“I need to warn you. Aunt Amy is a bit odd. She’s been known to insult people without meaning to, says some strange things… she’s… well, you’ll see. She doesn’t live in the main house anyway, so we won’t see her much.” Siler shrugs. “Hopefully,” he adds under his breath.
I think his cousin being outright insulting has me more than prepared.
Without keys, we gather by the oversized black double doors with a lion’s head knocker to wait for his aunt. “You let her know we’re coming, right?” Siler asks Mya.
I’m drawn toward the brick path lined with rose bushes that lead to the stables. Without thinking, I’m halfway down the hill when Siler jogs up behind me, JJ not far behind. Their meeting went well, like I had hoped it would.
“Hey, Biz? Where are you going?” Siler half laughs. “We just got here, and you’re already exploring?”
I follow them back up to the house, but a nagging feeling takes hold, like I’ve been here before.
But that’s not possible.
Minutes later, Aunt Amy pulls up in a golf cart wearing neon green horn-rimmed glasses, denim suspenders over a flannel button-up, and a pair of dirty green rain boots. Her hair cut bluntly, framing her frowning face.
“Why are there eight of you?”
Oh boy. I see Mya comes by her demeanor naturally.
“There’s plenty of room,” Mya quips, taking the keys from her. “Did you cut your own hair with a hedge trimmer? The bangs are a little short, but other than that, I hate it.”
We all nervously watch their interaction. I’m stunned when they both smile broadly at each other and embrace. Siler simply shakes his head in disbelief.
The doors open into a foyer with a vaulted ceiling, fox-hunting wallpaper, and an ornate brushed bronze and crystal chandelier. Not used to staying in such opulence, I’m the only one gawking at the décor, making mental notes to sketch later - buttery yellows, muted greens, the oak wainscotting, crown molding.
Several paintings line the wall of the corridor leading to the parlor. I stop in my tracks to stare at one: a horse standing majestically on a riverbank, mane blowing in the wind. The artist’s signature in the corner: E.B. Houseman.
My faulty brain is drawing parallels…
“...Do I remember? I’m angry you’re reminding me.” Siler says to Mya, his voice rising. I missed the start of their fight tensing at the prospect of a night spent avoiding outbursts.
“I thought she was going with ‘scaring birds in fields,’” Mya says sharply. “Better than the whole spooky empath schtick.”
JJ stops near me, Rett on his heels looking drowsy.
“What’s the hold up?” their aunt snaps. “Keep going.” She gestures with waving hands.
A private chef prepared a spread of food for a late dinner. A table filled with prime rib, stuffed chicken breast, and every salad imaginable. I’m suddenly famished, remembering I’ve only eaten chips and candy today.
We settle at the table. I have Siler on one side of me and JJ on the other. Our thanks for the meal is barely acknowledged by Aunt Amy. She sits back in her chair with her arms crossed.
“I saw the plaque for the National Register of Historic Places by the door. What year was Highfair Estate built?” Liz asks, setting down a tray of stuffed figs.
“1922,” Mya answers Liz, still on her cellphone, her plate empty.
“Does your family rent it out?” Rett asks, leaning into his hand. “Or do you keep it open to the public for tours? Whoever decorated did an impeccable job.”
Amy raises an eyebrow. “Not anymore. It was renovated ten years ago, then I put an end to it. The nerve of some people, coming here under the guise of history just to treasure hunt.”
That gets our attention, but she follows it up with, “It’s going to be windy tomorrow. You're likely to be killed by a tree branch during the storm unless you stay on top of the hill.”
“Jesus, dramatic much?” Mya mutters.
Odd is one way to describe their aunt. Cracked, possibly. Each interjection gives us whiplash.
“Several very rich people tried to go down to the Titanic in a tuna can. Money doesn’t grant common sense,” she says when asked about the treasure. “The hunt for it dims the senses even further.”
“Typical innit?” Deo asks.
