He turned to look at me, his expression falling. “I guess I should’ve asked first, huh?”
“I guess you should have. Sit down and finish your dinner. I don’t want you or Randa mucking about over there, especially after dark. You could fall in and hurt yourself. Capiche?”
After he gave me a muted “okay,” I turned back to Horvald.
“So, was there a house? Something feels odd about the place.” I didn’t want to come out in front of the kids and say that I’d been spooked. Maybe Horvald could shed some light on the situation. Before he could answer, a crash of thunder broke through the sky and rain cascaded down in sheets. Yep, the KLIK-TV weatherman was just as effective as their star reporter, Cathy Sutton.
“So, you found the old Brunswick house? Or rather, what’s left of it.” Horvald mopped up the last of his gravy with a piece of French bread. He patted his stomach and politely covered his mouth as he burped. “Wonderful dinner. You know, I haven’t thought about that family in years. It’s a shame, everything that happened to them.”
Randa and Kip leaned forward, all ears.
I glanced at them and cleared my throat. “No tragedies, I hope?” Irena Finch hadn’t mentioned she ever lived on my street when she came to my shop.
He shook his head. “Not if you’re talking lives lost, or anything like that. But the house . . . oh, she was a beauty. A mansion, three stories high, not including the basement. It towered over the other houses around here. I didn’t live where I do now. In fact, your lot, my lot, everything down to the highway was woodland back then. The Brunswicks lived at the end of the road. Sixteen-nineteen Hyacinth Street. They were rich, and their son Brent was the captain of the high school football team. Irena Finch is his sister.”
“Yes, she’s the one selling me the lot. Or rather, her lawyer is. I’ve never met the woman myself. She inherited the land, I gather,” Joe said.
“She married Thomas Finch, who comes from one of the oldest families in Chiqetaw. Real blueblood, you know,” Horvald said, touching his nose. “Anyway, the Brunswick house burned to the ground.”
“Wow,” Kip said, captivated. “Did anybody die?”
I repressed a smile. My son, all right. Kipling the Morbid.
“Not that I know of,” Horvald said, lowering his voice as he leaned toward Kip, whose eyes were growing wider by the minute. “But one Halloween night, a fork of lightning hit the house during a thunderstorm. The wood was dry and the rain wasn’t strong enough to put out the flames. Nobody was home, and by the time the fire department got there, the blaze was totally out of control.”
“Jeez,” I said. “That’s harsh. But at least nobody was hurt.”
“No, but the fire destroyed everything they owned. They had insurance, of course, but it was still bad.”
“When did it happen?” Joe asked.
Horvald squinted, thinking. “Oh, it had to have been back in 1955 or so. The Brunswicks decided not to rebuild. The twins were about twenty, I think. Brent had left for Europe about a month before the fire. I don’t know whether he ever came back. Irena got married right around that time and I think Edward and Lauren Brunswick moved back to New York after their daughter’s wedding. I’d forgotten all about that family until now.” He turned to Joe. “So you really bought the lot?”
“Yep. I’m going to be your neighbor.” Joe started clearing the table but I asked the kids to take over.
As Horvald headed for the living room, I rested one hand on his arm. “Are you sure you’re telling me everything you know about the house?”
He gave me a strange look. “Why? Is something wrong?”
I glanced out the back window over at the darkened lot. Nothing was visible except the inkiness of the night and swirling leaves in the wind. “No, I guess not. No reason.” But the sound of a woman crying stuck in my mind for the rest of the evening, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and that we’d awakened something better left asleep.
Two
From Brigit’s Journal:
I don’t know what I’d do without my Mab. She keeps me laughing when I don’t think I can take life here any longer, and she keeps me company on nights when I’m alone. I’ve never had a puss before, and I’m grateful the Missus allows it. Of course, Mab catches the mice, so she earns her keep.
America has been quite the experience. I thought coming here would mean leaving my old life behind, but it’s almost as if the past haunts me. I think about sweet William a lot, but time has healed a lot of those wounds. I wonder, if I were to go home, would they reopen, bring back the tears? I suppose I’ll never know. All I know is that this land is strange and yet, familiar. In fact, this very house and yard remind me of Glenagary’s Rock. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a barrow if I hunted through the woods long enough.
Speaking of Glenagary’s Rock, I had quite the scare a few mornings ago. I was out in the backyard hanging clothes when a gust of wind swirled around me, catching up my skirt. I thought something was watching me, but when I turned around, there was only the tree there, blowing in the wind.
I don’t like that tree—it gives me nightmares, and I can’t help but wish Mr. Edward would chop it down. Silliness, I suppose. It’s a perfectly fine tree. Mary Kathryn would say I’m letting my imagination run away with me. Still, I try to avoid the backyard at night. I thought I saw lights out there once, but it was probably just the moonlight.
I WOKE FROM disturbing dreams that I couldn’t remember, with a vague sense that something was out of place. Joe was lying beside me, curled up against my back. I turned to stare at his tangle of strawberry blond hair.
My sweetheart. He might be ten years younger than I, but he exuded wisdom, confidence, and compassion. Even though his job terrified me—I was always afraid he was going to get burned or fall through a floor trying to rescue somebody—I knew it was his passion. The job was the perfect match for him. And he was the perfect match for me.
Careful to avoid waking him, I slipped from beneath the covers and padded to the window. Overcast, but no rain yet. If we were lucky, it would hold off long enough to finish clearing the lot today. Murray and Jimbo had promised to drop by and give us a hand, though I had the feeling that Murray had more on her mind than yanking out blackberries. Since coming out in the open about her relationship with the renegade biker, she was having a hard time with some of the guys on the force. They didn’t cotton to a head of detectives who was, in their opinion, sleeping with the enemy. And she wasn’t about to give up either her job or her newfound love.