Page 26 of Call Off the Dark

“What are they like?”

“The hot mess express.”

She laughed at first, but then she stopped when she saw how serious his face was. “What does that even mean?”

“Helen, one of my last girlfriends left my dad’s house in tears. My stepmom has a way of making people feel terrible, and she does it on the sly—not in front of everyone—then acts confused when people call her on it. She’s diabolical. And my dad believes everything she says. I’m serious when I say none of my ex-girlfriends could get along with Evelyn.”

Helen knew of a few girls that Tyler had dated before her, the usual backstory mentions. “Goodness, how many girls did you introduce to your stepmother?”

“Just two.”

She wasn’t able to help but feel glad the number was low. “That’s not enough to be a trend. That could just be a coincidence.”

At the time, Helen hadn’t felt worried. She’d told herself she would shrug off anything unpleasant, not take it personally.

But now, sitting in the car with Tyler, seeing how tense he was, she was beginning to feel the tension herself. She knew his dad had cheated on his mom with the Wicked Stepmother when Tyler was in college, and it had disrupted the family dynamics. Tyler’s younger brother, Leo, had been fifteen at the time and had been crushed. Now, if anyone tried to call him out on his apparent binge drinking problem or overly crass sense of humor, he played the child of divorce card as the reason for anything and everything. Bellingham was home to Western Washington University, and Leo was starting his junior year there. There was no Greek system, but Tyler said Leo epitomized the concept of a frat boy.

Helen tried to reassure Tyler whenever he got worried. “I don’t mind inappropriate jokes. I kind of like inappropriate jokes.”

“Yeah, Helen. With your friends. With people you know. Not with my drunk brother you just met who can’t read a room.”

Secretly though, she was anticipating being great friends with his younger brother. Whenever Tyler described Leo, he sounded troubled, yes, but he also just sounded deeply sensitive.

Tyler’s younger sister, Gracie, was a bit of an enigma, though. Every story about her seemed to contradict the last one. She’d graduated from high school just a little over a year ago, so it made sense she was still figuring out who she was, but the stories still gave Helen whiplash. At times, Gracie sounded softhearted and considerate. Other times, she was the storm cloud that blew in with “some douchebag boyfriend.” Sometimes she was flaky and left texts and calls unanswered for a week, and sometimes she stepped up and handled the hard things, like their grandmother’s heart attack. Gracie had moved in with Grammy for three weeks to help her get back on her feet, though Tyler said it was probably because she just wanted an excuse to quit the barista job she was working during her gap year. He called it a “quote-unquote gap year,” because he didn’t believe Gracie was actually going to enroll in community college this year like she claimed.

Tyler eased the car into the Ambrose Bed and Breakfast situated on the bay. It was a gothic Tudor-style mansion of red bricks with ivy crawling up the front walls. A wraparound driveway circled a large fountain, and two stone lions flanked the front door. Cherry trees were scattered around the front yard with strings of delicate golden lights crisscrossing their branches.

His face softened at the magic of it all.

Helen said, “Tyler, this place looks so romantic.”

“We were Chuckanut Bay’s original brothel,” the bespectacled woman behind the front desk said brightly.

“Oh?” Helen perked up. “Did you know this when you booked?” she asked Tyler.

He was signing the check-in form. His eyes smiled at her, but his face still looked tired as he shook his head no.

Helen turned back to the front desk woman. “Are there any working girls here still?” Tyler’s shoulders moved slightly, a ripple of silent laughter.

“You’re over a hundred years too late. Not since 1907.” The woman beamed and adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose, delighted to give the historical spiel. “This house was originally a brothel, then it was the private residence of a lumber baron, a wedding venue, and now it’s a bed and breakfast.” She gestured to the hallway off the lobby. “There are historic photos that show the house in different eras. You’ll notice much of its character has been preserved, including the English gardens in the back.”

Tyler handed back the credit card form, and the woman gave them their room keys.

“If you go down that hall, you’ll find a lovely drawing room where we’ll be serving tea in . . .” She checked her wristwatch. “Oh! About ten minutes. Your room is one of the ones off the drawing room. You’ll see the number on the door.”

Helen looped her arm through Tyler’s. “Let’s take a look at our room before we get our bags.”

She pulled him down the hallway of cherry wood paneling, slowing at the large, framed photographs.

“The house still has the same trellis.” Helen pointed at a grainy photo in a black frame. “Look, they kept a lot of the original stuff. Oh, that must be the butler. He looks grumpy.”

She glanced at Tyler. His gaze was fixed in the direction of the photos, but he still seemed far away.

“Okay, get ready,” Helen said, and a curious light entered his eyes. “Whoever spots a harlot first gets a shoulder massage,” she said and planted herself directly in front of him. She rose up on her toes to try to block the photographs from his view.

“Hey, no fair.” Tyler put his hands on her waist and tried to move her aside, but she braced her feet.

“Who said anything about ‘fair’?”