Never Lie (38)

I don’t know how I missed it last night. I guess it makes sense since the hallway was so dark and the cord isn’t exactly easy to see. I can now see that the cord attaches to a rectangle on the ceiling.

It’s a passage to the attic.

Of course. I remember now in Judy’s description of the house on the website, she mentioned “an attic perfect for storage.” But somehow it didn’t even occur to me last night. When we checked all the rooms on the second floor, I assumed that we had covered all our bases in terms of where somebody could go.

But there was another option. The attic.

I reach up and tug on the cord. Nothing happens. I tug harder, and this time I hear a click, and the rectangle swings open. There is a ladder folded up inside, and when I pull on it, it comes down, ending at my feet.

I glance at the room next to me—the door is shut tight. That must be where Ethan is working. I’d like to ask him to check the attic, but I have a feeling he won’t be too excited about that. He already seemed exasperated with me after I made him check every room on the floor. And I only made things worse when I started freaking out in the middle of the night. He’s already calling me “nutty” and blaming pregnancy hormones.

I squint up into the opening for the attic. It doesn’t look too dark up there. There are so many windows, there’s no way somebody could hide up there and jump out at me. I could check it out myself. And if I spot anything upsetting, I’ll yell for Ethan. He’ll hear me easily—the walls are thin in this house.

I grab one of the rungs of the ladder, putting my weight on it to test its stability. It seems stable—and it’s not like I weigh a ton. I place one of my feet on the bottom rung, then the other foot. Before I can talk myself out of it, I start climbing the ladder carefully. I’ve got to see what’s in this attic.

A few seconds later, I reach the top of the ladder. I hesitate for a split second, then I stick my head through the opening. And I look around. It looks like…

An attic.

A completely normal, unremarkable attic. In one corner, there’s a bunch of dusty cardboard boxes, and in the next corner, there’s a plastic Christmas tree that looks like it’s seen better days. I imagine the woman with the intense green eyes struggling to get that bulky Christmas tree out of the attic and into her living room, and I almost laugh. It makes the painting a little less scary.

I climb the rest of the way into the attic, satisfied that there isn’t anyone waiting to pounce on me in here. The ceiling is much lower here—a stark contrast to the high ceilings on the first floor. If I stretch, I could probably touch the ceiling.

Most of the attic is filled with boxes. Dusty boxes. I’m surprised nobody cleared it out at some point. I wonder if the police went through the boxes in their search to find her. Unlike the hidden room of tapes, this stuff is all in plain sight.

I pace around the small space, wondering if there’s some hidden chamber up here as well. There aren’t any bookcases, anyway. I walk over to a stack of boxes and blow some dust off the top box. It’s labeled in permanent black marker in Adrienne Hale’s now familiar handwriting: ornaments.

I lift the box and shake it. Sure enough, ornaments rattle inside the box.

I wonder what will become of all the stuff in the attic if we were to buy the house. Not that I’m seriously considering such a thing, but would all this stuff get left behind? Would they expect us to sort through Dr. Hale’s belongings? Doesn’t she have family who could do that?

Maybe she doesn’t though. It didn’t seem like anyone was in any hurry to claim any of her furniture. The seller of the house is listed as a bank—I am assuming they foreclosed on the property after she disappeared.

As I’m dropping the box of ornaments back in the pile, I noticed something stuck behind the boxes. Something made of fabric. I pull it out and suck in a breath when I realize what I’ve found.

It’s a sleeping bag.

There’s nothing that disturbing about finding a sleeping bag in somebody’s attic. On the contrary, it’s what you might expect to find. But the disturbing part is that everything in this attic is covered in a layer of dust. But the sleeping bag isn’t. The sleeping bag is clean. Recently laundered.

There’s also a pillow stuck back there, which seems to be in the same condition. There’s a pillowcase on it, and it’s all clean. It’s not covered in dirt and dust like everything else in the attic. There’s only one conclusion I can draw.

Somebody was using the sleeping bag very recently.





Chapter 27


I drop the sleeping bag and pillow where I found them, my heart pounding. I’ve got to get out of this attic. Because I’m not sure I’m alone in here anymore.

I take brisk steps to the trap door. My hands are trembling so hard, I’m afraid I’m going to slip and fall through the door. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. Nobody is going to attack me in this attic. Not when Ethan is within earshot.

By some miracle, I make it down the stairs to the second level without falling. As soon as my feet touch the floor, I turn to the bedroom door that’s closed and start pounding on it. After a second, I realize it probably isn’t locked, so I try the doorknob and it twists under my hand.

“Tricia?”

Ethan is sitting at the desk in the room, his hands positioned over the keyboard of his laptop. He looks shocked to see me standing there.