Page 36 of The House on Forgotten Hill

Then I went back upstairs, laying the knife on the nightstand beside me.

Minutes stretched into hours, every groan and distant noise sending a jolt through me.

The creak of the air conditioner.

The rustle of leaves outside.

The distant bark of a dog.

At some point, exhaustion gave way to frustration.

I glanced at the clock.

2:57 a.m.

Knowing sleep would elude me tonight, I decided to make a cup of tea.

I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and slipped out of bed.

Only after I reached the hallway did I realize I’d left the knife on my nightstand. I considered going back for it. Then I shook my head.

You’re being ridiculous.

He doesn’t know what you know.

How could he?

Half asleep, I made my way downstairs. As I reached the bottom step and entered the kitchen, I stopped cold. A man was standing behind the dining room table, his silhouette illuminated by the faint moonlight pouring through the window. His attention was on the photographs I’d left scattered across the table when I’d come home.

I took a step backward toward the stairs.

“Don’t.” His voice cut through the darkness. “Don’t move, and don’t turn around. If you take another step, I’ll shoot you.”

My entire body stiffened.

Did he really have a gun?

I didn’t know.

“You’ve been busy today, Miss Nightingale,” he said. “Or should I say, Miss Caraway.”

The sound of my maiden name on his lips sent chills through me.

“I have to admit,” he said, “I find it amusing that you thought I wouldn’t bother vetting my new neighbor before inviting her into my home.”

“You’ve known all this time?”

“Of course I knew. I know all about you, Olivia.”

“What do you want?”

A soft laugh echoed through the room. “What do you think I want?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want to live my life without people like you and your father prying into matters that aren’t their concern.”

Questions escaped my lips before I had a chance to stop them. “Was it you? Did you kill him?”