Page 70 of Buried in the Woods Below

“Funny you should ask. I heard from her today,” says Eric. His neck is bent, and he says it more to the ground than to me.

I slacken my pace. “Really. What did she say?”

He slows to match me and keeps his eyes pointed downward. “She said that she found grape skins in his gut, and that’s likely what killed him.” His gaze flickers to me, then to the lake.

“Oh,” I say, my pitch rising. My mind flashes to the plate of grapes I found in the girls’ room, their mention of the “ghost” killing Heathcliff.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just surprised,” I lie.

He tilts his head. “Charlotte, I heard the tone of that ‘oh.’ Spill the beans.”

“Okay, but it’s probably nothing. And you can’t tell the girls I told you, because they’re still getting to know me.”

“Word of honor. Now tell me.”

“After we found Heathcliff dead, you remember, Laelynn asked me to go upstairs and watch the girls.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, when I went to their room, I found grapes on their desk. So I asked the girls about it, and they reacted a little…odd.”

“Odd? Like what?”

“I can’t really put my finger on it, but it just stuck with me.”

He straightens up. “Are you saying the girls fed grapes to Heathcliff?”

In my mind I think, “yes,” but I’m not about to tell their father that. “No. But I thought they might know something.”

He frowns. “That doesn’t seem like much.”

“No, it doesn’t. And that’s why I kept my mouth shut. But then, today at the fair, they said something strange that made me question it.”

“What did they say?”

“They said a ghost killed Heathcliff.”

Eric resumes walking. “Hmm. A ghost?” Silence. A stroke of the chin. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s probably their imagination.”

“Well, that’s the other thing. Last night I woke up to a strange crunching noise, and I swear I saw a girl outside my window.”

Eric’s eyebrows scrunch. “Are you saying you think there’s a ghost on Big Island?”

“No. I’m not sure exactly what I’m saying. It just freaked me out.”

Eric nods and kicks at the leaves as he walks. “It’s probably my fault. I tell them ghost stories around the fire sometimes. They were probably playing ghosts and left the plate on the floor, and Heathcliff got to it, and they didn’t want us to be mad at them. I’ll talk to them about it.”

I stay silent, confident that that is definitely not what happened to Heathcliff but not wanting to rock the boat any further.

Eric puts a hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. “Thanks for telling me, Charlotte. Probably wasn’t the easiest thing to bring up.”

I put my hand on his hand. “Anytime.”

Around the bend, the trees part to reveal Vivek’s house. The sight jars me. A sudden tremor in the night’s calm. Vivek and his wife sit around a firepit, drinks in hand, with an older woman whose face I know too well. There, as promised, is my mother, holding court, her gestures strident but composed. Though I can’t see every detail, Vivek’s crossed arms and slumped posture betray his discomfort. I wonder what his wife is hearing, and a blush creeps over my cheeks.

Eric notices my halt.