“I think Caroline would like me to keep that to myself for now,” he said.
“Of course.” I sighed and scooted forward to let my feet hang over the decaying wood of the outside deck. “Would you like to know what we want to do with the rest of the house?”
“That would be nice.”
I launched into our plans, happy to talk about something that kept my mind off the insanity at hand. “First of all, we’re going to get rid of this entire deck and replace it with waterproof flooring. It’ll look like wood, but it won’t rot like it. We want to extend the deck over there—” I pointed across the way, where the edge of the house’s yard dropped off. “—so you can stand safely over the water.”
I went on, describing in detail what Bodhi and I envisioned for the rest of the house. I lost myself in the conversation, gesturing animatedly and drawing pictures in the air in an attempt to illustrate to Patrick what we had in mind. I talked about how much potential the house had and how lucky a family would be to live here once we finished all of the renovations. Patrick listened quietly, but it wasn’t until I noticed the faint smile on his lips that I interrupted my own ramblings.
“—which would make the master bedroom look even bigger than it actually is. Why are you staring at me like that?”
Patrick’s slight smile morphed into a full-on grin. “You remind me of my mom.”
“Really?” I felt heat rise in my cheeks. According to history, Elizabeth Winchester was a goddess. The compliment was evident in Patrick’s tone of voice.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back on his palms. “She was passionate about this house too. She said it was a love project. We moved a few times before we found Black Bay, but I think Mom really wanted to stay here.”
“That’s another thing she and I have in common.”
“What’s that?”
I blew air through my lips like a horse, wondering how best to phrase it. “When we were younger, Bodhi and I loved to travel. It was like an addiction. Flipping houses was a good way to keep up with that while making enough money to support ourselves.”
“And now?”
“I’m tired,” I admitted. I hugged my legs into my chest and rested my chin on my knees. “I want a home base. I’d love for it to be Black Bay.”
Patrick extended his long legs and reached out to touch the toes of his sneakers. “Your supernatural roommates are ruining that plan, huh?”
I chuckled humorlessly. “Honestly, I could probably put up with you and Caroline. It’s Ethan’s existence that worries me most.”
Patrick folded further, his wing-like shoulder blades outlined by the fabric of his shirt. “So my plan benefits everyone then.”
My gaze drifted away from Patrick’s athletic agility, and I watched a flock of squawking seagulls fly by instead. Yes, I wanted Ethan to finally pay for what he had done to the Winchesters, but I grew apprehensive thinking about Patrick’s requests. It would be far easier to do things the legal way: present the police with the evidence of Ethan’s murders and let the officials take care of the rest. But apparently that plan wouldn’t help Caroline and Patrick move on to whatever came after death.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Patrick and I turned to see Bodhi coming into the living room, his cell phone in hand. When he spotted us, side-by-side in the door frame, he paused, taken aback.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he said.
“Good morning to you too,” Patrick quipped.
Bodhi walked over to us, popped Patrick’s hat off with a quick jab to the underside of the brim, and caught it midair. Then he placed it on his own head and nudged me with his foot. “I hate to break up the breakfast bonding, but we have to go into town, Bailey.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
Bodhi wiggled his cell phone. “One of my guys just called me. The town is on high alert. Ethan Powell is officially missing.”
We drove into town to meet Bodhi’s contact at the Sanctuary, the local coffeehouse that Ava owned. When we arrived, there was a distraught tone to the usual Sunday morning bustle. The locals chatted to one another in low, distressed voices, sporting worried brows and concerned looks. Bodhi spotted his workman at a table in the corner and waved.
“I’ll be right back,” Bodhi murmured, kissing me on the cheek. “Talk to Ava. See what you can find out. We need as much information as possible.”
As he navigated through the busy cafe, I squeezed between two chairs and made for the counter. There were no stools available, so I aimed for an empty space to lean against. A warm hand found my forearm.
“Bailey.”
Alex Lido sat at the counter. He too wore Patrick’s memorial hat. He stood up from his seat to give me an affectionate hug. I practically disappeared in it. Alex was so tall that the top of my head barely reached his chest.
