Chapter Twenty-Four

Kate found her great-aunt in the garden, spreading mulch around the rose bush.

“I’ve brought more books for you.” Kate set the bag down on the porch. There was a song caught in her head, a clear and bright tune, that had her humming as she closed the store, as she drove home.

Roselyn straightened, brushing sweet-smelling black dirt from her gardening gloves. “Not something with guns again, I hope.”

“Abandoned houses this time.” Kate could hear the lift to her own voice, that brightness seeping through. “The windswept Cornish coast. A little romance. Secrets a century old.” Kate sat on the step, stretched out her legs, angled her face to catch the last of the sunlight. “It reminded me of that article the journalist wrote about this house.”

“Which article?” Roselyn straightened abruptly. Her eyes, beneath the brim of the straw hat, were sharp and clear.

“Published just before I moved in. You showed it to me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember the article. Are you certain it was about this house?”

“Positive. I found a part of it online, but it was just an excerpt. Hold on, I bookmarked the page on my phone.” Kate pulled up the website, read from the screen. “‘The house is remote, standing back from the road, emphasizing its superiority. Perhaps its arrogance is justified; marked by eccentricities, it is unique. Hidden from impulsive scrutiny, it surprises those that stumble upon it, appearing like an architectural gem from the shadows.’ An architectural gem,” Kate repeated with a grin. She continued, “‘The outer sides of the front wall jut out slightly, making an enclave for large, imposing double doors. The building seems to be stretching its arms out invitingly, luring passersby… appealing to the weakness that governs us all. Curiosity. The tower is like a rogue escapee from a long-forgotten fairy tale, rising toward a gray sky. The jagged crack tearing across the stone façade only adds to its ethereal appearance.’ That’s all. Apparently, the writer mentioned something about a tragedy as well. I thought I might take another look at it.”

“If I did have it once, I wouldn’t know where to look for it now.”

“Never mind then. But what do you think he was talking about? Was there a tragedy that occurred here, on this property?”

“Pure fiction.” Her voice was brusque. “You of all people should be able to recognize it, Kate. Then again, you never seem to stop looking for stories.” Great-aunt Roselyn smiled. “Insatiable—what do they call it? Narrative curiosity. Isn’t that the term?”

“Curse of the voracious reader. Speaking of which, let me know what you think of the books and I’ll add your comments to the recommendations in this month’s newsletter. Your picks sold well last month.” The store newsletter, mailed out to customers once a month, had helped increase sales.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy reading them.” Great-aunt Roselyn sounded distracted. “Frost-damage already.” She touched one of the limp blossoms, blackened at the edges. “I didn’t expect it so soon. The wall should give these roses some protection from the cold, but they face the morning sun. The change in temperature from night to day is too harsh. This one will have to be cut back in the spring.” She plucked a darkened petal from the flower. A pause. “Kate, is the house looking neglected?”

Kate shifted, to get a better view. The front door was as imposing as ever. The colored panels in the stained-glass windows bright as jewels. Look closer though, and you could see the wood was flaking, showing signs of wear, some discoloration. The paint peeling around the windows. The surface of the roof was no longer smooth, but beginning to ripple. The shingles buckling, after years of rainwater and melting snow. But it would last, for now. “I suppose it could use some work, here and there.”

“Everything that was once new is now old or fading. Things need to be replaced. Modernized. I can’t keep up with it. You won’t stay here forever. Elaina will leave, maybe go with Ian. And then this house will be empty.” Gaze on the withered flowers.

The tone, that melancholy shade to her voice again. “I’m not going anywhere,” Kate said. “And soon you’ll have another tenant.”

“There haven’t been any responses to the ad.”

“Give it time.”

Roselyn dropped the trowel into the bucket at her feet with a sharp clatter. “People don’t want one room in an old house anymore. They want privacy. Their own kitchen. A better location.”

“We have an apple orchard.” Nothing could compare to the scent of apple blossoms in the spring. “What more could anyone want?”

Great-aunt Roselyn smiled. “Better plumbing? At least Mr. Wendell’s things are gone now.”

Startled, Kate sat upright. She wrapped her arms around her knees. The stone of the step beneath her was cold through the denim of her jeans. “Weren’t we waiting to see if a relative would come collect them?”

“Someone was here today.”

“Someone came here? To the house?”

“Yes, earlier this morning. He seemed quite affected by Mr. Wendell’s passing.”

“A relative?”

“A friend. Someone from work. He told me his name. I can’t remember now what it was. When he heard no one had been, he offered to take everything.”

“All the boxes?”

“Every last one of them. Along with that camera and horrid audio player. I hope he won’t listen to it.”

“He couldn’t have taken everything. I have Mr. Wendell’s laptop.” That picture, grainy and indistinct. The young girl looking out from behind the glass. Twist of guilt, like she’d stolen something. She shouldn’t have looked at the image. “It’s in the bookstore.”

“Why would you have his laptop?”

“My computer broke. I was using his in the meantime. I was going to tell you.” When the moment was right. “His things were there. It seemed like no one wanted them.”

“I’m sure, when he realizes it’s missing, he’ll be back.” Great-aunt Roselyn looked toward the trees, just seen behind the house. Leaves starting to turn, the yellow bleeding in. Her expression changed, lost its focus. “Frank will need to pick the fruit soon. I’ll have to remind him.”

Kate’s heart sank. She stood. “Let’s go back inside. Come on, I’ll help you put the bucket away.”