From the foyer, Kate saw four people gathered around the strange jumble of furniture in the living room.
Her grandfather stood near the fireplace, talking in an animated voice, older and grayer than she’d expected. When he’d come for Thanksgiving, nine years ago, he’d still looked like Captain Powell, the swashbuckling sea captain he’d played in silent films, fighting off pirates with clashing sword fights. Now, he wore striped pajamas with a food stain on the lapel—obviously not concerned about picking her up at the train station.
He noticed her in the foyer, and his face lifted in a welcoming smile. “Aha! Our brave heroine dares to return!” The charming dimples were still there, and the liveliness in his face that had made him the biggest movie star in the world for a decade. “Enter, good citizen, and allow us to prove we aren’t quite as nefarious as we appear!”
Kate smoothed the front of her stylish traveling suit and entered the room with as much dignity as she could manage in her stocking feet. “I’m quite embarrassed for all the fuss I caused.”
“Nonsense! Most fun we’ve had all week, wasn’t it, boys? And Lemmy is quite alive, as you can see.” Her grandfather lifted an arm toward the fan-shaped sofa.
The young man she’d thought was dead gave her a smirking wink. “Scared you, didn’t I? Guess you were wrong, Hugo—I am a good actor.”
“At playing dead, sure, I’ll give you that.”
Kate’s gaze shifted to the source of the voice.
The dark-haired boy who’d wielded a knife sat in the wingback chair, the haggard dog at his feet. Handsome, in a rebellious sort of way. Sharp cheekbones and those frightening eyes, staring back with an amused tilt of his lips that struck a nerve in her.
She straightened her posture and looked away. She wanted her shoes back.
The last person in the room—the bald violinist—glared at her from the green velvet sofa. Up close, she saw that a scar ran from his mouth to his ear, as if his cheek had been sliced open and sewn back together.
“You must join our merry party!” her grandfather cried, lifting both arms. “A pretty girl like you is surely here for Aurelio, who’s at work tonight, but you’re welcome to join us while you wait. Come now, don’t be shy—at least tell us your name.”
The truth hit her. He didn’t recognize her. She’d come all this way to live with him, with nowhere else to go, and he’d been too busy playing with his friends to remember her arrival. Which was as humiliating as it was infuriating.
Kate went with the fury. “You were expecting some other granddaughter to move in tonight?”
The room fell silent.
Her grandfather gaped. “Kitty? What are you doing here?”
“Aunt Lorna sent a telegram.”
He shook his head, befuddled.
“I told you,” snapped the violinist. “I put it on that junk pile of a desk of yours three days ago.”
“Well, then, that explains it.” Her grandfather’s dimples returned. “And here you are—a lovely surprise. Just a lovely—wonderful—marvelous surprise.” He crossed the room and pulled her into an awkward embrace that smelled of hair oil and stale laundry. He leaned back to see her better, clasping her shoulders. “I should have recognized that ginger hair. Goodness, look how big you are! You must be—what now? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen, Grandfather.”
“Oh, call me Ollie, everyone does. Seventeen, of course, born in ’21. I was never any good at math.” He released her shoulders, his smile starting to look a bit forced. “So, tell me, my dear—to what do I owe this delightful visit?”
He really didn’t know. “Aunt Lorna is getting married, and her new husband doesn’t want—” Kate darted a look at the three strangers in the room; it was none of their business. “I’m supposed to live with you now until I leave for college next fall. She sent the telegram.”
His alarm showed for a heartbeat before he schooled his face into the role of loving grandfather. “Well, that’s marvelous, isn’t it? Did you hear that, boys? Kitty has come to live with us.”
“I go by Kate now.”
“Kate, of course, that’s how you sign your letters. All grown up and come to live with me. Marvelous.”
“One big, happy family,” drawled Lemmy, the young man she’d thought was dead.
“You must meet my boarders. Over here, we have Reuben.” Her grandfather lifted a hand toward the green sofa.
The bald violinist gave her a scowling nod. His scarred cheek sagged slightly, giving him the gloomy look of a bulldog. About forty, she guessed.
Ollie added in an undertone, “You mustn’t mind his grumpy nature. He can’t help it.”
“Born on a Monday,” Reuben said darkly, as if that explained everything.
“And this is Lemmy—still breathing, I’m happy to say.” But her grandfather’s smile faltered as he nodded toward the young man on the fan-shaped sofa. “Lemmy’s only been with us for a few weeks, but we’re enjoying getting to know him, aren’t we, boys?”
The other two remained silent.
