The Last House Guest Page 11

  I stood in front of the windows, so close, my nose almost pressed up against it, peering out. My eyes skimmed the darkness beyond my reflection, straining for something solid. It was then that I saw the pale shadow over my shoulder, in the second before I could feel her.

  What are you looking at? Sadie stood behind me, mirroring my position.

  I don’t know. I thought I saw something.

  Not possible, she’d said, shaking her head.

  I understood what she meant as I stepped away. The only thing you could see in the windows at night was yourself.

  Now, when I peered out those same windows, I felt the shadow of her there, watching.

  Her attached bathroom still had an assortment of products, shampoos, conditioners. A hairbrush. A container of toothpaste. An assortment of glass vials, more for decoration than practicality.

  Her desk had gotten an overhaul in the last couple years, tucked into an alcove that used to be a sitting area. She had started working full-time remotely last summer, and her desk was sleeker now, wired for a laptop and a printer. It was the place I’d once left that note, along with a box of her favorite fudge, that I’d driven an hour down the coast to get. An apology and a peace offering.

  At the start of last summer, Sadie had been my boss, technically. The person I reported to, at least. Before Grant decided I could handle all of the logistics of the Littleport properties on my own, and she had been reassigned.

  Right now the surface of her desk was completely bare. Nothing here appeared out of place.

  The last room I thought to check was Grant’s office—now Parker’s. It was the only upstairs room that faced the front of the house, other than the laundry room and a bathroom. There were blinds covering the window here, to fight the glare off the computer screen, which was now on the surface of the desk, red light glowing.

  I could see Parker subtly taking over, everything just a little different than I’d remembered. A junior asshole, Sadie had called him. The desk was the same, situated on top of a red ornamental rug, but the surface layout was different. A yellow notepad to the side of the laptop, a single pen, a sloppily written list, half the items crossed out. Grant used to keep everything inside the drawers when he was out, a meticulous dedication to clearing the desk, both figuratively and literally, every time he left.

  Parker’s leather satchel was tucked under the desk. I peered inside but saw only a few paper files he must’ve been working on. The laptop screen was black, but it was clear that Parker had left in a rush, maybe losing track of time. I carefully slid open the side drawers, but they were mostly empty, except for the items that must’ve been left from last summer: a stack of fresh notepads and a container of pens.

  The bottom-right drawer was locked, but it seemed to be the type that held files—not a place I’d expect a box of Sadie’s things to be hidden. Still, I opened the top drawer to check for a key and found one tucked away in a pile of flash drives, all bearing the logo for Loman Properties, which they used to hand out as giveaways in lieu of key chains. Something more likely to be used and appreciated.

  But this key was too large for a desk lock. Too small for a house key.

  I sat in his chair, surveying the room. The closet was situated beside the window, tucked into the corner. I’d never looked closely before, never had cause to spend time in this room—but that doorknob was the only one in the house that didn’t have the same smooth antique look. There was a keyhole in the metal doorplate, just below the knob. The only place in this house afforded privacy, it seemed.

  The key fit perfectly, the latch disengaging.

  Opening the door now, I expected to see the box of Sadie’s things. Secrets worth keeping. Details worth hiding. But the shelves were stacked with bound-up file folders, each labeled in blocky print—a file for each of the rental properties, contracts and blueprints inside; another marked Charity Receipts, where the letters downstairs would inevitably be filed; another marked Medical. Nothing belonging to Sadie. Just the normal documents for safekeeping, kept out of sight. Nothing secret about them.

  Chances were, the box of Sadie’s things was still in the trunk of Parker’s car. I’d surprised him there, and he’d left it all out of sight, safely locked behind the garage door.

  I’d just stacked the files back together when I heard the sound of tires on gravel. I spun abruptly and caught the glare of sun off metal through the slats of blinds. I stepped closer. There was a dark car driving down the lane toward the garage, with a second car right behind, but it stopped before reaching the garage. Someone stepped out of the driver’s side. Brown hair falling past her shoulders, beige lightweight sweater. Red glasses. Erica.

  Dammit. She raised her hand to her eyes, turning toward the house, and I jumped aside, hoping she didn’t see my shadow up here. She was supposed to text me first, so I’d have fair warning.

  I locked the closet door and dropped the key into the top desk drawer, moving the flash drives around, hoping it looked natural. A quick scan of the room, making sure I’d left everything as I’d found it. Straightening the chair, making sure his bag under the desk was closed. Then I raced downstairs, holding my breath, listening for them. Parker’s voice carried from somewhere out front, one half of a conversation I couldn’t decipher.

  If I sneaked out the patio door at the back of the house, I risked being caught trying to let myself out the black iron gate. I opted for the side door, located just off the kitchen, through the mudroom.

  I eased the door shut as I stepped outside, then slid the key silently into the lock, making sure to secure the house once more. I heard the rise and fall of Erica’s voice, Parker’s laugh in response. But I was hidden by the garbage can and the lattice fencing. I waited until I heard laughter again, and then I darted the distance to the garage, keeping in the trees, hoping no one noticed.

