“Sure,” Addison said, sounding less than sure. I didn’t blame her. The whole house was creepy, but the narrow stairway-in-a-closet was creepy times ten.
“You go first,” I said, trying to be chivalrous.
She narrowed her eyes at me, as if maybe sending her up first was some kind of grand Tucker plan of mine, but after a second she seemed to realize I was just trying to be a gentleman.
Of course a true gentleman wouldn’t ogle her ass as she climbed the narrow risers just ahead of me. But it was impossible not to. She wore jeans that hugged her curves perfectly, and climbing stairs put it all right at eye level. Her ass was round and tight, swaying back and forth as she climbed, and I had to work pretty damned hard not to focus on the very inappropriate thoughts racing through my mind at the sight of it.
Once she’d reached the top and stepped out into the attic, I heard Daniel’s voice. “Look at this.”
A second later, I moved into the tight narrow space with them. The attic was a long wood-planked room with sloping ceilings and a lot of stuff sitting around in piles here and there. A bookcase stood at one end, stuffed with shoe boxes. A couple of trunks that looked like they might have been brought from another continent via ocean liner sat at the other end. In between there was an ancient sewing machine table and stool next to some kind of mannequin thing, a record player with the big horn part I’d never exactly understood or seen up close in real life, and a collection of garden pots scattered across the floor, some of them broken. There were scatters of dirt and leaves up here too, as if a window had been broken at some point, but they all appeared intact now. I sighed. This was one more part of the house that was going to need work.
Daniel crouched on the ground, holding something in his lap and rubbing it with one hand, pushing dirt from the surface. “Check it out, Dad.” He held up the object, and I realized it was a garden gnome, but it was pretty far from the cute kind with the little rosy cheeks and brightly colored coat. This one had an expression on its pointed face that could only be described as menacing, despite the smile. The little creature was hunched and its hands were crafted to appear as if they were rubbing one another. The thing looked like it was plotting, and it gave me a very creepy feeling.
“Uh, let’s just leave that where you found it.”
“No way, this is Thaddius,” Daniel said, holding the hideous thing up for us to see. “He’s coming home with me.”
I exchanged a look with Addison, whose nose was adorably wrinkled. A little stirring of warmth rushed through me at her expression, and I had to stomp it down. This—if it was anything—was a business arrangement at best, with someone I didn’t actually like much. No warm fluttery feelings just because she had a nice butt and a cute nose and seemed charmed by my kid.
“Thaddius?” Addison asked. “How do you know?”
“Just a feeling,” Daniel said, and I’ll be honest. That creeped me right the fuck out.
“Let’s get going,” I suggested, casting glances around the rapidly dimming space. “It’s getting dark.”
I didn’t say anything else as Daniel descended the stairs, the evil gnome in his arms, but I had a feeling I couldn’t quite shake—like the house had an opinion of us, of what we’d done here, what we’d said. Like maybe if we stayed here any longer as the place was subsumed by evening shadow, it might share its opinions with us—and I didn’t want that.
Addison pressed a button on the wall in the room that held the attic stairs—the light switches were all the old two button kind—but it didn’t do anything.
“We’ll get the power back on,” I mumbled, heading for the stairway with a bit more focus and speed than that with which we’d initially explored. I didn’t think any of us wanted to be here after dark.
When we finally stood on the sidewalk once again, outside the gates of the big house, we all paused, looking back.
“Did you see the garage, Dad? We didn’t get a chance to look inside.” Daniel’s voice was colored with the kind of hope only a kid that age can hang onto.
“I don’t think Mrs. Easter had a Corvette, kid,” I