Page 97 of The House Beyond the Dunes

There’s a screen door, and it opens with a hard tug. However, the interior door is locked. There are three windows at the top, but they’re above my head. I move along the exterior deck toward the first window. The glass is covered in grime, but the interior curtains are open.

I open the flashlight app on my phone. The house is dark, but light from the exposed roof leaks morning sunlight into the central room. There’s water puddling on the floor from the rains we’ve had in the last couple of days. I see a small kitchen off to the left, and a living room outfitted with cargo furniture. It feels like a time capsule dating back fifty years. I try to imagine the house full of children, parents, and laughter. But there’s nothing here but gloom, dust dancing in the morning light, and an eerie silence.

A kitchen table is surrounded by six chairs. One of the chairs is equipped with arms, and that chair has been pulled away from the table. It’s alone and isolated. There’s something dangling from one of the arms. When I shine the light through the window and squint to hone my gaze, I realize that it’s a red nylon rope.

If someone wanted to hide a woman from the world, this would be the place to do it. Stevie said she was taken to a remote area. But that rope isn’t fourteen years old. It appears new.

My phone rings. Startled, I glance at the number. Reece. I tug off his gloves and shove them in my coat pockets. Adrenaline rockets through my veins as I look around, half expecting to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs.

When I don’t see him, I answer the call. “Reece.”

“You called?”

I look inside the window toward the chair, and the single strand of rope hanging from the chair’s arm. “Ah, yeah. Sorry. I didn’t see your truck. Thought you’d taken off.”

“I had to run into town. Thankfully, I know the guy who owns the hardware store, and he met me there.”

“Everything all right?” I ask.

“Sure, why do you ask?”

I stare at the still rope. “Just checking.”

“Where are you?”

I turn and look toward the street. There’s no one there. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on your front porch. You didn’t answer the door.”

He’s already back. How did he get into Corolla, which is a good fifteen miles from here, and return so quickly? Because he never left. If he needed a bandage, the volunteers at the fire station could have patched him up. We’re both lying.

“Oh, I’m out walking on the beach.” Boards creak under my feet as I take a step back. I wince, freeze.

“Where?”

“Not far from the house,” I lie. “I woke up early. Needed to clear my mind. Devon’s champagne did a number on my head.”

“You drank with Devon?” Caution blends with amusement.

“She came by and wanted to toast the New Year. One drink turned into several.”

He chuckles. “She can drink me under the table.”

I bet. “I’m the first to admit I can’t hold my liquor.” I ease toward the stairs, careful to step over the spot that creaks. “Better get going. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“It’s going to rain. Clouds are getting thick.”

“I can see that,” I lie. “On my way. See you soon.”

As I end the call, my gaze scans the western view from the house. Woods, grasslands, and marshes reach toward Currituck Sound. There’s a small dock at the end of the dead-end road and moored to the pylons is a flat-bottom boat. The road is not the only way to reach this section of beach.

I move down the stairs, gingerly stepping and gripping the rail. The boards under my feet moan. Bend. Groan. When my foot touches the ground, I’m relieved. Down the narrow path, overgrown vines brush against my legs.

“Where are you going, little girl?”

The question comes from the woods. I recognize Earl’s voice, but I can’t see him. I walk faster.

“What were you doing peeking in that old house, little girl?” His voice isn’t much more than a whisper, but it sounds closer. “Poking into things you shouldn’t?”

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