in its place. He gave me a reassuring smile. What a nice kid.
Michael turned the cold water handle once, and a low steady groan came from the pipes, making me shiver. The sound was not the same as the screeching we’d heard. But I was willing to believe that had been the noise. Because otherwise . . . I didn’t want to consider it.
“This needs some attention. Air trapped in the pipes probably,” he said, twisting the handle back the other way to turn the water off.
“I think the whole place needs attention,” I said.
“Upstairs?” Michael asked.
I nodded, and Daniel dropped my arm and led the way as we passed through a sitting room on our way back to the stairs. I glanced at the window where I’d seen something move earlier, but there was nothing there now. A harsh breath escaped me, but it wasn’t relief. I’d definitely seen something.
Upstairs we found four bedrooms and a single bathroom, along with a creepy staircase inside a closet that Michael said probably went up to the attic. I opted not to climb it, and Michael talked Daniel out of it.
“We can do it next time,” he said.
A little jolt went through me. Next time? So he was planning to go through with this? There was part of me that was thinking of the place as mine too, but I didn’t think the terms of the trust were going to work. No one could possibly live here. Could they? And I needed to make a plan to get back to New York. At the moment I’d thought I could work for Mom for a few weeks until I didn’t feel quite so desperate, and then maybe she could give me a loan for the apartment. Of course, if we did fix this place up and sell it, I wouldn’t need a loan. And I’d have enough to replenish the savings account that Luke had slowly squandered over our time together.
But this house. Yikes.
We spent a little time in the master bedroom, admiring the rounded sitting area inside the turret. The windows looked down over the gardens outside, and I could already imagine the little sitting area I’d make there, the overstuffed chair with its comfy throw, the ottoman. The room was better kept than the rest of the house, and I had a strange sensation there of invading someone’s privacy, of being in a space where I hadn’t been invited. Had Mrs. Easter slept in this room? Or did I feel the lingering presence of someone much older? I shivered.
Finally, we let ourselves back out onto the porch, and I took in the huge sprawl of overgrown yard. We descended the steps and wandered through the weed-filled garden and I imagined it trimmed and well kempt. It could be beautiful. Maybe if Michael worried about the structural things inside the house, I could fix up the garden. There was a wrought iron bench at one edge of the space that was pretty clear, so we sat for a moment, Michael and me side by side as Daniel prowled the yard. It was strange in a way—we’d just sat down side by side as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And now, with Michael next to me, sitting so close, I had warring emotions suddenly bouncing around inside me. I hated him. He was a Tucker and that was what I’d been taught to do. But really, I didn’t hate him at all. I actually felt myself drawn to him, to his confidence, his warm but firm guidance of his son.
“This is weird, right?” Michael said, one hand rubbing the stubble at his chin as he turned to look at me.
I let my gaze trace his face—the cleft in his chin, the strong jaw, the hesitant smile—before landing on his deep blue eyes. “I think that’s a pretty significant understatement.”
“What do you think we should do? I mean . . .”
“Neither one of us planned for inheriting a worn-down house. Together.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “So we could sell it, I guess.”
“Except for that stipulation about having to live in it.” I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine living here. I’d never sleep. I’d lie there at night, waiting for whatever spectral thing lived there now to come whisper “red rum” in my ear or for Freddy to appear in my dreams as soon as I drifted off. This place was a horror movie waiting to happen.