“If I hadn’t grabbed you in time,” Mrs. Oriel said, “you would have stepped right into the Dead Man’s Gorge and taken a nasty tumble.”
“Uh,” Alice said, feeling dazed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” Mrs. Oriel said and patted her shoulder.
Ona joined them. “Is everyone all right?”
“Everyone’s all right,” Mr. Oriel said. “Now, mind telling us what you’re doing hiking the woods in pitch darkness?”
Alice looked at Ona, who shrugged, then turned back to Mr. Oriel.
“We were following you. We wanted to know what you were doing hiking the woods in pitch darkness.”
Mr. Oriel, sighing, turned to Mrs. Oriel. “See? I told you this skulking about would get us into trouble.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong.” Mrs. Oriel crossed her arms. “It’s a free country. And this is public land. We can take a late night hike if we want.”
Alice got to her feet and groaned, feeling the ache in her butt and on the backs of her thighs.
“It’s got something to do with that house, doesn’t it?”
Mr. and Mrs. Oriel exchanged meaningful glances.
“Who lives there?” Alice asked. “Anyone we know?”
“I can tell you that,” Ona said. “That house belongs to none other than Darrell Townsend.”
Ona’s words sent a jolt through Alice. Of course. The modern house with its box-like shape and its unusual location—this was the kind of place she’d always imagined Darrell would live in.
“What’s your connection to Darrell Townsend?” she asked the Oriels.
“Nothing,” Mr. Oriel said.
Mrs. Oriel tugged at his sleeve. The couple conferred in whispers, and Alice caught Mr. Oriel saying, “All right, might as well…”
When they turned back to Alice and Ona, their standoffishness was gone. Mrs. Oriel had uncrossed her arms. Mr. Oriel cleared his throat.
“We have nothing to do with Darrell Townsend. But we do have something to do with the Dead Man’s Gorge.” He stared across the black gorge to the house perched on its side. “Over there was where we once had a cabin. Years ago, we used to come to Blithedale every summer. We loved it here. We lived in a suburb to the city, where our jobs were, but every year, we counted down the months, weeks, and days until we could visit the cabin.”
He let out a long, weary sigh.
Mrs. Oriel picked up the story. “That cabin was the only place we’d ever felt at home. It was small and cozy. Perfect for the two of us. We planned to renovate it, bit by bit, to weather proof it and make it a year-round home. There was a deck that jutted out over the gorge, a more modest version of what Mr. Townsend has constructed over there. It wasn’t safe, though. And although we can paint and do some basic repairs, we needed a contractor to help us fix it. We found one. A local guy.”
“Let me guess,” Alice said. “Vince Malone.”
Mrs. Oriel grimaced. “That’s right. Vince Malone. He gave us an excellent price and got to work. He was going to strengthen the integrity of the deck and then fix some floorboards inside the cabin, too. We left at the end of the summer, expecting Vince to finish the job during the fall.”
She looked at her husband, her face drooping, her eyes turning glassy. He took her hand and held it.
“Vince screwed it up,” Mr. Oriel said. “While working on the deck, the supports shifted, and the whole thing collapsed.”
“Collapsed?” Alice drew in a sharp breath. “That’s terrible.”
“It gets worse. The deck destabilized the entire cabin, and within days, the house began sliding over the edge. The authorities deemed the cabin unsafe, and we had to pay for its removal. Only weeks before, I’d lost my job. Money was tight on one salary. By the time we paid for the removal of the cabin, we couldn’t afford to rebuild. We couldn’t even afford to hold on to the land.”
“So you sold?”
Mr. Oriel nodded. “We had no choice, and despite our demands for an investigation into Vince’s malpractice, nothing came of it. Nothing could be proven. We knew Vince’s shoddy work destroyed our dream. We went to the local newspaper to tell our story, but the next day, we got a call from a lawyer, threatening us with a lawsuit. We couldn’t afford to get involved in that kind of thing. So we gave up. We kept the truth to ourselves.”
“But then you came back to Blithedale,” Alice said.
Mrs. Oriel, tears gathered in her eyes, added, “We came back to try our luck once more. But when Vince Malone died, we knew he’d sabotaged our dreams again by haunting the bookstore. We couldn’t stomach spending our days in a business where his spirit might linger.”
“So, you see,” Mr. Oriel continued, “we come here at night because of the place itself. It’s like visiting the grave of a favorite relative. It’s painful but also brings us peace and joy. Do you ever get that feeling from a place?”
Alice knew what he meant. Her place was Blithedale Books, and the little wardrobe with the red door. Though her mind also flashed on the Woodlander Bar and the What the Dickens Diner, fresh images of Becca and Ona mixing with her old childhood memories.
“We’re excited to retire to Blithedale,” he said. “We would like to continue to work, which was why the bookstore interested us. We remember what an oasis the bookstore used to be—before Mr. Bunce bought it—and we’d hoped to rekindle some of that magic. But more than anything, we want to recreate some of the happiness we felt at that old cabin.”
Mr. Oriel put an arm around his wife and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
“I understand,” Alice said, surprised by how emotional she felt. A lump grew in her chest, threatening to bring tears. Their story made her feel sorry for them. It also reminded her of her mom and the old bookstore. “We’re sorry we stuck our noses in your business.”
Mr. Oriel laughed. “We’re sorry we were acting so suspicious.”
Alice and Ona bid the Oriels a goodnight, and they were going to head back toward the pickup truck, when a thought occurred to Alice. She turned back to the Oriels.
“Did you at least get a good price for the land when you sold it?”
Mrs. Oriel shook her head. “The accident had scared off potential buyers. Mr. Townsend, who had shown interest in our land even before the accident, offered us a low price. So low that, under other circumstances, it would’ve been insulting. But since he was the only one willing to buy, we were grateful.”
Alice nodded. This story sounded so reminiscent of the sale of Blithedale Books. Vince’s accident had ruined the sale prospects. In the end, Darrell Townsend would get what he wanted at a cheap price.
The whole situation stank to high heaven. And Alice couldn’t forget what Darrell himself had said, “The law can bend so far, why bother breaking it?” The question was how far Darrell had bent the law.