Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

  I walk up to the fireplace and look inside. It was perfect the last time I was here. The andirons were thoroughly cleaned, the entire fireplace dusted. I'd even gone the full distance and had the chimney inspected. Now the floor of the fireplace is covered with thick black sludge, and a mostly burned log sits on the metal support. I'm about to head outside and make what feels like the thousandth call to the police when I feel something strange on the side of my face. My head is in the fireplace, but a flicker of air brushes my cheek.

  It's not coming from the top of the chimney. The thin stream of air comes from beside me, just inches away. Turning toward it, I notice the darkening of the bricks caused by the fire isn't even. It's not just the streaks and lighter patches expected with anything as unpredictable as a fire. There's a section of the wall that's lighter than the rest. It's not completely clean but looks more like something wiped across it when the soot was still hot. I bring my hand close to the bricks and feel for the air. It's coming from around a particular brick.

  And when I look closer, I notice that brick is slightly set back from the rest.

  This is the moment I should walk away. If this was a movie, at least twenty people in the theater would be clutching their popcorn and screaming at me to just go outside and call the damn police already. The doors were secure. No glass was broken. But there was a fire in this fireplace not long ago. Someone has been in the house.

  Unfortunately for all the hypothetical people and the popcorn spilling across the sticky theater floor in the fervor of trying to guide me, I don't back out of the fireplace. I don't go outside. And I most certainly don't call the police.

  I poke the brick.

  The grinding sound when it shifts is strangely appealing. The creepy feeling swirling around in the back of my mind and along my spine increases. It tells me I shouldn't be doing this. But no creepy feeling has ever been able to overtake my curiosity or sense of adventure. For better or worse, I'm the one who dives into the murky lake because there's a story of a sunken boat, and I want to go stand on the deck.

  Right now, I'm the one emboldened by the brick shifting, so I press it harder. It moves further, and I push again. This time, it moves only slightly. But I've lost attention in the brick. The grinding sound behind me has claimed it.

  Turning around, I see a shelf built into the wall move out of the way. My heart pounds in my chest as I walk toward the gap it creates. This can't possibly be what I think it is. I've read about them and heard rumors, but it's not something I've ever seen.

  When I reach the wall, I peer inside. It's a hidden tunnel. A rush of damp, old smell fills my nostrils, and my stomach turns. Pressing one hand over my nose and the other apologetically over Cupcake, I delve inside.

  How could no one know this is here? It's not on any of the descriptions of the house or even the blueprints I reviewed with the town before accepting the listing. There's no telling how long it's been tucked away like this.

  That moment when I first came to look at the house and asked it to tell me all its secrets?

  It just did.

  Taking out my phone, I activate the flashlight and shine it into the darkness. It slices through the blackness ahead of me, illuminating sconces along the walls where candles or torches would sit. I walk down a few more feet when I notice a door in the wall. It's narrow and wooden, nothing intricate or spectacular. As I step up to it, my ears catch a sound coming from behind it. The hum pricks my skin. We're not anywhere near the air conditioner or the hot water heater. Nothing should be making that sound.

  Here's another of those opportunities. I could just nope the hell out and let someone else deal with the hidden room that shouldn't exist. But where's the fun in that?

  Ignoring the pounding of my heart and the buzzing in my ears, I reach for the handle. It's locked. Not to be deterred, I evaluate the door for its weak spot and smash my foot directly into it. After all, it is my professional duty to make sure I know everything there is to know about this house before I present it to other buyers. And I'm nosy.

  Later, I might rethink this. I might let it trickle through my mind and realize all the ways this is not right. But that's a problem for future me. I'm getting through this door. This house has frustrated me enough. It's time to figure out what's going on.

  The old, thin wood splits enough for me to disengage the lock and push the door out of the way. I can only enter the room a few steps before encountering another door. I know immediately what it is, even if it makes no sense. I doubt this one is locked, which is good because there's no way I'd be able to kick my way through it. It's a freezer.

  Anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant has seen one of these doors. Gleaming metal with a large, imposing handle. It's not as large as ones I've seen before, but it's undeniably a walk-in freezer. But this isn't a restaurant. It's not a hotel and, as far as I know, it isn't zoned to be a catering business. There's no reason for there to be a freezer like this here. I release the latch and pull the heavy door toward me. I get a single step inside.

  My phone skitters across the floor as my hand flies up to cover my mouth.

  This. This is why the fucking audience tells people to run when they start making stupid decisions. It's taking everything I have in me to keep my breakfast in place and stay calm.

  The light from my phone bounces off the ice crystals glistening on the walls of the freezer.

  I reach down for it, crouching and crawling forward with my fingers to grab it without touching the gray wool it's lying up against.

  Because if I touch it, I'm only centimeters away from the body it's wrapped around.

  I know that face. It wasn't this pale as the last time I saw it. It was cloaked in shadow and contorted with anger. But it's the same face.

  The man I saw stabbed to death at the haunted maze last Halloween.

