Sadie frowned. “You make that sound like it’s a good thing.”
Shawn laughed, and Sadie tried to see it from where he stood, removed and intrigued.
“Do you still want the landlord info? I found the one in Lowell as well as the current owner of the rental house on Browden Street. It was rented in the sister’s name, though.”
Sadie had forgotten Shawn was researching Mrs. Wapple’s housing and for an instant she was excited to get the information. The instant passed quickly, however, and was replaced with regret. “I don’t need it anymore,” she said. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
“Nah,” Shawn said. “It’s fine, and it didn’t take me long to find—bless public information databases and Google Earth. You’re sure you don’t want to make these two final calls?”
Sadie was tempted, but the humiliation and frustration of her dealings with Gabrielle were still fresh enough that she was not swayed. “No. It’s done.”
“All right,” Shawn said, but he didn’t seem to agree. They both sat in silence—well, as silent as a subway car could be—for a few beats before Shawn spoke again, changing the subject dramatically. “So, I talked with Jane today,” he said casually. “She said you told her you couldn’t see her while you’re in Boston. She’s not far away, ya know.”
Jane again? That woman was so removed from Sadie’s thoughts that it was annoying to have to make room for her. “I’m not at my own home, Shawn,” she said, repeating what she’d told Jane. “And I’m already feeling horribly guilty for being so distracted by Mrs. Wapple. Pete and the boys deserve more from me. I actually fed the boys chicken nuggets tonight. I’m so disappointed in myself.”
Shawn laughed. “Okay, I can see your point. What do you think about inviting her to come to Salem with us on Saturday instead? You’ll be done playing grandma by then.”
Sadie frowned. The thought of inviting Jane after the babysitting job was complete had crossed her mind—she was too efficient to have not considered the option—but she’d also looked forward to having time alone with the two men in her life: Shawn and Pete. The two of them hadn’t spent much time together—
Wait—why was Shawn working so hard for her to meet up with Jane in the first place?
The thought brought an unwelcome realization that Shawn had brought up Jane during nearly every phone call they’d shared this week. He’d also asked for Jane’s help in one of the PI cases almost immediately after Sadie had asked him to use her only if he absolutely had to. And hadn’t he told Sadie she should try to form a new opinion about Jane? Beyond that, Sadie had been waiting weeks for Shawn to tell her he’d changed his major. That he hadn’t confided in her yet—not to mention that he hadn’t discussed it with her before he actually made the change—was a sign of his growing independence. Another perspective on that independence, though, was that he was keeping secrets from her. Or at least he thought he was.
Shawn didn’t . . . like Jane, did he?
Sadie’s stomach dropped, only partially due to the subway car slowing down. She checked to make sure it wasn’t her stop; it wasn’t. There were a few more to go.
Jane? Sadie thought again. Why Jane? She was hard and masculine and . . . strange. Sadie pictured her teddy bear of a son, huge, but soft and kind, with a quick wit and a big heart. Jane, on the other hand, was sharp—both with the angles of her body and that tongue of hers. She was rough around the edges, sarcastic, cynical, and worldly. She was also in her late twenties, by Sadie’s estimation. Shawn was barely twenty-one years old. The two of them as a couple was impossible to imagine. And yet, the signs that Shawn might be thinking in that direction were all there.
If she could get the two of them together in one place she had no doubt she could find out exactly what Shawn’s feelings for Jane were. “I suppose she could join us for the trip to Salem,” she said carefully. “She’ll still be around come Saturday?”
“She’s staying in Connecticut for another week. She’s digging into some additional article ideas. I know she’d love to hang out with us. She’s never been to Salem.”
Sadie allowed herself a few moments to mourn the lost chance for Pete and Shawn to bond. Would she and Shawn still take the Ghosts and Graveyard tour Saturday night? Would Jane stay for Sunday, too, the day she and Shawn were planning to spend together, just the two of them?
“Well, then, by all means, invite her to come along, though I’d understand if it doesn’t work out with her schedule.” Please don’t work out, please don’t work out, please don’t work out.
Sadie’s cell phone beeped, indicating that the battery was low.
“It’ll work,” Shawn said, sounding more excited than Sadie wanted him to. “She really thinks highly of you, Mom. She had a rough childhood, and I think she looks up to you almost like a mother figure, ya know?”
“Oh, well,” Sadie said humbly. “That’s . . . um, nice to hear.” She paused, not liking that Shawn and Jane were close enough to share stories about their childhoods, but curious as to what Shawn knew all the same. “She had a rough childhood?”
“I don’t know the details, but she mentioned her parents’ divorce and living with her grandparents for a few years. I think you’ve kind of shown her what a normal parent is like, and I think she’s trying really hard to be a better person, ya know?”
“I don’t mean to have such a harsh opinion of her,” she said, feeling guilty. “I’ll be more open-minded, okay?”
