“Ben?” I called. “Everything all right?”
No answer. The water continued running, and Ben’s voice hummed an enigmatic tune. Besides, the thump had come from above. I looked into the mezzanine and caught sight of a pink scarf disappearing from between the railing.
“Alyssa,” I murmured.
I set the laptop aside and carefully climbed the stairs to the second floor. On the mezzanine, I could never resist imagining what parties at the mansion used to be like. I saw people slow dancing under the chandelier and sneaking off to one of the many rooms for a private moment. I saw Alyssa playing with the other children her age, perhaps happening upon one of the sneaking couples. Now, I saw a pattern of small scuffs on the dusty carpet, as if a pair of child-sized feet had just recently run through. They led me to the east wing of the house, where Alyssa’s presence was most profound, and up two flights of stairs. They disappeared at the foot of the huge wall tapestry, behind which the entrance to the attic was hidden.
“I’ve been up there already,” I told Alyssa, sure she was listening from somewhere. “Sammy told me that’s where you like to hide. Is there something you’d like me to see?”
The tapestry fluttered, which seemed like a solid enough answer to me. I ducked under the heavy fabric, pushed through the attic door, and made my way upstairs. Like the last time I came up here, the air was cold and musty, and it smelled faintly of cedarwood. The attic was full of odds and ends, as though the Abrams had used the space for storage and forgotten about everything that was up here. I spotted a corner dedicated to Alyssa that included an old crib, a rusty tricycle, and several cardboard boxes full of her baby clothes. A wave of cold air brushed by my left elbow, but none of the windows were open.
“I’m here,” I told Alyssa. “What did you want me to see?”
A booklet fell off a stack of cardboard boxes about halfway across the room, spilling photographs from it. I picked my way past a broken laundry basket, a stack of mismatched china plates, and a bunch of hiking equipment. I bent over to collect the photos from the floor and shuffled through them.
“These are all of your parents?” I asked. Each picture featured either Percy, Penelope, or both of them. In some, Percy looked significantly younger than in the photo I’d found in the newspaper. Apparently, he’d known Penelope for a long time. “What about them?”
Another inexplicable gust of wind knocked most of the photos from my hand. I peered at the one on top of the stack that remained. In it, Percy held Penelope around the waist. It had been taken at the Falconwood swimming pool, and both of the Abrams wore bathing suits. I studied the photograph, looking for whatever it was that Alyssa wanted me to see.
“I don’t get it,” I told her at last. “What am I looking for?”
A lump rose in my throat as something invisible folded over half the picture as I held it in my hand. I steeled myself not to drop it and run screaming from the attic. When Alyssa was finished, only Penelope was visible. She had folded her father out of the picture. I studied Penelope from top to bottom. Like Alyssa, she had auburn hair and a delicate face. Though she smiled, the expression didn’t reach her eyes, and the hand she had around Percy did not rest firmly against his waist. She set her body slightly away from his, and as I scanned down her bare arms and legs, I realized why.
“She’s bruised,” I muttered, tracing the injuries with the tip of my finger. “All over. A hiking injury?” But the pattern of bruises along Penelope’s arm—four over, one under—spoke of a different injury, and I could make out another faded handprint on the front of her thigh. More disturbing still was the slight shadow along her left cheek, which looked as though she’d covered up another bruise with makeup. “Alyssa, did your dad hurt your mom?”
A marble chess piece flew through the air and landed on my temple, the sharp edge of the knight’s blade drawing blood. Before I could react, a heavy pawn was catapulted in my direction. I dodged it with a shriek, tossed the photos to the floor, and ran for the stairs. All the while, the chess pieces pelted me. Each time one landed, I knew it would be a bruise. I slammed the attic door shut and ducked under the tapestry, panting and in pain. The feeling of Alyssa’s presence was gone.
15
Della and Basil lived on a plot of land at the edge of town, as hidden away from everything else as the mansion was. Were it not for the tire tracks in the snow, Ben and I would have never found our way there, even with Della’s detailed instructions. As we passed through a thicket of trees and emerged in a small clearing, I gasped at the sight. The silver airstream glowed with soft, golden light. It rested between the edge of a small, frozen pond and Basil’s hydroponic greenhouse, which he’d built himself. The Gordons had drawn a canopy from the airstream, underneath which sat a picnic table set for four. They had cleared away the snow around the table and laid out what looked like portable flooring. Two space heaters warmed the area, and a string of fairy lights made it easy to navigate. Della was already outside when we parked the car, cooking something on the grill.
“Hi!” Della said, closing the grill as we got out of the car. She waded through the snow to give each of us a hug. “You found the place okay?”
“Sure did,” Ben said. “Thanks for the instructions.”
“Of course.” Della beamed and squeezed my arm. “I’m so glad the two of you decided to join us. Basil is inside, cooking up a storm. Would you like the grand tour?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
She spread her arms wide and gestured to the clearing. “This is it.” She chuckled at her own joke before waving at us to follow her. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
The inside of the airstream was surprisingly roomy. A queen-sized bed took up the back quadrant, next to a tiny bathroom that had a shower and a DIY composting toilet that Della was proud to point out. Every bit of space had a purpose. Counters and desks folded out from the walls or could be rearranged to make one larger dining table. Beneath every seat was more storage space. The airstream even featured an entire kitchen, where Basil manned the stove.