  My feet suddenly get the message from my brain, and I scramble away from the freezer, out of the tunnel, and through the house. Heat and sunlight hit me as I burst out of the house, but I only get a few steps to breathe in the fresh air and let the stinging cold of the freezer melt away. My fingers are still shaking as I force myself to call the police.

  "Get here now," I command, rattling off the address. "This is an emergency. I found a body."

  I can't even think. Part of me wants to go back inside, like I have to pay attention, or he'll disappear again. Before I can talk myself either all the way into it or fully out of it, arms wrap around me from behind, and my knees buckle.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Gavin

  Scarlett nearly collapses and lets out a scream. I pull her back to her feet, turning her around to see my face.

  "It's me, Scarlett. It's me," I say.

  She doesn't calm down until my hands take hold of her shoulders and hold her still, forcing her to look at me. Her face goes from afraid to angry.

  "Gavin! You have got to stop doing that," she commands.

  "Stop doing what?" I ask.

  "Grabbing me. What are you doing here? Never mind, it doesn't matter. You need to leave."

  Confusion makes my head spin. Not only is Scarlett not excited to see me, she actually seemed angry. I wasn't necessarily expecting her to leap into my arms and spin around in slow motion or anything, but immediately demanding I leave when I just showed up is a little extreme.

  “I'm sorry if I startled you,” I say. “What's going on?”

  “Gavin, I need you to leave. Now is not the time to be having some sort of reunion. Please, just go,” she says. Her eyes flicker back toward the house, and the look on her face is decidedly uncomfortable.

  “Scarlett, what's wrong? I got here last night. It seems like Shadow Creek has become my official holiday destination. Beck and Ruby invited me to their anniversary-slash-Fourth of July party. I went over to your office to see you, but you weren't there. The note on your door said you were out at a new listing. I checked your site, and it mentioned this place, so I came by. Is something happening? Is someone i
n there?”

  I take a protective step toward the house, wanting to put myself between Scarlett and the intruder I envision storming around inside the house. Only it doesn't seem to make much sense for there to be an intruder in there. Why wouldn't they come chasing Scarlett out? That only makes me wonder what she did to them, and suddenly I'm worried about an intruder's well-being. It's not exactly a place I expected myself to be, but it's just one of the many ways this woman has changed my life.

  “You could say that,” she mutters.

  She swallows hard, and I notice how pale her face is. My hands have just taken hold of her shoulders again, and I'm staring into her eyes, trying to pry out of her what's going on when the screams of police sirens explode around us. I turn around, stepping close to her and reaching back to touch her hip defensively. Sirens are very rarely a good thing, and I can't imagine they are anywhere near as common around Shadow Creek as they are in some other places. Everything is chaotic as a squad car skids into the driveway, quickly followed by an ambulance. I try to press closer to Scarlett, but she steps out from around me and takes a few steps toward the car.

  A police officer jumps out of the car and comes toward me. It takes a few seconds for it to register that his hand is on the gun at his hip.

  “Get away from her,” he orders. “Scarlett, are you all right?”

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask.

  “I said, stay away from her,” the officer repeats. “Get back before I have to arrest you.”

  “Arrest me for what? I just got here less than five minutes ago.”

  “You're not arresting anybody, Jimmy,” Scarlett says. “He's not the problem.” She looks at me and gestures emphatically with both hands. “But I need you to leave. You shouldn't be here right now. Hell, I shouldn't be here right now. But I don't really have a choice. Just go.”

  “I'm not going anywhere until I know if you're okay. When I got to town last night, Ruby told me you asked her about me. So, I thought I'd come to see you. Now you're acting like I'm some sort of stalker and chasing me away with the police? This is a seriously fucked up start to my holiday,” I say.

  “Like I just told Jimmy,” Scarlett says. “It's not you.”

  I take a step closer to her, and the officer makes a shuffling approach like he should be holding a fencing sword.

  “Just take it easy, buddy,” he says.

  “Stop it, Jimmy,” Scarlett says. “You're not impressing anybody.”

  The paramedics stream out of the ambulance and approach with hesitant, somewhat confused looks on their faces.

  “Is everything all right?” a young man gripping a bright red medical kit asks. He glances down at it like it's a new toy he was excited to try out and worries he won't be able to if they were called out on a false alarm. “We heard there's a body?”

  My eyes snap over to Scarlett. "A body?"

  Scarlett hangs her head and presses her fingertips to her temples. "It's inside. Go to the den in the back of the house, and you'll see a passageway in the wall. You'll find it."

  Now my head is really spinning. I came here hoping Scarlett would be happy to see me. Maybe we could carve out some time this trip to spend together and figure out if there might be more between us. But now there are dead people involved. I feel like I've missed several steps of a progression I'm somehow supposed to be a part of.

  “Why is there a body in the house you're selling?” I ask.

  Another squad car appears in front of the house, and a younger officer comes out. He looks sheepishly at the officer Scarlett keeps calling Jimmy.

  “Sorry, boss. I forgot the tape and had to go back. Where do you want me to put it?” He holds up an armful of crime scene tape and glances around the yard.