Lemmy snapped his chewing gum. “Can’t beat the rent. I might never leave.” He winked at the violinist, who glowered back.
“And lastly, but certainly not least—” Her grandfather’s voice dropped to a dramatic low. “We have our murderous villain … Hugo Quick.”
Kate tried to feel indifferent as she looked at the boy in the wingback chair, but she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked holding a knife. His eyes bored into her, the amusement gone now that he’d learned she was the girl from the headlines. “Welcome, Kate. Sorry I frightened you.” His voice had an underlayer of rasp in it. “Ollie was showing me how to retain some dignity in the role of homicidal maniac. I’m in a play that lacks nuance, with an idiot for a director.”
“Play,” the violinist Reuben scoffed. “Back-alley horror show, more like it. Stabbing pretty girls while a bunch of perverts watch from the audience. Buckets of fake blood.”
Hugo shrugged, still looking at Kate. “The role is less than ideal.” His dark hair was overgrown, bangs falling across his forehead.
“But a worthy start,” her grandfather declared. “A chance to practice your craft on a real stage. Some producer will be out for a night of debauchery and notice your excellent stabbing technique, and before you know it, your name will be on theater marquees across the country.” Ollie swept a hand. “Hugo Quick.”
A name as distinctive as his sinister features. Kate looked away. “You all live here?”
“Plus Aurelio,” her grandfather said. “Who will steal your heart the moment he smiles at you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Kate did a quick count. “Five of you living in this house?”
“Oh, plenty of space. Reuben and Lemmy share the big room upstairs, Aurelio has the small, and Hugo sleeps in the backyard.”
“Pool house,” Hugo elaborated in his low rasp. Whenever he spoke, the dog lifted its head.
Her grandfather spread his arms. “And that, my dear, is our cast of characters. I have more rooms than I need, and this sorry lot needs a roof over their heads, so it works out perfectly.”
Except for me, Kate thought. If there were an extra room upstairs, she couldn’t sleep mere feet away from a bunch of men. Couldn’t share their bathroom.
All at once, she felt the weight of the day. Waking up before dawn to get to the train on time. Hugging Aunt Lorna goodbye. The long, rumbling train ride. Finally arriving, only to find this strange old mansion with a killer in the kitchen. Calling the police and making a fool of herself.
She felt light-headed. If she didn’t sit soon, she would collapse. Or worse—burst into tears.
“Give her Aurelio’s room,” Lemmy said, working his chewing gum. “He can sleep on the sofa.”
“Oh, no—my room, of course,” her grandfather said quickly.
Kate’s good manners snapped. “I can’t sleep in this house. Surely you see that. I’ll have to stay in a hotel until I can reach Aunt Lorna.”
“Oh, yes, a hotel—of course. The Huntington is nearby. Lovely establishment.”
“You kidding me?” the bald violinist said. “You can’t afford the Huntington. Or any hotel.” He looked at Kate. “Can you?”
She opened her mouth … and closed it. She had some money in her purse, but it would disappear fast at a nice hotel, and she needed it for a train ticket out of here. “Not at the moment.”
Hugo rose from the wingback chair, the dog rising with him. “Take the pool house. It’s private.”
The fact that he was only half-dressed suddenly seemed more obvious, his sleeveless undershirt tight across his chest. His bare shoulders were nice, carved with lean muscle, with a splash of sunburn as if he’d been outside without a shirt today.
Heat rose in her face, and she looked away. She couldn’t sleep in his bed. “No, I’ll … I’ll sleep on the sofa. Tomorrow, I’ll figure something out. I have friends in San Francisco.”
But none she could live with. After Mr. Norton had insisted she move out, she’d made a list of friends who might take her in for a year—only three names, and the awkward rejections had stung. Aunt Lorna had finally made arrangements for Kate to live with old Mrs. Foster next door. Then, three days ago, Mrs. Foster had died, leaving only one option. A telegram had been sent, and Aunt Lorna had said everything was set.
Now, she saw that if her grandfather had seen the telegram, his answer would have been no. He wasn’t going to turn out four boarders—four friends—to accommodate a granddaughter who was a stranger.
“The old housekeeper’s room!” her grandfather cried, his face brightening.
“It’s full of junk,” Reuben said.
“Oh, it’s perfect. Come, come—everybody come!” Ollie led the way toward the back of the house, calling out as they filed after him, “Dear Mrs. Pace! How I miss her roast chicken and apple pie!”
Reuben muttered, “If you’d paid her, she might have stuck around.”