“Ah, our guests have arrived!” He wiped his hands on a dish towel then flung it over his shoulder. “Would either of you like a glass of wine?”
“I can’t,” Ben said. He’d decided to forego his wheelchair for the dinner party since he was getting stronger without it. “Doc said no alcohol until I’m finished with the pain meds.”
“Ooh, that’s right,” Basil said, shaking Ben’s good hand. “How’s your recovery going?”
Ben’s gaze flickered toward me. “I had a bit of a rocky start, but things are getting better now. It’s my first venture out into the real world without the wheelchair.”
“Sit down if you have to,” Della urged. “Don’t stand to be polite.”
“I’m okay for now.”
“So a water for Ben,” Basil said. “What about you, Peyton? Can I interest you in a glass of red wine? Or maybe some homemade bourbon?”
“Does everyone in Falconwood make their own bourbon?” I asked. “Mason put some in Ben’s coffee the other day.”
Basil laughed. “Mason gets his supply from me, but he doesn’t mouth off about it. He thinks he’s protecting me by telling everyone he makes it.”
“He’s a good guy,” Della said. “A complete sweetheart.”
Ben peered over Basil’s shoulder for a look into the simmering pots. “What are you making? Something on the grill?”
“Oh, shoot!” Della raced outside.
Basil grinned and stirred his concoction. “She has a bad habit of forgetting she’s cooking. We’re having vegetable soup, grilled portobellos, salad, and garlic bread. I have some cheese and fruit for appetizers, and I made a chocolate mousse for dessert. I hope you guys don’t mind, but we don’t eat a whole lot of meat in this household.”
“It’s no problem for me,” I told him. “I tried getting Ben to go vegetarian a few years ago, but he’s a stubborn one.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben said, “but I reall
y like bacon.”
“As did I.” Basil deftly chopped fresh herbs and dropped them into the bubbling pot of soup. “But then I started getting older and feeling my bones more. When I cut meat out, I started to feel better. That was all the reason I needed. It’s not for everyone though.”
Della came back inside, carrying a plate of grilled mushroom caps. “I hope you don’t mind if your food is slightly charred.”
“I prefer it that way,” I assured her.
“Yes, Peyton likes everything blackened,” Ben added. “You should have seen the bacon she made this morning.”
I playfully flicked Ben’s ear. “That was not intentional.”
“Well, we will do our best to burn things to your liking.” Basil popped the cork on a bottle of red wine and swirled it around. “We don’t have fancy things like decanters so we do things the old-fashioned way.” After he was satisfied with the improvised aeration of the wine, he poured three glasses, one each for me, Della, and himself. He presented Ben with a glass of water instead, then raised his up. “To good friends,” he toasted.
“To excellent food,” Della added. Then the older couple looked at us, as if expecting each of us to add on a toast of our own.
“Oh, uh, to new opportunities,” I said hastily, blurting out the first thing that came to my mind.
Ben was smoother than me. He tapped his glass against Basil and Della’s and said, “To our hosts. Thank you for what’s sure to be a lovely evening.”
An hour later, the cheese and fruit plate had been demolished. We finished up our dinner on the little deck outside the airstream. With the wind chill, I’d expected it to be the coldest dinner I’d ever had in my life, but the space heaters warmed the area enough to make the breeze feel pleasant. By the time we were through with the soup, I was huddled close to Ben, laughing and smiling as Basil and Della told us hilarious stories from their time traveling across America in the airstream. Ben had his arm around me, but it felt platonic rather than romantic, as if we were finally settling into the promise that we would remain friends throughout and after the divorce.
“Anyway, that’s how we learned the right way to empty sewage at a travel stop,” Basil finished off with a hearty chuckle. “Gosh, I probably should have saved that story until after dinner. Sorry if I spoiled your appetites.”
I patted my bloated stomach. “Not at all. No story could have stopped me from eating all this. It was delicious. You two really outdid yourselves.”
“You’re flattering us,” Della said.
“I’m not!” I promised. “I wish I could cook like this.”
“Della could teach you,” Basil offered. “She taught me everything I know. If it weren’t for her, I’d still be eating microwavable macaroni and cheese.”
Della kissed the back of Basil’s hand as she held it in her own. “Nonsense. You began growing food long before I came along. You would’ve figured out what to do with it eventually.”
“Perhaps,” Basil said, returning Della’s affection by tickling her fingers. “But it was more fun to learn all of this with you by my side, darling. Now, Ben” —he leaned forward and stacked the plates between him and Ben away from his field of vision— “I’ve heard you might be interested in helping me with a passion project. What do you know about hydroponic greenhouses and growing things?”
“Honestly?” Ben said. “Nothing at all, but I have years of experience with interpreting information and laying it out in plain text. As long as you can give me all the details you know, I can put it on paper in a way people would want to read.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Basil unwound himself with his wife and offered Ben a hand to help him stand up. “What do you say we check out the subject? A little greenhouse tour, if you’re up for it. We’ll deal with the dishes later.”
