Page 21 of The House on Forgotten Hill

The conversation had taken on a different tone, though I wasn’t sure Preston realized it. Or perhaps he did, but he’d decided to act as though nothing had changed.

He reached for the bottle of wine and refilled both our glasses.

I expected he’d try to change the subject. Instead, he said, “If you haven’t already noticed, some of the residents in this neighborhood love to gossip. A word of advice … don’t believe everything you hear.”

“I don’t. That’s why I decided to get your version of the story. I am curious, though. If you were falsely accused and some of the people around here still think you’re guilty, why haven’t you moved?”

“Why would I? I haven’t done anything wrong. Besides, being neighbors doesn’t obligate us to be friends. Speaking of neighbors, I saw Estelle leaving your house yesterday.”

“She brought me over some bread she’d baked. Do you know her?”

“Not well.”

“She told me she had a daughter.”

“Lana or Lena or …”

“Lara. Do you remember her?”

He nodded. “A little.”

“What was she like?"

He leaned back in his chair. “Pretty.”

Nothing more.

Just pretty.

His answers were becoming shorter.

More careful and guarded.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure what else to say. I saw her a few times when she was on break from college.”

“Did you ever talk to her?”

“Once or twice. They were short conversations. Been so long ago now, I don’t even remember what they were about.”

“I heard she disappeared.”

“She did, and to my knowledge, she was never found. What a shame.”

For the first time all evening, he looked away. “You ask a lot of questions.”

The words sounded playful, but something in his tone wasn’t.

It was almost like he was warning me.

I could get close but not too close.

“What can I say?” I said. “I tend to ask more questions than most people.”

He stood, and I followed suit. Together, we cleared the table and carried our plates to the sink. I rinsed the dishes while Preston loaded them into the dishwasher.

The song playing through the speakers in the living room changed, and as soft jazz drifted through the room, Preston held out his hand. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you tonight. Dance with me.”