Page 38 of Buried in the Woods Below

I watch Eric’s lower lip shift, but he catches himself, swallows it down, and turns toward the window, thinking. After a beat, he turns back, forcing a smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s just trying to scare you.”

“Are you sure? He seemed pretty determined. And with Heathcliff—”

He cuts me off, his voice rising. “Yes, I’m sure. Now, enough talk of Russ Neuman. I’ve had more of him in the last twenty-four hours than I can handle.” His scowl transforms into a mischievous grin. “You know what you need?”

To go home? To get off this island? I think to myself. “What?” I say.

“You need to have your fortune told.”

My eyes shoot to the ghostlike grandmother in the box. “I think I’m good.”

“Oh, no.” Extended o. “You’re definitely not good.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and ushers me toward the machine. “Try it out.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Okay, but this better be revelatory, or I’m heading back to Chicago.”

“I don’t think Grandma takes kindly to threats.” He grabs a nickel from the jam jar sitting on his desk and hands it to me.

I take the nickel from his hand, allowing my hand to linger for a moment against his baby-soft skin. Then, I turn and insert the coin into the machine.

The fortune teller’s gears spin to life. Grandma’s head swivels from side to side, her hand gliding weightlessly above the tarot cards. It’s just an old amusement park game, but its sounds, its movements, give the impression of ancient wisdom. The low hum of the gears turning. The light of the candle flickering. The inhuman motions of Grandma coming to life. Her distant eyes sear through me as if she’s seeing images from the great beyond.

Her gaze flickers, and a hand-painted card spits out of the machine. I glance at Eric. As silly as it is, I’m nervous. There’s something magical about this machine, and I’m afraid of what secrets it might hold. I pull the card from the slot, a slight quiver in my fingers. As I read it, I realize I had a reason to be nervous.

In a weathered serif font surrounded by a gold border, the yellowed card says, “Someone you trust is not who they seem.”

Chapter 19

The simple phrase cuts me to the core, and my stomach sinks. My brain knows better—this is a stupid fortune card from an antique fortune teller that was built before I was alive. But I can’t ignore my gut. I read that phrase: “Someone you trust is not who they seem,” and a bell inside me tolls. The card spotlights something I’ve sensed at a hidden, visceral level since I got here. The question is, who do I trust? Eric? Olivia? Laelynn? My mother?

“What’s it say?” asks Eric, leaning over my shoulder, his voice tinged with curiosity.

The fragrance of his woody cologne wraps around me, pulling me from the dark thoughts. Suddenly, I realize I’m alone in this office with him with the door closed. I hold the card up to the light, allowing him to read it for himself over my shoulder. He lingers near my neck. I bite my teeth together.

“Someone you trust is not who they seem,” he says, his warm baritone in my ears. He’s inches away from me now, and part of me hopes he’ll wrap his arms around me and we can forget all about this unnerving fortune teller.

When I can’t stand it any longer, I turn to meet his gaze, our faces inches apart. I’m half tempted to close my eyes and pucker up, but then I notice his forehead crease and his lips drop into a frown. “Hmm,” he says.

Not the reaction I was hoping for. “Hmm, what?”

He takes a step back. “Oh, nothing. Usually, the fortunes are more positive. You know, ‘You will come into a large sum of money,’ or something like that. This one’s a little ominous.” A corner of his mouth teases upward, and I feel mine matching his. The moment stretches, charged.

“My thoughts exactly.”

He reaches for the card, and his fingers graze mine, but he doesn’t pull away, and neither do I. He stares at me, deep-green eyes penetrating. I bite my lip. I have no idea what’s happening, but I’m in a trance, unable to break away. Magnetized.

The door of his office flies open, smashing the moment. The antique dolls vibrate on the shelves, their faded glass eyes rattling in their sockets. Laelynn stands in the doorway, her face tight, a vein bulging in her forehead.

“What are you doing down here?” she says to me, not even glancing at Eric. Her gaze is locked, cutting.

I backpedal, blindsided by her tone.

“Oh…um…nothing. Eric was just showing me his fortune-telling machine.”

“I thought you were watching the girls.”

“I was watching them. But then O—”

“I went upstairs, and they were all alone. With scissors.”