“Here,” he said, scootching me toward his recently vacated stool. “Have my seat.”
I boosted myself on to the bar stool, grateful to lift the heavy walking boot to the footrest beneath the counter. Alex flagged Ava down, and she gathered the ingredients for my usual cappuccino without asking what I wanted. When she slid the steaming mug across the counter, I nodded my thanks and took a sip. The espresso scalded my tongue.
Ava set a poppyseed bagel piled high with deli meat, veggies, and cream cheese in front of Alex. “Eat something,” she ordered. “You’re no good to us if you’re starving.”
“What’s going on?” I asked Alex as Ava left to tend to another customer and the murmur of conversation crescendoed around us.
“Haven’t you heard?” Alex took a big bite of his breakfast. “No one’s seen Ethan since yesterday. We’re worried something might’ve happened to him.”
I feigned consternation. “But Ethan was fine when we saw him at the summer festival yesterday.”
Alex shook his head, wiping cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. “Something’s up. Ethan loves the summer festival. He hosts the water balloon fight at the Winchester Celebration every year, and he usually helps us set off the fireworks. There’s no way he would miss that unless something was wrong.”
I quietly drank my cappuccino. Across the cafe, Bodhi was deep in conversation with a few of the guys from the construction crew. He was always better than I was at moving a discussion in the direction that he wanted.
“Hang on a minute,” Alex said. He set down his breakfast sandwich and inspected me with narrowed eyes. “You asked me about Ethan that night at Lido’s during the storm.”
I stirred the foam into my coffee. “Yes, I did.”
“If I recall, you also promised to fill me in on the situation.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Though the other cafe customers were wrapped up in their own musings about what might have happened to Ethan Powell, I couldn’t tell Alex the truth without the risk of unwanted ears overhearing it.
“Not here,” I told him in a low voice. “Not now.”
Alex pushed his half-eaten bagel across the counter and rested on his elbows so that he was on the same level as me. “Bailey, do you know something about Ethan?”
Bodhi saved me from answering. He came up from behind, clapping Alex on the back. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“As good as it’s going to get,” Alex answered as he and Bodhi shook hands. As far as I knew, they’d only met in passing, but everyone in Black Bay was friendly enough. Alex eyed the bruise on Bodhi’s temple. “Ouch. How’d you manage that one?”
“Rogue two-by-four,” Bodhi replied vaguely. “Are you coming with?”
“Where?”
Bodhi reached past me to steal a sip of my coffee. “A group of us are heading to Ethan’s house to check if he’s home or not.”
My eyes widened at this information, and I pinched Bodhi’s arm. He ignored me, waiting for Alex’s reply.
“Yeah, I’d like to go,” said Alex. “Now?”
“In a minute or so.” Bodhi pointed to the door of the Sanctuary.
Just outside, a few locals waited for others to join them. “We’re heading over in a bit.”
Alex wrapped the remainder of his breakfast sandwich in a napkin to eat on the go and left a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Sounds solid. You coming, Bailey?”
I stared at Bodhi for direction. He shook his head a fraction of an inch to either side.
“Yeah, actually,” I said to Bodhi’s discontent. “I’ll come.”
“Good.” Alex paused by my stool before heading for the exit. “Because our conversation is far from over.”
With a roguish wink, he took a bite of his bagel and turned away. As he maneuvered through the other café patrons, Bodhi fixed me with a look of disapproval.
“What?”
“I think you should go home,” he said. “It’s safer.”
I finished off my coffee and left the dregs at the bottom of the cup. “Nowhere in Black Bay is safe until we find out where Ethan is. Besides, I need to get back into Ethan’s boathouse.”
Bodhi shifted from one foot to the other, glancing nervously at the growing group that waited outside the Sanctuary. “Today?”
“It’s a good a time as ever.”
“And what if Ethan’s actually there?” Bodhi asked. “Then what?”
“I can assume he won’t be pleased to see either one of us,” I said, hopping down from the bar stool. Another waiting customer took my place. “But Ethan won’t dare to lay a hand on us in front of a bunch of locals. Everyone’s in the dark about the Winchesters, remember?”