  Ten seconds to slow my breathing, and I stepped out from the other side of the garage, waving my hand over my head. “Hey there. Erica? Thought I heard you guys.”

  They both turned to look at me, their faces giving nothing away. Erica smiled first. “Sorry, I was just about to text you.”

  “No worries,” I said. “Are you ready? Come on in.”

  * * *

  ERICA STOOD IN THE middle of the living room, making no effort to hide the fact that she was appraising the place.

  My heart was still racing, and I opened the fridge to cool my face. “Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.

  “No, thanks.” She made a show of checking her watch as I pulled out a drink. “I’ve got to get back to the office soon.”

  I took the picture of Sadie from my desk, handing it to her without looking. “Will that work?”

  Erica stared at the photo in her hand, eyes unmoving, so close I could see the colors of the picture reflected in her glasses. I hoped it was gutting. “Yes. It’s good.” She slid it into her bag, then leaned over my desk, peering out the window. “It is pretty up here, I’ll give you that,” she said. Like she was picking up from a conversation I’d missed.

  “It is. You living in Littleport full-time now?”

  She nodded, still looking out the window. “Moved up after I got my degree in May. Staying with my aunt until I can get on my feet. She set me up with this job in the meantime.”

  “You should see the view from the main house,” I said.

  “I have,” she said, then turned to face me, hands on her hips. “You really don’t remember, do you.”

  I shook my head, eyes wide, desperately trying to fit her face into a memory of the Lomans.

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I worked that party with you here. Right after you graduated high school?”

  “Oh.” My hand to my mouth. I did remember. Not her specifically, but I remembered Evelyn assigning each of us a role. Erica, patio. Avery, kitchen. But those moments had gotten overshadowed by the parts that had shone so brightly: the blood, the bathroom, Sadie. “Sorry. It was a long time ago.”

  �
�It’s okay, my aunt told me what happened back then. She warned me to keep my distance, no offense.” Erica cleared her throat, her gaze drifting off to the side. “But looks like you’re doing pretty well for yourself here.”

  I nodded. What did one say when faced with an embarrassing past? I wanted to brush it away, tell her it was a long time ago, that I barely remembered it myself. That it was a matter of her aunt being overprotective, blowing everything out of proportion.

  Instead, I leaned in to it, like I’d learned from Sadie, because as she’d taught me, there was no use hiding from myself. Especially not here. “It was a bad time,” I said.

  She blinked once, then nodded. “Well, we all grew up, I guess.”

  “Your aunt was good to me when I didn’t deserve it. I can’t imagine most people would’ve hired me for something like this around then.”

  She cracked a smile, like there was a joke she was remembering. “Don’t give her too much credit. She would’ve done anything the Lomans asked. Probably still would.”

  I shook my head, not understanding.

  Erica jutted her thumb toward the main house. “Sadie Loman, your friend, right? She called before the party, asked for you by name. I thought you knew?”

  “No,” I said. That was wrong. Erica had it backward. “I met her that day. At the party.”

  Erica tilted her head as if trying to read something in my words. “No, I remember. I remember because my aunt was not happy about it. Said I’d have to keep an eye on you, make sure you were keeping up.” She shrugged. “Like you said, it was a long time ago.” As if forgiving me for my lapse in memory.

  But no. That moment had sharpened and heightened over the years. Erica was wrong. Sadie did not know me then. It had been an accident. Sadie had caught me in the bathroom, when I’d been hiding, trying to stop the blood.

  A chance encounter, and my world changed for the better because of it.

  “Well, I’d better be going.” Erica patted her bag with the photo. “Thanks for this, Avery.”

  She walked down the path toward her car, and I stood in the doorway, watching her drive off. She had to be mistaken. Confused. Swapping one memory for another, her visits to Littleport blurring.

  I started to close the door, but something caught my eye. Parker, standing at the edge of the garage, watching me.

  I jumped. Hand to heart. Uneasy smile. “This is getting to be a habit,” I called, going for levity. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there.

  But he didn’t smile in return. “Were you in the house?”

  My heart rate picked up again, and I felt the flush of my cheeks, glad for the distance between us. “What?” I asked, trying to buy some time, come up with the right excuse. Had I left something out of place? Or had they added a security system? Did the camera of his laptop capture me in the office as I searched the desk drawers?

  “The back door,” he said, coming closer. “To the patio. It was open.”

  I shook my head. That hadn’t been me. I hadn’t touched it. “Maybe you forgot to lock it,” I said.

  He pressed his lips together. “I mean, it wasn’t even closed.”

  A chill ran through me. When I had searched the downstairs, everything had appeared exactly as it should’ve been. “If you don’t lock it, sometimes it’s not really latched all the way. The wind can do that,” I said. But there was a waver in my voice, and I was sure he heard it, too.

  He shook his head as if clearing a thought. “I know that. I thought I locked it. I just—I don’t remember the last time I went out there. Does anyone else have a key? I mean, other than you.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to unravel his words—subtly accusing but also the truth. “The cleaning company has the code for the lockbox. I have the key right now, though. From the other night. It’s the one for emergencies. I’ll get it for you.” A show of good faith to prove that I hadn’t abused my position, and that I would not in the future, either.

