The Invited(104)

“I don’t want them in this house. I don’t want to see another witchcraft book in this house again. I won’t have it.”

“Again?” she asked. Then, “Did…Mama have books like these?”

His face hardened even more, like he was turning to stone. Becoming a statue man. “I want them gone, Olive.” He forced the words out through his clenched jaw. “In fact, here, I’ll take them and drop them off at the library myself on my way to the school.” He grabbed them, held them tightly in his dirty hands.

“But, Daddy, you—”

Library books clutched to his chest, he turned and went out of the living room, his body rigid, his boots stomping too loudly on the unfinished plywood floor.





FINISH WORK





CHAPTER 37



Helen





SEPTEMBER 13, 2015

LAST CHANCE

The words were written on the front door of the new house. Fortunately, they’d been written in charcoal, so they were easy to clean off. There was a piece of burned wood on the front step that had been used to write the message.

Helen worked to scrub the words away before Nate could see. She scrubbed hard and fast, heart pounding, sweat beading on her forehead.

She was running out of time. She could feel it, could feel Hattie whispering to her.

Hurry. You are in danger.

Was the burned wood a warning, too? A reminder of what had happened to Hattie’s mother, to Hattie’s crooked house, to the schoolhouse, to Jane at the mill?

Whoever was leaving the messages wanted her gone.

How far would they go to drive her away?

Would there be another gas leak? A fire next time?

If Helen and Nate stayed, would they wake in the trailer one night to the smell of smoke, to flames licking at the walls?

“What are you doing?” Nate asked when he walked up to the house.

“There’s a smudge on the door,” she said, polishing it with a rag.

“It’s Sunday,” Nate said. “I thought we agreed to take the day off.”

“Definitely,” Helen said. “Just tidying a little.”

“Did you turn off my cameras?” he asked.

“What? No.”

“It’s odd,” Nate said. “They were all switched off. I didn’t get any pictures from about midnight on last night.”

    “Strange,” Helen said. Whoever had come and left the message on the door hadn’t wanted to be seen.

“I’m going for a hike,” he said.

Helen nodded. “Great. I think I’ll see if I can get into the historical society to do a little research,” Helen told him.

He frowned but said only, “You’re not going to bring back any more haunted objects, right?”

“Just research, I promise,” she told him. “Enjoy your hike.”



* * *



. . .

Helen knew she couldn’t wait. She called Mary Ann Marsden and asked if she could possibly let her into the historical society. She explained that she was a friend of Riley’s.

“I know it’s a Sunday and I hate to ask, but I’m just so eager to get started on my research.”

Mary Ann chuckled and said she’d be glad to open the historical society. “I get out of church at noon and I can meet you there right after. I don’t have anything planned for the afternoon, so I’m more than happy to help.”



* * *



. . .

Mary Ann was an elderly woman in a polyester pantsuit the color of lima beans. She wore a huge enameled flower brooch pinned to her lapel, so heavy Helen was amazed its weight didn’t pull the poor woman over. She had on dark red lipstick that had run into the creases of her upper lip, making them look like veins.

“So you’re Riley’s good friend, eh?” she asked, as she unlocked the door and let Helen in.

“Yes, I’m Helen. I so appreciate you letting me in like this.”

Helen followed Mary Ann inside, watched her flip on the lights and shuffle over to the desk. All the plastic totes and cardboard boxes that had covered every surface on her last visit were gone. The place looked neat and tidy. The bulky, antiquated computer Riley had used was on a table in a back corner. A sleek new computer rested on the main desk.

“So, you’re interested in the Breckenridge family?”

    “Yes, that’s right. Last time I was here, Riley showed me a painting of Hattie. I was hoping I could get another look at it.”

She didn’t expect the painting to yield any new clues, but she longed to see it, to be held in Hattie’s gaze once more. She thought it would be a good way to start her research—would bring her luck if Hattie was actually watching over her.

“Of course,” Mary Ann said, turning to go back to the cabinets. She opened drawers, pulled paintings in and out.

“Well, that’s odd,” she muttered.

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t seem to be here,” Mary Ann said. “At least, it’s not where it should be. When something’s loaned out, there’s a pink sticker that goes where the painting should be. But there’s no painting and no sticker.” She turned back to the desk, picked up a big three-ring binder and flipped through it. “When we loan paintings out, we have a form that we use. And we have a logbook when anything gets borrowed. But there’s nothing here.”