caught his elbow. “Are you all right?”
“Sorry—not paying attention to where I’m going.” Small fragments of dead wood littered the disturbed ground alongside the torn bits of grass, and the sand slid under his feet. Within a few minutes, he was sweating and panting from the unaccustomed exercise.
The sun beating down didn’t help. The island must have been pleasantly shady back when the forest had a canopy, but that day was long past.
As if she was having the same thoughts, Dr. Lawson said, “This island was beautiful back in the ’80s. It breaks my heart to see it like this.”
“Why aren’t there any bugs?” Chris looked around at the dead forest, the waving marsh grass. “Is it too salty for them?”
Other than the sigh of the wind and the crash of waves, the island was almost eerily silent. No cicada chatter or birdsong. Even the gulls had abandoned them.
“I can’t imagine any mammals live here.” Lawson shifted the straps of the backpack she carried into a more comfortable position. “There’s no fresh water to drink. So maybe there aren’t any mosquitos.”
Nigel frowned. “You’d think birds would nest here, though. Especially if there aren’t any rats or other mammals to eat their eggs.”
“Don’t ask me, Taylor, I’m not a biologist,” Lawson said, an unexpectedly sharp edge to her voice. “I don’t remember seeing birds when we were here before, but I had other things on my mind.”
Nigel winced. Of course she was out of sorts. One of the great tragedies of her life occurred in the very house they were making for.
Always empathetic, Oscar said, “It must be hard for you to come back.”
Lawson stared grimly ahead. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
That, Nigel didn’t doubt. Dr. Lawson had been his favorite professor from the first class he took with her, in part because of her no-nonsense attitude. She didn’t just hold her students to high standards, but herself as well.
Soon enough, the road emerged into a large sandy area that looked as though it had been barren even before the bulldozers cut the road. The house loomed before them, gray and lifeless as the trees. The neo-gothic roofs and gingerbread trim had probably been picturesque when the mansion was new, but now were merely relics from a bygone age, splendor turned to ruin by the long passage of years. The foundation and porch were made from cut stone, and a small veranda stretched off to one side. The windows seemed to peer down at them, like eyes made myopic by the film of grime clinging to the glass.
Off to the side were two small trailers, blinding white in the summer sun. Beside them was a large portable water tank with a rubber hose attached.
Ethan had parked the golf cart near the front steps of the house. “You can put everything on the porch, then move it in later,” Ms. Montague said from where she stood beside the cart.
They dropped off what they were carrying, then unloaded the golf cart. Oscar climbed in with Ethan, and they zoomed back down the road to get what remained on the dock.
Dr. Lawson took the opportunity to point out the trailers. “The larger one is where Patricia, Ethan, and I will be staying. There are only beds enough for four people, I’m afraid, but if anyone else has trouble with the heat, you’re welcome to the remaining bunk. There’s a kitchenette, so Ethan can make some food. The other trailer has a bathroom and shower. There’s a generator so you can use electronics inside the house—just pick a room on the first floor to set up for your headquarters. You’ll be sleeping in The Cottage, if that’s acceptable.”
“Assuming we can find an unhaunted room, then of course,” Nigel said. They’d camped in the Matthews house on their first investigation; so long as they put salt across the doorways, they should be fine.
She and Montague retreated to their trailer. Watching them go, Tina let out a heavy sigh. “I could have been staying in the Colorado mountains at the Stanley with Zeek. Instead, here I am sweating my tits off.”
“The Stanley isn’t even haunted,” Nigel objected. “The only reason it even has the reputation is because of the book.”
“The ghosts might not be real, but the AC and bar service are.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Soon Oscar and Ethan returned; Ethan removed himself to the trailer while the rest of them finished unloading. Once done, they followed him.
The air inside the trailer was heavenly after the humid sunlight. The structure itself was cramped, with a bedroom at one end, its door firmly closed, and two built-in bunks in the hall beside it, one of which presumably belonged to Ethan. There was a tiny kitchenette and a combination dining room and living space. An old cathode-ray television and VCR sat in one corner alongside a box of tapes.
Montague and Lawson sat at the table, which was surrounded on three sides by bench seating. They couldn’t all squeeze in, so Nigel and Oscar remained standing, while Ethan fussed around with a briefcase.
“Thank you for coming here,” Ms. Montague said. “I’m sorry the trailer isn’t large enough for all of us.”
“We’re used to roughing it,” Oscar reassured her.
“If you need anything, just let Ethan know. Speaking of…”
Ethan approached them, holding a sheaf of papers in his hands. “If you could all just sign these NDAs.”
