By eleven, I still hadn’t heard him, and I started to wonder if he’d been home at all this morning. But at five after the hour, I finally heard the garage door sliding open, the faint turnover of an engine, the wheels slowly easing down the driveway before fading in the distance.
I waited another five minutes just to make sure he was gone.
I STILL HAD THE key from the lockbox. I could’ve sneaked in any of the doors—front or back or side—but thought it would look least suspicious to go straight in the front. I had already come up with an excuse if seen: I was checking the electricity after we’d had a few outages, before calling in a service appointment.
After I entered, I locked the door behind me. The house looked much the same as when Parker arrived. Barely lived in. A single person could leave such little impression here. The house was the definition of sprawling, with large areas of open space. Places to sit and watch the water.
I figured I’d be able to spot a box of Sadie’s things pretty easily down here.
At first glance, it seemed that Parker hadn’t left her things in any of the common rooms downstairs. His coffee mug was on the counter, an empty carton of eggs beside it.
A pile of neatly stacked mail sat on the corner of the island, most addressed to the Loman Family Charitable Foundation. Parker must’ve retrieved it earlier in the day—their local mail was always held at the post office until they returned. The envelopes had been slit open, with the receipts and thank-you notes for your continued support separated into piles. Each from local causes—the police department building fund; the Littleport downtown rehabilitation project; the nature preservation initiative. All their generosity reduced to a sterile pile of paper.
The only other disturbance to the perfection were the throw pillows on the couch, where Parker had been sitting when we were here together that first night.
I headed upstairs next, taking the wide curving staircase. At the right end of the hall was Parker’s bedroom, which I checked first. All the bedrooms upstairs faced the ocean, with sweeping floor-to-ceiling doors that led to private balconies.
Parker’s room looked as it always had—bed unmade, empty luggage in the closet, drawers half closed. There was no box in the closet. Just a couple pairs of shoes and the faintly swaying hangers, disturbed by my presence. Same for under the bed and the dresser surfaces. I opened a few of the drawers to check, but it was just the summer clothes he’d brought with him.
The next room was the master, and it appeared untouched, as expected. Still, I did a cursory sweep, looking for anything out of place. But it was immaculate, with a separate sitting area, a bright blue chair beside a stack of books that seemed to be picked more for design than reading desire, all in shades of ivory and blue.
Sadie’s room was at the other end of the hall upstairs. Her door was open, which made me think someone had been in here recently. But nothing looked out of place. I knew that the police had been through here, and I wondered what else they had taken. It was hard to know what might be missing if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
Her bedspread was smooth and untouched, the corner of the beechwood headboard where she usually hung her purse now empty.
I’d assumed her family had taken her personal items, along with her clothes, back to Connecticut. But the back of my neck prickled. There was just enough of Sadie left behind for me to feel her still. To look over my shoulder and imagine her finding me here. Sneaking up on me, light on her feet, hands over my eyes—think fast. My heart in my stomach even as she was already laughing.
I turned around, and the air seemed to move. It was the layout. The acoustics. A design that showcased the clean lines but also revealed your presence.
The first time I’d slept over here, I’d woken to the sound of a door closing somewhere down the hall. Sadie had been asleep beside me, one arm thrown over her head—completely still. But I thought I saw a flash of light through the glass doors to her balcony. I’d slipped out of bed, felt a floorboard pop beneath my feet.
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 C
harity 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 smiled then, 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 righ
t 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?”
The Last House Guest (ARC) Page 11