Bodhi guided me through the crowded tables with a light hand at the small of my back. “I guess. What did Alex mean anyway? About your conversation not being over?”
I kept my voice quiet. “He’s figured out I know more about Ethan than I’m letting on. We might have to clue him in soon.”
“Are you crazy?” Bodhi hissed. “There’s no way we’re telling him that we’re best friends with Pat—”
“Shh.”
I pushed through the door of the Sanctuary to meet up with the group of locals outside. Alex counted heads. There were about eight or nine of us who wanted to make sure that Ethan was all right. Or at least pretended to.
“We got everyone?” Alex asked. “Let’s head out.”
We were robbed of the opportunity to discuss strategy when Alex suggested a few of the construction guys carpool with us. I sat squished between Alex and Bodhi in the cab of the truck while everyone else rode in the bed. We trundled through the marshy woods around Ethan’s home in silence, listening to the guys in the back pitch ideas on Ethan’s whereabouts.
“Maybe he had a few too many to drink.”
“Ethan’s been sober for years, man.”
“I’m sure he just got sick or something.”
If Alex wanted to talk about Ethan, he wasn’t comfortable addressing the topic in front of Bodhi. Bodhi steered gently across a muddy pothole, trying not to jostle the guys. Around the bend, a pretty yellow cottage came into view. Ethan’s blue truck sat in the dirt driveway, a white magnet advertising Powell’s Lumber Mill stuck to the side. Bodhi pulled in behind it. Another carload of locals parked beside us, and everyone got out to stretch.
“I suppose we should knock first,” Alex suggested, bounding up to the porch. “Just in case.”
Bodhi and I lingered near the cars as the rest of our impromptu search party joined Alex on the porch. With every rap of Alex’s knuckles against Ethan’s front door, my ribs tightened a little bit more around my lungs. No one answered, so Alex picked the key up from under the mat and let himself him. Ethan’s dachshund didn’t bother to greet him. She dashed down the porch steps and immediately relieved herself in the front yard as if no one had come home to let her out in a while. Alex checked the house then emerged on the porch again.
“Ethan’s not here,” he declared. “Everyone split up. Check the surrounding area.”
“We’ll check the backyard,” I volunteered before anyone else could claim the area. If Bodhi and I were the only ones back there, it would be much easier to reach the boathouse without anyone else noticing.
Alex nodded. “All right. Bailey and Bodhi have the backyard. John and I will take the north side…”
As Alex delegated, Bodhi pulled me around to the side yard, surveying the landscape for any signs of Ethan’s return. “How are we going to do this?” he whispered. His fingers found mine and squeezed tightly when we arrived in Ethan’s backyard. “I mean, how are we supposed to walk out of here with a murder weapon, for Pete’s sake?”
“I’ll shove it under my shirt or something,” I replied, shuddering at the thought. I led Bodhi to a small opening in the overgrown brush that bordered the edge of the canal in Ethan’s backyard. “The boathouse is through here. You stand watch. I’ll make it quick.”
“Wait!” Bodhi pulled me away from the wild plants. “We need a signal, a way for me to alert you if someone comes this way.”
“Can you still do that bird whistle?”
“Yes.”
“There you go.”
I punched through the underbrush before Bodhi could change his mind, treading carefully. The landscape had been overlooked for so long that it proposed more of a challenge than the Winchesters’ jungly garden. A vine adhered to the Velcro straps of my walking boot and trapped my foot. I wrenched the boot upward, tearing the weed from the ground. Up ahead, I could see the roof of the crumbling boathouse. Like the rest of the yard, Ethan had abandoned it to Mother Nature. The paint peeled, the wood rotted, and the entire structure was blanketed in a layer of moss and mold. The thick trees shaded the area from the sun. Even on the brightest day, the boathouse seemed to exist in a phantom zone of gloom.
