single thing he wrote. Including how much time he spent with Petra Ditmer. My father wasn’t a stupid man, Mr. Prince. He certainly wouldn’t have written so much about Petra—in a book that hundreds of thousands of people have read—if he was the one who caused her disappearance.”
“Now you’re the one who’s overreaching. I never said he caused her disappearance. What I’m suggesting is that they’re related. Your family fled Baneberry Hall at almost the exact same time Petra Ditmer vanished without a trace. That’s not normal, Maggie. Not here in Bartleby.” Brian stands and makes a show of wiping his pants, as if merely sitting on Baneberry Hall’s porch steps has somehow dirtied him. “Something strange happened the night your family left, and I fully intend to find out what it was. Now, you can help me or hinder me—”
“I’m sure as hell not going to help you,” I say.
Even though Brian Prince and I share the same goal, it’s clear we’re each looking for different results.
“Although that’s not the answer I wanted to hear, I respect it nonetheless,” Brian says. “But just so you know, I will uncover the truth about that night.”
“You’re going to have to do it off my property,” I say. “Which means you need to leave. Now.”
Brian makes one last adjustment to his bow tie before getting into his car and driving away. I follow behind him, walking the long, curving road down the hillside to the front gate. Once I’ve made sure he’s gone, I close the gate and lock it.
Then it’s back to the house, where I’m finally able to carry my groceries inside. Burdened with bags heavy in both arms, I get just past the vestibule before noticing something wrong.
It’s bright in here.
Way too bright.
I look to the ceiling and see the chandelier burning at full glow.
But here’s the weird thing: when I left the house, it was dark.
While I was gone, it had somehow been turned on.
JUNE 30
Day 5
Thud.
Just like three nights before, the sound rattled the house and jerked me from sleep. Turning over, I looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, the numbers glowing green in the predawn darkness: 4:54 a.m.
The exact same time I’d previously heard the noise.
It was unnerving, yes, but also helpful, because it let me know that it hadn’t been a dream. This sound was real, and coming from the third floor.
Despite the ungodly early hour, I slipped out of bed and made my way to the study upstairs. Inside, nothing seemed amiss. The doors to both closets were closed, and the record player was silent.
As for the noise, I had no idea what it was. I suspected the house was responsible. Most likely something to do with the heating system resetting itself at a designated time. Granted, just before five in the morning was an odd time for that, but I saw no other possibilities for what the noise could be.
Rather than go back to bed, I went downstairs before dawn for the second time since we moved in. Once again, the chandelier was lit. I would have continued to think it was the wiring if I hadn’t heard the record player the night before. Clearly, both were the work of my unusually sleepless wife.
When Jess joined me in the kitchen after six, I greeted her by saying, “I never knew you were a Sound of Music fan.”
“I’m not,” she said, the second word stretching into a yawn.
“Well, you were last night. I don’t mind you going into the study. Just remember to turn off the record player when you leave.”
My wife gave me a sleepy-eyed look of confusion. “What record player?”
“The one on my desk,” I said. “It was playing last night. I figured you’d had trouble sleeping, went up there, and listened to music.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jess said as she made her way to the coffeepot. “I was asleep all night.”
It was my turn to look confused. “You weren’t in my office at all?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t turn the record player on?”
Jess poured herself a cup of coffee. “If I had, I certainly wouldn’t have picked The Sound of Music. Did you ask Maggie? She likes that movie. Maybe she was exploring?”
“At midnight?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ewan,” Jess said as she sat down at the kitchen table. “Did you have it on at some point?”
“I did,” I said. “But that was two days ago. Right before Maggie hurt herself.”