Page 53 of Buried in the Woods Below

Haunting, spooking, what a fright!

Mother ghost said, ‘Boo, boo, boo!’

But back to the house, only five ghosts flew.”

The hair on my forearms stands at attention. There were seven of us, counting Heathcliff, when I got to the island. Then six when he died. Now that Laelynn’s gone, there are only five. I’m struck by the way the girls laugh and play. The way they always seem to see something, know something others don’t. There’s clairvoyance in those emerald eyes. It reminds me of the old ghost stories where the family thinks they’re being haunted, but it turns out they’re the ghosts.

Olivia vanishes, and I hang back to watch them play, looking for something that might explain their behavior. I examine their faces. There’s a pallor in their complexions, and dark circles under their eyes. As though they’re ill or haven’t had enough sleep. But beyond that, they’re just typical girls. Turning cartwheels. Playing tag. Blowing dandelions. Maybe there is nothing wrong with them. Maybe they’re just a little…different.

Determined not to be another Beth, I unbox the croquet set lying unused on the lawn.

For the next hour, the three of us knock the croquet balls around the yard, Penelope barking orders, Emma dutifully following, swinging the mallets with unbridled abandon, sending the colored balls flying with hollow thwacks. Playing croquet on a sloped lawn may not have been my best idea—I have to chase after a few balls before they roll into the lake—but it keeps the two of them entertained.

The back door slides open as I’m wheezing back up the hill, and Eric strides onto the patio with his customary, easygoing smile.

“Looks like you three are having fun,” he says.

“Hi, Daddy,” the girls say in unison.

They go back to rapping balls, and I walk over to the table and pour myself a glass of water from the pitcher we left out from breakfast, wiping the sweat from my hairline.

Eric pours himself a glass and glances at me. “The girls didn’t give you any trouble, did they?” he asks.

“No, not at all. I’m just thirsty from running around with them. These kids are tiring. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Fortunately, Laelynn’s tireless. Otherwise, I’d be in trouble.”

His jaw sets.

“How did it go with Russ?”

His mouth twitches, and his dimples disappear. “Not great. I think I’m more confused than I was before I talked to him. He seemed shocked when I told him Heathcliff was dead. He even gave me his condolences. And unless he’s the best actor in the world, he seemed genuinely sad about it.”

“Huh.” I think back to my conversation with him. He seemed confused by that as well.

“So, if he’s not leaving the notes, who is?”

“I have no idea. I’m still not entirely convinced it’s not him. But I’m pretty sure he had nothing to do with Heathcliff.”

“Have you heard from the vet yet?”

“Not yet.”

Emma screams, and I turn to see Penelope chasing her with the mallet.

“Penelope. Mallets are for playing, not for hitting,” says Eric in a firm tone. She drops the mallet and keeps chasing after her sister.

“So, you don’t think Russ killed Heathcliff?”

“No.” He rubs his finger along his chin scar as if searching for lost words. I consider telling Eric about the grapes in their room the night Heathcliff died. The worry in his eyes stops me. “But just when I thought he was an okay guy, he told me I should take Heathcliff’s death as a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That we should leave the island. That it belongs to his family.”

“And what did you say?”

“Told him we bought the land fair and square and that if I catch him skulking around our property, I’m calling the police.” His voice is steady, but for a fleeting moment, his face flinches.