Ben suppressed a grunt as he grabbed Basil’s arm and stood up. When he peeled himself away from me, the cold wind tickled the side of me he’d been warming. Basil clapped a hand over Ben’s uninjured shoulder. Together, they headed off to the greenhouse.
“There they go,” Della said. “Hopefully Ben comes back with his ears still attached. Basil can talk about that greenhouse for hours.”
“That’s good,” I told her. “It means he has a lot of material.”
“I’m glad Ben came around,” Della said. Across the yard, Basil pointed out construction details of the greenhouse, taking Ben around its perimeter before going inside. “It’ll be good for the both of them. Basil needs to get out of the airstream more often.”
“I think Ben and Basil have more in common than either one of them has realized yet.” I picked at my third piece of garlic bread. Though my stomach was full, I couldn’t help but keep nibbling. “So I took a look at the Falconwood website. It could definitely use some help.”
Della poured herself another glass of wine. “Yes, it certainly could. Does this mean you’re thinking of accepting the job?”
“Ben pointed out I haven’t contributed much to the expense of the renovations,” I confided in her. “And this will help me practice my photography.”
“Two birds.”
“Can I call you if I need your advice?” I asked. “I’m not familiar with Falconwood like you are. I’m not sure where to start.”
“Wait here.” She went inside and returned with a pad of paper and a pencil. When she sat down again, she began scribbling a list. “Here are some of the sites you should hit first. Some of them are obvious, and some of them are little hidden gems that everyone forgets about. The snow might make it difficult to get good exterior pictures, but give it a go anyway.”
“Thanks, Della. You’ve been the best of help.” I finished the last piece of garlic bread. “You and Basil have both been too good to us.”
“It’s no trouble at all, honey.”
While Ben and Basil toured the greenhouse, Della and I had dessert on our own. The chocolate mousse was to die for, and I spent every mouthful marveling over the life Basil and Della had built for themselves. Without all the stuff that people tend to accumulate over the years, they seemed freer than most, relying more on their healthy habits than their belongings to get by. If Ben and I had tried the airstream lifestyle, we wouldn’t have made it. Ben was the biggest homebody, and we’d never set foot out of our hometown until Abram Mansion came along. If I’d forced Ben into a nomadic existence, we would have the opposite problem of today. He would be divorcing me instead of the other way around.
“You wouldn’t believe the setup Basil has in that greenhouse,” Ben gushed when he and Basil finally joined us again. “It’s amazing. They’re completely independent. If the apocalypse hits, I’m coming to stay here.”
Basil wrapped a blanket around Della’s shoulders as he sat down again. “You’re more than welcome. Peyton, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to start getting ideas together with Ben as early as tomorrow.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “I’m probably going to head back to the library to get started on the photography job.”
“You decided to take it?” Ben said. “That’s great!”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I guess we’ll see.”
When I picked up Sammy from school the next day, I had my camera equipment with me in the car. Sammy hopped into the back seat and immediately started rooting through it.
“What’s all this for?” he asked, pulling out an expensive lens.
“We’re going to take some pictures of the town today,” I told him. “Does that sound like something you might like to do?”
“Sure.” Sammy popped the cap off the lens and inspected the inside. “Are we going to take pictures of the Abram Mansion too?”
I pulled out of the pickup loop and joined the rest of the cars on the road that had already escaped the chaos of the elementary school. “I think you know the answer to that already.”
“I want to visit Alyssa.” He put the cap back on with a delicate touch and returned the lens to its place in my bag. Fo
r a six-year-old, he was conscientious of the fragility of the camera equipment. “You said we were going to help her, but we haven’t done anything so far.”
“Sammy, I’m trying my best,” I told him. “As a matter of fact, I spoke to Alyssa in the attic yesterday.”
Sammy wriggled happily in his seat. “Really? What did she say?”
“Actually, she didn’t say much of anything. I did most of the talking.”
“And?”
I thought back to my brief foray to the top floor of the mansion, rifling through the old pictures of Percy and Penelope until Alyssa had shown me the one of the pool. The shadowy bruises all over Penelope’s body had haunted me all night, and the whispers in the walls seemed more agitated than usual. I had a mark in my hairline from where the first chess piece had struck my temple, and the more I thought about it, the more confused I became. If Alyssa had wanted me to know about Percy’s potential abuse of Penelope, why had she chased me from the attic once I found out?
“I don’t think you’re old enough to know what I figured out,” I told Sammy. “But rest assured, I might be making progress on the mystery around Alyssa’s death.”
Sammy blew a frustrated sigh through his nose, crossed his arms, and gazed out the window. I’d disappointed him, but I wasn’t about to tell him that his dead friend’s mother might have been abused by her father. It was a subject that no kid should ever have to deal with, and if Alyssa knew what was going on between her parents, I felt all the more sorry for her. Furthermore, I questioned what this meant about Percy Abrams. According to everyone in Falconwood, he was a stand-up guy, but what kind of stand-up guy beats his wife?
The Haunting of Abram Mansion Page 20