She hadn’t done any of this. And her mom definitely hadn’t. The last time Skye had picked up after her, she’d been twelve.
You make the mess, you live in the mess.
Did Grandma have a cleaning lady? One who came overnight and was so quiet Ocean hadn’t heard a thing? Because that would be too weird. And honestly? This was starting to feel really creepy.
Her heart was pounding as she stood up. There was also a strange stillness in the room. And the same light flowery scent she’d noticed in the attic.
“Thanks,” she whispered, feeling stupid as soon as the word slipped out. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it out loud...or who might be listening.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ocean saw the edge of Clare’s shawl, which had been hung neatly over the corner of a mirror, flutter ever so slightly, like it had caught a breeze.
But there was no breeze.
A chill ran down her spine.
Then she noticed it. A sticky note, stuck to the top book in the tidy pile on the desk.
She stepped closer and peeled it off.
Just one word, scrawled in super neat handwriting.
Jo.
“Jo?” she murmured under her breath.
A cool breeze slipped in through the open window, giving Ocean a little shiver. She grabbed a sweatshirt and sweatpants from the pile in her suitcase and made a dash for the bathroom.
When she came back a few minutes later, she stood staring from the doorway.
The bed was made. The pillows fluffed up, hotel-room perfect. Clare’s blanket had been folded neatly and draped across the foot of the bed.
Ocean just stood there, her damp towel clutched against her chest. The voices from the kitchen were still floating up, calm and normal, like nothing had happened.
“Okay, this is getting...very weird.”
Too weird. But honestly, it wasn’t scary.
Ocean didn’t feel freaked out. Just, well, watched over.
“Grandma? Are you here, Grandma?” she whispered, not sure if it was silly or desperate. Maybe both. But part of her really hoped ghosts were real. That somehow, Clare was still here.
Her grandma had always been the one picking up after her. Making the bed. Folding laundry. Clearing dishes without saying a word. Thinking about it now made Ocean feel a little guilty.
Grandma Clare always had Ocean’s favorite cereal in the pantry. Cheese sticks in the fridge. Every single visit. She took care of her in those quiet, thoughtful ways that never seemed like a big deal. Until now.
“Grandma?” she said again, softer this time.
But there was no answer. Just that stillness.
Pulling on her clothes, she hung her sweatshirt and pants on a peg inside the closet door. Ocean grabbed the sticky note with the name on it and headed for the stairs. But halfway down, she stopped.
She could hear the voices clearly now. Arthur was still here. Her mother and the two men were talking very seriously. Words came to her like pieces of a puzzle.
Someone had been in the barn the night her grandmother died.
There was security footage.
He’s only seventeen.
