CHAPTER 13

I stared at Ainsley with renewed interest. “Do you live there?”

“God, no. You’ve seen it. What would I do with eleven thousand square feet? I live here. And I know people dump on Hillsdale, but it’s actually not bad,” Ainsley continued, twisting a silver ring inset with a piece of amber the size of an acorn. “You have to drive to Takamac for groceries, but you’ve made that trip so you know it’s not far. And real estate here in Hillsdale is cheaper. Much, much cheaper.”

Her hand dropped from the amber ring. She gazed at me as though deciding whether I could be trusted. “Hill House belonged to my late husband, Jez Sanderson,” she said, almost reluctantly. “He inherited it from his father. Honestly, there’s been a lot of drama with Hill House—a lot of lawsuits. Even after they were settled, there were always issues with other people claiming they had title to it.”

She slipped the vape pen back into her pocket. “Jez really wanted to sell. We were living in the city then and we hardly ever came up here—there’s no train and the drive was too long, that’s what we thought. Even before the pandemic, people would head up to this area for the weekend and I’d think, four hours for two days? Now they’ve all just moved here full time, so it’s not an issue.

“Anyway,” she went on, “seventeen years ago, Jez finally found a buyer, but right before the sale went through, Jez died. Cardiac arrest. Boom.”

Ainsley clapped her hands so loudly that Nisa and I jumped. “It was a long time ago,” she went on, “and I still can’t believe he’s gone. But after he died, the house sale fell through. In those days, I never bothered putting it back on the market. Now I wish I had.”

She glanced at her amber ring and shrugged. “Jez worked on Wall Street so he left me well-off—not enough to keep living in New York, but plenty for living somewhere else. In the city I’d dabbled in real estate, so I got my license and moved up here. Like I said, it’s a lot cheaper. But not if I stayed in Hill House—a place that big is exhausting if you’re actually living in it. I pay Melissa Libby to come in and do housekeeping once a week. Her husband, Tru, keeps up with minor repairs and plows it out in winter.”

“But isn’t that expensive?” Nisa exclaimed, then shot her an apologetic smile. “I mean, if you’re not even living in it.”

“I’ll be honest—I don’t go up there unless I have to.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s say I’m not a fan of its architecture. The house still has most of the original details, and they’re not to my taste. So, Holly and Nisa…”

She cocked her head to stare at us quizzically. With her heavily made-up eyes, she resembled a middle-aged sphinx. “Do you both work from home?”

“I’m a playwright. Nisa’s a singer-songwriter. But we both have day jobs.”

“Good to have a steady income.” Ainsley’s tone again grew terse. “Look, I’m sure you know this, but real estate has gone through the roof. Even in Hillsdale, the housing market has gotten really tight. There’s no inventory, no—”

“I just received an arts grant for a play I’ve written. That’s why we’re here. Well, one reason—we also just wanted to get out of town for a few days. But I’m looking for a space where I can workshop with a few people—you know, rehearse and put on the final touches. It’s a very sizable grant,” I added, annoyed that she was dismissing me.

“Hm.” Ainsley tapped her amber ring. Her appraising look grew even more calculating. “Wouldn’t you rather be in the city for that?”

“The rentals are insane.”

“Tell me about it.” The shrewd expression vanished as Ainsley gave us a selling smile. “What’s your play about?”

“Witches.”

“Witches?”

I reached into my bag for the print-on-demand copy of The Witch of Edmonton that I’d bought, a slightly improved version from the stapled typescript I’d found in Putnam County. I held it up so she could see the cover, a Victorian painting of gleeful-looking naked women on broomsticks.

“It’s an obscure play,” I explained, “and I’ve basically used it as a jumping-off point. My play’s about control and coercion, how women, especially older women, are gaslighted and punished for—well, everything.”

“Not exactly breaking news,” said Ainsley.

“I’m doing the music,” said Nisa. “Have you seen Hadestown? Or Once on This Island? That’s what we’re aiming for. Amanda Greer’s the lead.”

I shot Nisa a warning glance—too much information. But Ainsley appeared intrigued.

“Amanda Greer?” she asked. “I thought she’d retired. After…”

“No, she’s still working.” I dropped The Witch of Edmonton back into my bag. “She’s read my play and she’s excited about it. A lot of people are,” I added. I didn’t care if I sounded defensive. I was suddenly, strangely desperate for it all to happen, just as I’d pictured.

“Well,” said Ainsley. “It seems like an interesting project.” She almost sounded like she might mean it.

“It is,” I agreed. “Could we take a look inside the house?”

Ainsley sat and stared at her amber ring. “I don’t see why not,” she announced, and again clapped her hands. “Give me a sec to find the keys.”

She went upstairs, boot heels echoing on the steps. Nisa turned to me. “Did you see that ring? And…” She swooped her fingers along the outer edges of her eyes, mimicking wings. “That makeup! I love her.”

“Shhh.” I pressed a finger against Nisa’s mouth. “I thought you didn’t want to move upstate?”

“That was before I knew the Grand High Witch would be our landlady.”

Ainsley clattered back downstairs, jingling the keys in her hand as she headed for the door. “Do you want to go in my car?”

“I’ll just take mine,” I said.

“I’ll ride shotgun with Ainsley,” said Nisa, standing to hurry after the real estate agent. “See you up there.”