  He waved me off. “No, it’s fine. I just wanted to check. I wouldn’t have been angry if it was you.”

  But from the look on his face when I first saw him standing at the edge of the garage, I didn’t think that was true at all.

  And now I was thinking that someone else had been up here with us. Had been inside that house just as I had been. A presence I had felt while standing in Sadie’s room. Who had almost been caught and had left the door ajar in the rush to leave.

  Someone who’d had the same idea I had and was looking for something, too.

  CHAPTER 12

  Someone was snooping around the Loman property. Someone had been snooping around. From the noises at night, to the power outages, to the fact that Parker had arrived home today to an open back door.

  Whatever they were searching for, I had to find it first. And now I was pretty sure I knew exactly where to look.

  The garage was always kept locked. There was a separate key just for that building—so the Lomans could leave the landscapers access without worrying about their home. I had no way inside on my own. The most logical way to get into the trunk of Parker’s car was to get the car out.

  “Parker,” I called when he was halfway back to the main house. I jogged the distance between us, closing the gap. “Let me take you out tonight.” I framed it like an apology. A welcome-home. A Friday night. “You should get out.”

  He looked me over slowly. “I was planning to, anyway. It’s so quiet up here all the time.”

  He’d never stayed here alone, I realized. Bianca was usually in Littleport all summer. And when she left at the end of the season, Sadie stayed behind with him.

  “Eight?” I asked. “I can drive.”

  “No, I’ll drive,” he said. Which I’d known would happen. No way he’d be caught in the passenger seat of my old car, which had been left exposed to the elements over the years, snow and ice and saltwater winds. “The Fold?”

  I hadn’t been to the Fold in nearly a year. It used to be my very favorite place to go with Sadie. It was part of her world, one of those places that operated only in the summer months, like the ice cream shop.

  Now the bars I visited were mostly the local ones. My closest acquaintances were the people I worked with in one capacity or another. The property inspector, Jillian. The general contractor, Wes, though I was a representative of the Lomans, so I was never sure where I stood with him. Only that any time I texted him to meet up, he’d arrive. And the one time I’d asked if he wanted to hang out at his place after, he’d said yes. I didn’t initiate again, and neither did he.

  Then there were my contacts from the various vendors around town, who were always friendly when they saw me out, but always from a remove.

  Other friendships had not survived over the years. I’d never reconciled with Connor and Faith. And I’d drifted from the group I met when I started business courses at the community college, made excuses, turned down an offer for a shared apartment lease in a different town. I was set up to work in Littleport. And nowhere else would’ve had this view. This perspective, looking out over everything I’d ever known. Nowhere else would’ve had Sadie.

  * * *

  IT WAS AFTER SIX P.M. when I got the call from a woman who introduced herself as Katherine Appleton, staying at the Sea Rose—a small cabin down by Breaker Beach, not too far from here. She said it was her dad who’d rented the place, but she was the one staying. I hated when people did this—rented in the name of someone else. As long as nothing went wrong, I let it slide. As long as it wasn’t a group of college kids with no respect for others’ property, who would leave the venue with more damage than it was worth. The Lomans had an express rule against homes being rented in someone else’s name, but I only partially enforced it. I was more interested in keeping the weeks booked: my bottom line, I supposed. The rest was up to me to handle. I was always on call, regardless of the fact it was a Friday night during the last week of August.

  “I found your number in the paperwork,” she sai
d. Her words were unnaturally stilted.

  “Yes, I’m the property manager. What can I do for you, Katherine?” Fingers to my temples, hoping this could wait.

  “Someone lit our candles,” she replied.

  “What?”

  “Someone. Lit. Our. Candles,” she repeated, each word its own sentence. “And no one here did it. So they say.” I heard laughter in the background.

  They were drunk. Wasting my time. Calling me up when no one would fess up, on a dare—Tell me or I’m calling the owners. But then I remembered the candle left burning at the Blue Robin, the scent of sea salt and lavender.

  “Okay, Katherine, hold on. Were there any signs of forced entry?”

  “Oh, I don’t remember if we locked up. Sorry.” More talking in the background. Someone asking for the phone, Katherine ignoring the request.

  “Was anything taken?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Everything looks the same. Just spooky, with the candles.”

  I couldn’t figure out what they wanted from me. Why they were calling on a Friday night; why they were still on the line.

  “We were just—we were wondering,” she continued. Another laugh in the background. “If there were any ghost stories about this place?”

  I blinked slowly, trying to catch up. “You’re calling for a ghost story?” It wasn’t the most ridiculous call I had received on a Friday night, but it was close. What was wrong with people, that they would imagine a ghost first and not something real? Either way, I figured I should be grateful they weren’t threatening to leave, demanding a refund or my immediate attention.

  The laughter in the background made me think it was probably one of them. That I’d swing by and find too many people in the space, evidence of air mattresses, an overflowing recycling bin.

  “I’ll be by in the morning,” I said. “To check the locks.”