“Awesome,” Shawn said. They small-talked for a minute longer before Sadie’s phone beeped again and she begged off. Shawn promised to check in again tomorrow, and Sadie promised to charge her phone all night so she wouldn’t have to cut their next conversation short. “Oh, and, Mom, I know you said you’re done with this lady and figuring out her story, but keep Jane in mind if for some reason you decide to work on it a little more. I know she’d love to come up there if you needed her, and she told me there isn’t anything she’s doing that can’t be adjusted to make room for you, okay?”
“I’ll just be making a phone call to social services,” Sadie said. But there was the possibility that Jane could find out more details than Pete and Sadie had been able to uncover. The thought was momentarily tempting, just as the landlord information Shawn had found had been tempting, but Sadie didn’t need those kinds of details anymore. “But thanks for the info,” Sadie said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
They said good-bye, and Sadie spent the rest of the ride, and then the subsequent drive back to the house from the Forest Hills station, with her thoughts bouncing between concern for Mrs. Wapple and curiosity about Shawn’s situation with Jane—she couldn’t allow herself to think about it as a real relationship. “Oh, please don’t let him fall in love with that girl,” she whispered under her breath as she pulled onto the alleyway behind Jared’s house and parked in the single car garage.
Her phone beeped again, and she found it more aggravating than usual. There were many things Sadie could handle—three-inch heels when the occasion demanded formal attire, eating canned green beans when someone else made dinner, a beeping cell phone—but Jane Seeley as Shawn’s girlfriend was not on the list. She certainly wanted good things for Jane, but did that have to include Sadie’s only son?
Pete was watching a basketball game when she let herself in the back door. She hadn’t bothered with the scarf over her head and her hair had suffered for it. She put her purse on one of the kitchen chairs and locked the door behind her before taking off her coat and heading for the living room. Whispered voices from the boys’ room told her that while Pete may have put them to bed, they weren’t asleep. As soon as they realized Sadie was back, they sent Fig out to beg for a “stowy.” Pete assured her he’d read to them already, but Sadie knew they liked the voices she used for different characters. For all of Pete’s talents and abilities, taking on the sweet voice of a bunny rabbit or the gravely yell of a crocodile was something he still needed to work on. After she hung up her coat and plugged her cell
phone into the charger in the bedroom, she consented to one more story, losing herself in the world of make-believe for what didn’t feel like quite long enough.
When she returned to the living room, Pete had the curtains wide open. He was still watching the game, but he glanced out the window on a regular basis. For all his talk about needing to keep a distance from this situation, he was still suspiciously involved in it.
“You didn’t get mugged, beaten, or kidnapped?”
Sadie smiled. “Not today.”
“She hasn’t come out,” he said.
Sadie stepped to the window and looked up at the sky. There was a thick cloud cover, so she couldn’t see the moon, but the night was lit with a foggy silver light. Gabrielle would be leaving the dinner soon. Would she feel any regret for handling this opportunity the way she had? Would she reconsider once she was away from her ritzy friends?
For a moment Sadie thought of her own sister, Wendy. Wendy was the oldest of the three siblings, and she and Sadie had always been at odds with each other. In truth, Wendy had been at odds with their family most of her life for reasons Sadie had yet to figure out. At eighteen she’d left home for college in Illinois. A few years later she got married, without inviting anyone to the wedding; Sadie’s parents had been deeply hurt. A few years later, Wendy got divorced, then married again, had a child Sadie had seen only once, and divorced a second time. Sadie hadn’t spoken to her since their father died; Wendy hadn’t come to the funeral.
It was strange to even think that she had a sister. Sometimes Sadie felt bad that she didn’t miss Wendy. And yet, even after so many years of estrangement, if Wendy were in trouble and needed help, Sadie would be there. Gabrielle should be that kind of sister even if she didn’t want to be, even if her sister threatened her social aspirations. Sadie had little doubt that was at least part of Gabrielle’s issues. She thought back to how Gabrielle had acted when she’d been forced to talk to Sadie in front of her friends. How would her friends react if they knew her sister was the Witch of Browden Street?
Sadie turned away from the window and her uncomfortable thoughts and sat down next to Pete on the couch. He muted the basketball game and asked her how it went.
“At the store or at the hotel?” Sadie asked, not sure where his line was exactly.
He smiled. “Hotel.”
Good. She told him everything that had happened, and he rubbed her shoulder when she explained about getting kicked out.
“On to social services in the morning, then?” he said when she finished.
Sadie nodded and took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out, trying to blow out the negative energy the way they taught her to do in her weekly yoga class. Pete gave her hand a squeeze, then leaned in to kiss her temple.
“You’re a good woman, Sadie,” he said. “And you’ve done the right thing.”
