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Her smile is a little too bright. “I don’t think so. He’s a very sweet boy. Quiet, but sweet.”
Okay, so special needs or mental-health issues might be the answer, and she’s afraid to say so, in case I’d jump to ignorant conclusions.
“Got it,” I say. “I’ll tell the others to keep an eye out for Brodie. Thank you again for the bug intel and the cookies.”
I stop myself before asking if there’s anything else I can do. That’d be my natural reaction. But while I’d certainly abandon our séances to join a search team, I can’t offer.
I say goodbye and head off the other way, as if I’d only planned to walk this far. I have plenty of time. I can take the path along the clifftop, if it isn’t too buggy, and then head inside for breakfast.
The walking plan dies before I even reach the house. The sun dips behind clouds and the midges descend. I pick up my pace, and within five steps, I’m testing out the vest’s jogging-appropriate claim as I run for the door. I get inside and catch my breath.
There’s still no one up except Dr. Cirillo, hard at work. I leave him to it and head into the kitchen to make breakfast while I finish my vest time. I eat in the kitchen, and part of that is about letting Dr. Cirillo work and part of it is about not being in the mood to make conversation. Even without small talk, I’d need to explain about the bugs and Mrs. Kilmer’s son.
I’ll wait until I can speak to everyone at once. While I eat breakfast, my mind wanders, not really touching down on any topic, just skimming above them, taking note of each.
Mrs. Kilmer’s son. The midge invasion. The séance. Last night, hearing Anton’s voice. The thumping that I never did investigate properly.
There’s a lot to fret about, but I really do soar above all that, acknowledging it while untouched by it, at least for now. Everything that occurred last night—the rattling, the footsteps, my stumble on the stairs—had an explanation, and so the rest will, too.
By the time that’s done, everyone’s up, and I’m in the mood to be social over coffee and Mrs. Kilmer’s excellent cookies.
Everyone agrees the midges are nothing more than inconvenientand annoying. It’s bad luck that they arrived right here, right now, but it only means limiting our outdoor time and open-window time. Jin and Dr. Cirillo agree with my assessment of the Brodie Kilmer situation. The young man must have intellectual or mental-health challenges. All we need to do is be on the lookout for him if we go out.
“And… not to be paranoid,” Jin says, “but if we’re at all concerned about his mental health, I’m going to suggest no one goes walking alone.”
I try not to squirm, but he sees it.
“I will brave the bug-pocalypse for you,” he says. “Anytime you feel squirrelly, we’ll walk together.”
“What about the cliff?” Shania says.
Jin deadpans, “I will avoid the cliff and the attendant risk of being shoved over it.”
Shania rolls her eyes. “I mean this guy. Brodie. What if he fell over? Isn’t that a likely scenario, if he disappeared on a night walk?”
We’re all silent, until I say, “I think, as someone who lives around here, that would be Mrs. Kilmer’s first concern. But it didn’t seem to be, so…”
“It is strange, isn’t it?” Shania says, her voice dropping.
Jin shrugs. “She knows her son, and he’s a grown man who probably grew up around here. He’s not going to walk off the cliff. Now, what’s on the agenda for today, Doc?”
ELEVEN
Nothing is on Cirillo’s agenda until this evening. The four of us plan a post-lunch walk down to the water, but five minutes outside sets us retreating.
I’ve been trying to ignore the bugs. If it’d been raining, I’d have been disappointed but not annoyed. The bugs are different. They get steadily louder until even my noise-canceling headphones can’t drown out that incessant buzzing. When I look out any window, the cloud of them seems to envelop the house.
Why here? Why are they righthere? There’s a whole shoreline to invade, and they pick this spot?
I’m irritated, and my irritation is covering the fact that I’m trying hard not to freak out as if it’s some sort of bad omen. The migration is a natural event, and if they seem to be hovering near the house, it’s something in the trees or the garden, or even the sun-warmed bricks.
When it comes time for cocktail hour, I almost bow out. I’m unsettled and the last thing I want is to sit around drinking and goofing off as if nothing is wrong. But if we’re going to do tonight’s séance properly, I need to relax. Drinking and goofing off is just what the doctor—Dr. Cirillo, at least—orders.
It’s Jin’s night, and his booze of choice is gin.
“How could I resist,” he says when I groan. “Jin’s Gin. It’s right there.”
That makes Shania laugh. “Good one.”