Finally, I reached the door. The padlock was gone. I’d torn it free with a carpenter’s axe on my last visit, leaving a fresh jagged gash in the deteriorating wood. The hinges of the door were rusted over, but one good tug forced the door open. I stepped backward, my heart pounding as I stared into the dismal interior of the boathouse. Half of me expected Ethan to emerge from the murk in a fit of revenge, but the boathouse was just as eerily quiet as it had been the last time.
I readied myself, taking deep breaths to settle my rollicky nerves. This was not the time for a weak stomach. It was in and out. Thirty seconds. That was all the time I needed to grab what Patrick had asked for. I hurtled into the gloom. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, my jaw dropped.
Ethan’s boat was gone.
Which meant so was the murder weapon.
26
Progress Report
Come Monday morning, Bodhi and I had no choice but to continue renovation work on the Winchester house. Calling a respite for no reason would draw more attention to us than we needed. It was best to pretend like everything was as it should be, so Bodhi and the rest of the crew started ripping up the rotting deck wood in the backyard early that morning.
I sat on the balcony off the master bedroom, keeping an eye on the activity below. Bodhi’s shoulders tensed as he tore another board up and threw it into a pile of debris. He rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard. It had only been two days since his head injury. I knew it still ached, even if the purplish bruising had faded to a less intense shade. But Bodhi was Bodhi. If there was work to be done, he would do it without complaint. So I supervised from above, making sure that Bodhi paused every once in a while to sit down or grab a drink of water, and wondered where on earth Ethan could’ve hidden his boat.
It was a hell of a setback. Here I was thinking at least one of Patrick’s requests would be easy to fulfill. Ethan had kept souvenirs of the Winchester murders: his wrecked boat, Caroline’s personal journals, and the nautical rope that Ethan had used to hang Patrick. Now all of those things were gone. When did Ethan have the time to get rid of them? Was it before or after he cornered me in the rocks of the overhead bluff? And more importantly, how was I supposed to locate those items in the five days left before the anniversary of Patrick and Caroline’s deaths?
That was yet another burden to juggle. Before, when he had been Milo, Patrick steered clear of the house. Now that his window to move on was closing, he spent more and more time with me and Bodhi. Caroline was active as well, often contributing to the conversation by slamming doors or levitating silverware. It wasn’t too much of a problem for us—at this point, we were used to her supernatural antics—but hiding Patrick and Caroline’s existence from the construction crew was already proving to be quite the challenge. Just before they’d started work, one of the guys, John, came out of the first floor bathroom to hear me scolding Patrick in the hallway above for being careless about his appearance. He’d called up the stairs, and I shoved Patrick through the doors of the master bedroom before he was seen. Nevertheless, it was a close call, and I didn’t care to repeat the experience.
As if babysitting two long dead teenagers wasn’t enough, I still needed to work on my blog. It had been far too long since I’d posted something for Flipping Out, and my followers were getting antsy. The problem was that I was having trouble writing anything about the renovation progress when my mind was so addled with other thoughts. For so long, Flipping Out acted as a coping mechanism for me. It allowed me to live through my own imagination in a world where Bodhi and I were happily ensconced in our house flipping business. There, no ghosts begged for my attention. No murderers threatened my sanity. At one time the blog had been my safety net, but now even the wondrous world of my online life wasn’t enough to distract me from my current woes.
I scrolled through my old posts, trying to find some inspiration in them. Here was the record of mine and Bodhi’s last four and a half years together, the time between the death of our daughter and now. I marveled at how bubbly my earlier posts sounded. At the time, I was heartbroken. In fact, I was broken in general. Kali was gone, Bodhi felt gone, and I had no idea where my life was headed. Yet here were the photos of our first ever flipping project. Granted, I didn’t take half as many selfies back then, but there were still pictures of me smiling up at Bodhi as he laid new roofing on a suburban home in Colorado. I’d been so good at faking my happiness, but maybe that was the problem. Shoving my grief below the surface and pretending to smile hadn’t done anything to make me feel better or aid my relationship with Bodhi. It wasn’t until the Winchester children made us confront our problems that Bodhi began to feel less like a stranger to me.
The Haunting of Winchester Mansion Omnibus Page 28