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As for Grant, she was avoiding him like the bubonic plague or the super mean girls at her school.
Despite being her uncle, he was also the Po-Po and would likely give her a long diatribe on the dangers of young women traveling long distances without permission. Then dragging her against her will back to Wayward, only to be faced with Angus’s raised bushy eyebrow and suffering a multitude of Scottish bletherings she likely couldn’t understand.
And getting grounded. Put on restriction. Basically prison for kids, just short of juvenile detention.
Her Scottish nanny did tend to go off on a punitive Gaelic tangent when he was “fair scunnered” with her.
All she knew, without a doubt, was she needed to get to her mom. Once they were face-to-face and she got the chance to say what was needed to be said, she could sleep at night. Think straight. And things would go back to normal.
Her mom would come back home to Wayward, because let’s face it, this wasn’t home anymore, marry her dad, and they would all live happily ever after.
She just needed to talk to her.
Walking up the drive, she noticed a new security gate. A fancy one. With a keypad and intercom.
At first glance, it looked pretty intimidating with a gate made of steel bars attached to concrete structures on each side, two times taller than she was.
She chewed on bottom lip and squinted her eyes, considering her options. Coming to a conclusion, she turned her body, squared her shoulders, and squeezed her small frame through the metal bars, half expecting to be electrocuted.
Nothing.
Well, that was easy.
She made her way up the hillside driveway, staying close to the sides and darting behind trees along the way.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps and voices and dodged behind a cone-shaped cedar tree.
Two men walked within ten feet of her, dressed in matching uniforms, one speaking into what looked to be a small mic hooked to his collar.
Weird.
She knew her mom was married to her uncle, thanks to intel she gathered from church attendees. She also knew that her mom hated him.
Again, something wasn’t right, and she was determined to find out for herself what was going on, rather than to wait for the adults to finally take the time to inform her.
Secrets.
Seemed like everyone in her life was determined to keep secrets.
Well, she was done with that BS. It was time to take matters into her own hands.
Making her way to the house, she tried a few of the doors that were more obscure than the front entrance, hoping they were left unlocked.
No dice.
Sitting in the shadows toward the back of the house by the pool, she noticed one of the tall cone-like trees with a huge hunk cut out of the middle. As if one of Bernadette’s “haints” had gotten hungry during a late-night haunt and took a big bite to tide him over until he could find a soul to inhabit.
Instinctively, she shivered as moonbeams poured through the gouged tree side. As if an omen.
She found the locket at her throat and rubbed it and brought the pendant to her lips.
Touching it always made her feel safe and closer to her dad. Her first one. Marshall. When he had given it to her before he died, he told her everything she needed was in his heart, so whenever she felt scared or uncertain, she’d rub the pendant hanging around her neck for good luck and kiss it.
Suddenly, an unexpected breeze wafted through the patio area. Unexpected because there wasn’t a lick of breeze beforehand.
The wind picked up one of the cloth napkins on the table, and she watched as it drifted and skittered through the air and landed on a basement window near the far right of the house.
Curiosity seized her as she looked around and then crawled over to where the napkin covered the window as if marking its spot.