  “Around the perimeter of the house, Virgil. This is a crime scene, not a damn tea party. People are going to start coming out of their houses any second now; we don't want them crawling all over the place and potentially contaminating the scene.”

  “You won’t find any evidence in the yard,” Scarlett says. “It's not a fresh body. That's the man I saw murdered last year at Halloween.”

  I reach out and take Scarlett by the wrist, turning her to face me. Again, Jimmy threatens me with a jiggle of the gun at his hip and a stern look.

  “You just keep your hands off the lady, buddy. Take a step back and mind your manners. I don't want things to have to get dirty here,” he growls.

  My jaw clenches as I face him. “If you call me buddy one more time,” I start, but Scarlett's hand grabbing me by the front of the shirt stops me.

  “Stop it, both of you. You two are fucking ridiculous. Jimmy, you need to go inside and document what's going on. Maybe now you'll believe me about what I saw last year,” she says.

  Jimmy points into my face. "He needs to get out of here. This is an official investigation, and he's interfering."

  “I’ve got him. Just go,” she says.

  When the officer finally starts toward the house, she pulls me back in the direction of my car. We get a few steps away before she lets go of my shirt, and we duck under the haphazard placement of the crime scene tape. Just as the officer predicted, some of the doors along the street have opened, and curious neighbors are starting to peek out.

  A few try to cover up their nosiness and act like they're doing something else. One grips his newspaper like he's enthralled by an article even though it's still folded and in a plastic bag. Another streams so much from a watering can onto a potted plant the flowers may need CPR by the end of it. Others have no such pretensions and just stand at the doors, their eyes peeking around the edges, waiting to find out what happened.

  It doesn't escape me that most of them were probably alerted to the drama not by the screaming of the sirens, but by Scarlett screaming when I grabbed her. We get to my car, and she stops, her hands on her hips.

  "You want to give me a little bit of insight here?" I ask.

  "This house just got reclaimed by the town and put on the market a couple months ago. I've been trying to sell it since and it hasn't been going smoothly," she explains.

  "The real estate wunderkind is having trouble selling a house?" I ask, trying to lighten her spirits with a little teasing.

  It doesn't work. If anything, her eyes go darker. She's standing away from me; her arms crossed over her stomach. The shapeless tunic shirt she's wearing doesn't fit with the image I had of Scarlett during the summer. She looks a little different, like the stress of the house is getting to her. But she's still beautiful, and all I want is to be able to touch her.

  "This really isn't a moment of my life when I feel like laughing. Pardon me," she says. "Yes, I'm having difficulty with this house. It's been a conglomeration of hell. Someone started to buy it; then there was a break-in... never mind. It doesn't matter. You really shouldn't be here."

  "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on. Is there seriously a body in there?" I ask.

  "Nope. Just running a drill for the local police," she snaps.

  "Are you sure it's the man who you think you saw last Halloween?" I ask.

  "I think any question of that is out the window right now, considering his body is sprawled out in a hidden freezer in a house that has become my source of torment all summer." She presses her hand over her eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. "I came here to check on the house. There have been some struggles with it and some strange things going on, and I wanted to see if there's something else I can do to make it more appealing. I got here. It smelled funny. I found the fireplace wet and full of nastiness from an extinguished fire. I pushed a brick. The wall opened. I went inside. Found a door. Opened it. There was another door. Opened that. It's a freezer, and the body is on the floor. There. Now you have the whole story," she says, barely taking a breath.

  "And I still don't understand any of it," I tell her.

  "Scarlett?" the officer calls from the porch. "I'm going to need you in here to explain exactly what happened." His eyes fal
l on me, and his face tenses. "I thought I told him to get out of here."

  She presses a hand to my chest like she's preparing to hold me back just in case I decide to rush him. It might not be the worst idea. There's something about his little pinhead that makes me forget all about my sense of decorum.

  "He's leaving," she calls over her shoulder, then locks eyes with me. "You need to go."

  "Will I see you later?" I ask.

  "If they ever let me leave here."

  She rushes across the yard and into the house.

  The officer gives me one final glare and disappears back inside.

  I sit outside Scarlett's house for hours. A brief visit into town for a bathroom break and to grab some snacks leaves me worried I'll miss her, but when I get back, the house is still dark, and the driveway still empty. Finally, I've made my way through my nut mix, fruit cup, and iced tea and am working on a burger I had delivered by a confused man working at the diner, and her car slides into place. She slams the door and stomps toward the house without even glancing my way.

  Stuffing the remainder of the burger back into its box, I jump out of my car and rush toward her.

  "Scarlett," I call out to her. She turns to look at me, squaring off in front of me at the edge of her porch. "How did it go? Is everything alright?"

  "Well, he's still dead. And frozen. Fortunately, none of him stuck to the floor," she says.

  "Other than that."

  She stares at me as I walk toward her, and her arms wrap around her body again. She shakes her head and pulls away from me.

  "Why didn't you call me back?" she asks.

  I blink at her. "What? What do you mean?"

  "I called you over and over. You never answered, and you never called me back. Now you just show up here when it's convenient for you, and I'm supposed to be happy about it?"

  Wait... what?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Scarlett