They entered the kitchen where Lemmy had lain dead an hour ago—a large room with a black-and-white checkered floor and a long table in the center. Her grandfather continued into a hallway in the back corner, but it was too dark for Kate, so she lingered in the well-lit kitchen.
“You eaten recently?” a low voice asked behind her shoulder.
She whirled to see Hugo standing in nearly the same spot he’d stood an hour ago, leering over a dead body. She stepped back, pressing a hand to her stomach. “No, but I don’t think I can eat much.”
“That’s good, because we don’t have much.” He smiled and pulled out a chair at the table. “How about eggs and toast?”
Kate hesitated, then cautiously sat. “Just eggs, thank you.” She saw a couple of sticky patches on the table and kept her hands on her lap. The sink overflowed with dishes. The floor needed mopping. The boxy appliances looked ancient.
What a fool she’d been, coming to live with an old bachelor, expecting anything different.
Hugo heated a pan and cracked eggs into a bowl, cooking with ease, knowing where to find a whisk.
Reuben carried out a couple of old paint cans from the housekeeper’s room, Lemmy walked out with empty wooden crates, and her grandfather dumped a stack of fat phone books in the corner of the kitchen.
“I should help,” Kate murmured without really meaning it.
Hugo set a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs in front of her, followed by a cup of warmed milk sprinkled with cinnamon. Kate only sipped the milk to be polite, but its warmth was so comforting, she kept drinking.
Hugo disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with her shoes. “I think these are yours.”
She avoided looking at him as she slipped the pumps onto her feet. “I don’t suppose you found my purse? I dropped it somewhere.”
“I’ll look for it after I bring back your luggage. I was thinking I’d put the trunks in the laundry room since your room is so small.”
Your room, as if she planned to stay.
“Very well.” With shoes on her feet, she felt more like herself.
Reuben walked by with an armload of pillows and bedsheets, then returned a few minutes later to tell her the housekeeper’s room was “clean enough.” Kate doubted that but stood, tugging her jacket straight.
The short hallway didn’t have a light, only the glow from the kitchen. She passed the laundry room and a small bathroom, then paused in the threshold to the housekeeper’s room, her gaze skimming a sagging bed and nightstand. Ollie and Lemmy stood near the dresser, arguing over the straightness of a picture on the wall.
Better than the sofa, at least, but too dark. The kitchen light barely reached this far. Kate leaned through the doorway, searching for the switch.
“No electricity back here,” Reuben said.
Kate straightened, her heart skittering into a faster beat. “Then I can’t sleep here. I don’t sleep in the dark.”
Ollie and Lemmy turned to look. “What are you talking about?” Lemmy asked. “Everybody sleeps in the dark.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said coolly.
She saw the subtle shift in their faces as they remembered and understood. She glowered back, hating that everyone knew. Hating that she would always be that weak, pitiable thirteen-year-old girl in the headlines.
For seven days, her photo had been on the front page of newspapers, captivating the world. But for Kate, the seven days had been a timeless hell of darkness and silence. An immeasurable black void.
She glared at the ugly housekeeper’s room, hating the clammy fear that had taken hold of her. The heavy beats in her chest. The queasy knot in her stomach.
Ollie cleared his throat. “I’ll see if I can find an old kerosene lantern somewhere.” He shuffled from the room and the others followed, murmuring excuses.
Only Reuben remained, his scarred, bulldog face unexpectedly sympathetic. “How about we keep the door open? That enough light for you?”
Kate considered it. The faint glow from the kitchen seemed sufficient. She picked up the wooden chair by the bed and set it in front of the door, propping it open, and her panic started to subside. “No one must close this door or turn off the kitchen light.”
“I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Reuben started to leave, then turned back. “You want me to sleep on the kitchen floor? I don’t mind.”
Kate filled her lungs, embarrassed. “No, but thank you. I’ll be fine as long as the light stays on.”
Reuben left, giving her a final, worried look over his stocky shoulder.
She entered the laundry room, where Hugo had placed her luggage, and was relieved to find a lightbulb with a chain. She opened her smaller suitcase, pulled out a silky nightgown, picked up her cosmetics case, and crossed the short hall.
The bathroom was no more than functional, intended for servants, with a stained pedestal sink and rusty fixtures. No counter space for lining up her things the way she liked, in the order she used them—toothbrush first, hairbrush last.
As she started to undress, footsteps creaked overhead, and she redid her buttons, deciding to sleep in her clothes.
She carried her things back to her suitcase, retrieved the book she’d been reading on the train, and returned to the housekeeper’s room.
Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains. Kate went to the window and peered up, but the full moon was barely visible through the overgrown trees. Tomorrow, she would find a good place to set up her telescope.
No. Tomorrow she would be on her way back to San Francisco. She would send a telegram to Aunt Lorna on the ship, explaining why she had to return home at once. Not even Mr. Norton could expect her to live in a boarding house with five men. She’d have to stay in a hotel in San Francisco while the house was being remodeled. Aunt Lorna could afford that, now that she was married. She could send a Western Union money order from the ship.
Kate heard movement behind her and whirled to see Hugo silhouetted in the doorway, looking like a killer again with something in each hand. She went rigid, aware they were alone downstairs. “What do you want?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to tell you I found it.” He held up her purse, then leaned into the room just far enough to place it on the wooden chair holding the door. “And I thought you might want this.” His other hand held up a flashlight. “I put in new batteries, so it’ll run most of the night if you want. Or you can just leave it on the nightstand, in case you need it.” He leaned forward and set it on the chair next to the purse.
The toes of his brown shoes had never crossed the threshold, as if to reassure her that they wouldn’t.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
The light from the kitchen cast his face into menacing shadows. “You know … I don’t really go around stabbing people.”
She realized she was squeezing her book against her chest and lowered it. “I am aware of that.”
His eyes followed the book. “What are you reading?”
Kate hesitated. Aunt Lorna always warned, Don’t talk about it with boys, darling. They’ll think you’re as dull as dust.
She turned the cover and read aloud, “An Introduction to Differential and Integral Calculus by Lester W. Hornsby.”
Hugo’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Well … that’s an interesting bedtime story. You like math?”
“I thought I did until I started calculus. But I need to figure it out, so I work on a page every night.” And, because she was tired of looking like a fool tonight, she added, “I’m going to be an astronomer.”
He leaned against the door frame. “You need math for looking at stars?”
“Of course.” Why did so few people know that? “Astronomy isn’t just looking at stars, it’s using math to understand them. It’s how theoretical physics is proven. How people like Einstein—” She stopped herself. As dull as dust.
Hugo’s lips tilted in a half smile. “Ollie never told me you were so smart.”
“That’s because my grandfather doesn’t know me.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. For his sake, I mean.”
Which reminded her. “Does this house have a telephone?”
He seemed thrown by the question. “Not at the moment, but I’ll pay the bill tomorrow.”
“I need to send a telegram.” Kate glanced at her Rolex and decided it was too late to borrow the neighbor’s phone, but every hour she didn’t have that money order was another hour she’d have to spend in this house. “Maybe I’ll call a taxi and drive to Western Union. Oh—wait.” She saw the flaw in her plan. “I can’t call a taxi without a phone.”
“I’ll drive you, if you don’t mind sitting on the back of a motorcycle.”
Kate stared.
He gave a soft laugh. “Write it out, and I’ll drive it down for you. I’m a night owl anyway, and then you can get in bed.”
The offer felt too personal for some reason, but she certainly wasn’t going to get on a motorcycle with him. “All right.” She went to her purse on the wooden chair and pulled out the small notebook and pencil she carried everywhere. The lighting wasn’t good, so she went to the kitchen and sat at the table. She flipped pages.
“Wow,” Hugo murmured over her shoulder. “That’s a lot of lists.”
“Do you mind?”
“Sorry.” He moved to the side of the room.
Still, she felt his eyes on her as she found a blank page at the back and started writing. To Mrs. Harvey Wallace on the S.S. Argentina.
Kate crossed off the name and wrote Mrs. Donald Norton.
She wrote several sentences explaining the appalling condition of her grandfather’s house and his—she remembered Mrs. Fairchild’s description—unsavory boarders, then decided it was too long and drew a line across it. Telegrams charged by the word, and punctuation was extra, so she’d have to use STOP instead of periods. She wrote on the lower half of the page: Cannot stay here house full of unsavory boarders STOP must return to San Francisco at once STOP situation dire please send money order for one month hotel STOP
She paused before adding: Congratulations on your marriage Kate
She sensed Hugo watching from across the room as she carefully ripped the page from the notebook.
He asked, “You’re not going to live here like you said, are you?”
“No.” She folded the paper over twice.
“Ollie will be disappointed.”
She stood. “I think he’ll be relieved.”
“Then you don’t know him at all.” Hugo came toward her, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the only family he has.”
Kate tightened her hand around the folded paper, realizing he would read what she’d written. “It’s not my fault my grandfather and I are strangers.”
“It is if you leave.” He yanked the paper from her hand and walked away.