Page 21 of Buried in the Woods Below

“Oh, girl.” She links her arm through mine, and we walk toward the door. “Let’s just say there’s some…history. I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, we need to get our asses out to the patio, or my mom will lose it. She’s been organizing the crackers and cheese for half an hour to get it just right.”

I laugh again, shake my head, and follow her out of the room.

We step onto the front patio, where Laelynn has laid out a careful spread—wine, ripe fruit, and a board of cheeses and cured meats. Some things never change. When we were kids, Laelynn composed lunches that were the envy of the school. She cut the crusts off the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. She built little fruit animals with toothpicks. Dropped a fresh flower into Olivia’s lunch box. She spared no detail to make her happy. Or at least her version of happy.

We all sip our wine and chitchat, watching the mist creep up the yard. I never thought I’d be back at a table with the Parkers, not after all this time. I absorb Olivia’s presence beside me, and a sense of calm rushes over my body. One I haven’t felt for years. Still, I can’t help thinking of the note posted on the door. Words pulse in my mind: LEAVE. OR ELSE.

Heathcliff lumbers out to join us, oblivious to the mood, his tail wagging as he settles by my feet. We all smile at his droopy face. I prepare for more slobber.

My mom uses the moment to break the silence while I munch on crostini. “All right, Eric, Laelynn, I can’t take it any longer. You must tell me. What’s the story behind that awful note on your front door?”

Laelynn gestures to Eric. “I’ll let my lovely husband take that question. He’s the one hell-bent on becoming the king of Big Island.”

Olivia looks at me and stifles a laugh.

Eric sighs, loads up meat and cheese onto a cracker, and shoves it in his mouth. He chews twice and then swallows it down, wiping the crumbs on his pants leg. “I prefer the title ‘Prince of Big Island.’”

Laelynn leans toward my mother and me, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “He’s obsessed, you know. Thinks because his family owned most of the island back in the 1800s, it’s his birthright. They even called it Parker Island once.”

“Very impressive,” I say. “I go to a place called Charlotte Island, but that’s just me spacing out in my bathtub. What does that history have to do with the note?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” says Eric.

Laelynn lets out a harrumph.

He ignores it. “We have a neighbor named Russ Neuman. He’s a cranky old guy who lives over there, about five hundred yards from us. Like my family, his family’s been here since the 1800s, and he’s got it into his head that this is his land. He was trying to buy this property before we did, but we outbid him. My guess is this is his little ‘welcome to the island’ card. It’s all bluster. He’s not going to do anything.”

I have to hand it to Eric. I’m not sure I’d be so glib if my neighbor posted a threat on my door. “Just out of curiosity, how do you know it’s this Neuman guy? Do you guys have a Ring camera or something?”

Eric tilts his head. “Ring camera? No, no, no. We’re rustic here. No cameras for us. Technically, I don’t know it’s him. But who else would it be?”

My mind flashes to Vivek. The Firm. Cov is just a boat ride away.

No, I’m being paranoid.

“Is this the same family you mentioned on the boat?” I ask.

“The family that bought his great-grandfather’s house?” Olivia asks.

Eric swallows another cracker. “Yeah. The same one. They’ve steadily been losing their holdings over the decades, so Russ is the only one remaining. And now that the Parkers have returned, you can see why he’s a tad bitter.”

Laelynn takes a sip of her mocktail. “Of course, I keep telling him there are plenty of lovely lake houses that aren’t on islands populated by crackpots, but he’s obsessed with the idea of owning an entire island.”

Eric’s voice sharpens. “I’m not obsessed, babe. I just think it’s an opportunity.”

My mom strokes her swanlike neck and clinks her nails on her wineglass, weighing the options. “Eric, those aren’t just notes. Those are threats. Don’t you think you should call the police?”

Laelynn puts her hand on my mom’s forearm. “Thank you, Julie. My thoughts exactly.”

He waves her off. “We don’t need to call the police. They have better things to do than investigate stupid pranks. Russ is just trying to scare us. He’s harmless. Besides, just give me a little more time and I’ll buy him out.”

Laelynn’s jaw clenches, and I can tell from her expression that she thinks Russ Neuman is anything but harmless. My mom circulates the fruit plate to distract from the tension.

I grab a handful of grapes and bite one. Heathcliff perks up and opens his mouth, thick slobber dripping down his jowls. I hold one out to him and ask Eric, “Why does he think this is his l—”

“No,” shouts Laelynn as she rips the grape out of my hand, her nails digging into my palm.

“What?” I say, shocked at the attack.