“Thank you,” Sadie said, pulling her feet up onto the couch and curling into Pete as he turned the sound on the TV back on. Basketball held no interest for her, but being close to Pete made it worthwhile. She tried to unwind, tried to let go of the worry and anxiety in her chest, but her eyes kept going to the window, and she realized she was hoping to see some sign of Mrs. Wapple. After fifteen minutes, she excused herself to clean up the kitchen. Pete offered to help, but cleaning was relaxing for Sadie and she wanted him to watch his game. She also realized she was starving and fixed a passable meal from the leftovers.
After the game was over and Sadie had the kitchen gleaming, they locked up—checking the locks twice. Sadie moved to the front window in order to pull the blinds closed, but hesitated as she looked at Mrs. Wapple’s house, completely dark and empty looking. Would alerting social services mean that Mrs. Wapple couldn’t live in her home? Perhaps she’d end up in an institution of some kind and lose her independence completely. Sadie supposed that having her being cared for properly was the most important thing, but she also hoped that perhaps being under the supervision of a doctor would be enough to make Mrs. Wapple capable of caring for herself.
Pete came up behind Sadie as she moved the curtain aside, revealing a section of the window normally blocked by the heavy drapes as well as the pull cord that would close them. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“I wish we’d accomplished more today,” she said, holding back the curtains. She wrapped her fingers around the pull cord. “We were so intent on getting Gabrielle involved that—”
Pete’s hand tightened on her shoulder at the same instant Sadie caught sight of a pale white face staring at her from the other side of the glass only inches above the bottom pane of the window. In the split second before she jumped back, she registered dark eyes, bright pale skin, and long tangled hair. She dropped the curtain over the face, quickly slapping her hand over her mouth to keep her gasping scream from waking the boys. She stepped backward, tripping over Pete’s foot. He steadied her, then immediately grabbed the curtain, pulling Sadie out of the way as he stepped forward to look at where the face had been in the lower corner of the window. The face was gone.
Pete leaned forward to look out the window before stepping to the side and grabbing the handle of the front door.
“Pete!” Sadie said. “Don’t—” She cut off when he looked at her, and she realized there was no way he wasn’t going out there. He flipped on the porch light, turned the dead bolt, and threw open the door. The gauzy ghost made them both jump, and Sadie clamped her hand over her mouth a second time. Pete scowled as he disappeared through the doorway and down the steps. The wind sent the wispy tendrils of the ghost decoration dancing wildly, and Sadie grabbed the decoration off its hook. The wind caught the door and Sadie had to wrestle it closed. As soon as the door was shut, she stuffed the ghost behind the couch—she’d had enough!
She moved to the window and watched Pete walk cautiously, but intently, toward the corner of the house that was flanked with thick bushes bent over by the wind. His gun was locked in his suitcase, and Sadie wondered if he should have grabbed it. She put her hand on her neck and moved the curtain in order to glance at where the face had been. It wasn’t there, of course, but she couldn’t get the image out of her head. Long face, almost skeletal, and tangled hair that was long and dark. Was it Sadie’s overactive imagination that made her think she had seen a gray knit hat? Had the face really looked like Mrs. Wapple, or was that another figment of Sadie’s traumatized imagination?
Within a few minutes Pete was back. She knew he hadn’t found anything by the look on his face when he came in. He locked the door behind him and ran his fingers through his hair, though the action seemed more anxious than vain.
“There’s nothing there, and the ground is too hard for there to be any footprints.”
“Do you think it was Mrs. Wapple?”
“If it was, she’s faster than she looks.”
Sadie looked again at the place where the face had been. “If someone were crouching below the window, waiting for us to pull back the curtains, they could pop up and then run as soon as I dropped the curtains.”
“Possible,” Pete said. “But, again, fast. I didn’t see or hear anything while I was out there. No retreating footsteps or starting engines.”
“Though with the wind, would you be able to hear much?”
Pete nodded his acknowledgment of that possibility but didn’t seem to like it.
Just thinking about someone waiting outside the house, watching them, sent a chill down Sadie’s spine. How the person got away was not as important as why she had been there in the first place. “What is going on here?”
“I don’t know,” Pete said, looking deep in thought, his eyes fixed on the window where they’d seen the face.
“Should we call the police?”
Pete hesitated. “And tell them what?”
“About the hat and the Peeping Tom.”
“There’s nothing to tell but an unbelievable story without any evidence to back it up.”
Sadie didn’t want to sound like she was question
ing his expertise, but she would feel better if they called the police. Then again, based on her own experience, involving the police was not always helpful. More than once the police had made an already difficult situation an extremely complicated one.
“It looked almost . . .” It was hard for her to say it out loud, but silly not to. “Like a ghost,” she finished.
Pete took a breath and let it out, then scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “Let’s go to bed.”
“And not talk about what we just saw?” Sadie pointed to the window.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Pete said, turning away.
“I understand, but that doesn’t change what we—”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Sadie,” he said sharply, not turning around. “I believe in facts, evidence, and reality.”
“So it’s not a ghost,” Sadie said. “But something has happened two nights in a row now, and we need to discuss it.”
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