Page 69 of Buried in the Woods Below

The ghost will get you too.

Penelope’s words echo in my mind as Olivia and I settle into our Adirondack chairs under a vault of stars, the mist creeping beneath our feet like a specter. Mercifully, Eric’s putting the girls to bed, so I can enjoy a moment’s peace, free of their psychological warfare. The crickets are in full song tonight, but I can still hear the croak of my friend, the lonely frog. I trace the Big Dipper, noting the sparks of light along its handle. Before coming here, I would have scoffed at ghost stories. Now, with every passing day, their possibility inches closer. I think of the girl outside my window last night, and I shudder. Was she even there? Or was I just hearing Carlos and projecting?

I take a sip of tonight’s signature cocktail that Eric prepared, a bitter concoction, and let an audible sigh escape my mouth.

“The fair wear you out today?” asks Olivia with a knowing smile.

“That’s putting it mildly. Carlos made an unannounced visit at one a.m. last night. Then, today I ran into him at the fair. With another girl.”

Her shrewd eyes widen. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do.” I feel myself blush at the thought of Carlos, Kenzie looking doe-eyed at him. “I like him, but…I don’t know.” I pause. “Then the girls were begging to ride the—” I pause again. “Rides. It was a lot.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “I love those two, but they can be a handful. It’s my mom’s fault. She babies them too much; lets them get away with everything. Somebody needs to teach them a lesson. What’s that saying? Spare the rod, spoil the child.”

There’s a touch of venom in Olivia’s words, but I laugh it off. “Well, it’s certainly not going to be me. I’m more comfortable bribing them with ice cream and mini doughnuts.”

“That’s another approach.”

I lean forward in my chair and drop my voice. “Penelope did say something to me today I wanted to ask you about.”

She tilts her head. “Really, what?”

Before I can speak, the patio door slides open. Eric emerges, a triumphant grin on his face. “I’ve done it. After the third reading of Paddington in London, the girls are finally asleep. Hallelujah.”

I whisper to Olivia, “I’ll tell you later.”

Eric pours himself a gin and tonic with a splash of soda—a “gin sonic” as he calls it—and strolls over to join us. He lifts his gaze to the dazzling night sky and whistles. “This is why I bought this place. Russ Neuman’s going to have to pry the deed out of my cold, dead hands.”

“Don’t tempt him, Dad,” says Olivia.

He takes a deep breath of the night air. “I’m thinking of taking a little moonlight stroll along the shore. Any interest?”

“Shouldn’t somebody stay with the girls?” I ask.

“I think they’ll survive thirty minutes without us,” he says.

Olivia downs her drink and waves off. “That’s all right. I’ll stay back. This little kitty needs some sack time.” She rises from her chair and waves good night.

“Then I’m in,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.

“Fantastic,” he says with a clap. “Warning: The terrain gets a little choppy, but it opens up to a stunning view of the cove.”

“Sounds great to me.”

Eric and I stroll to the front of the house while Olivia retires for the evening. A crisp autumn breeze off the lake chills me as we reach a clump of wild, dark, overgrown vegetation. The crickets scream louder, as if they’re warning us.

“Are you sure this is a path? It looks more like the remains of a path to me,” I ask.

“Admittedly, I need to do some grooming, but trust me. Once you get past this narrow part, it opens up.”

I look at him sideways. “If you say so.”

We hack our way through the tangled brush, and my initial discomfort gives way to the beauty of the forest under starlight. The air carries the scent of a distant campfire and pine. As we crunch through the woods, my boot catches, and Eric grabs my hand. I feel an unspoken bond with him, as if we were two explorers charting unknown territory. After a couple of minutes of walking, the brush opens up and a soft, leafy path emerges. He releases my hand, and we stroll side by side, enjoying the silence.

I want to enjoy the moment, but questions keep nagging at me. The ghost. The note on the door. Heathcliff.

“Did you ever hear from the vet?” I ask.