Page 70 of The Shape of Night

“It’s the same beach you’ve painted before, isn’t it?”

He nods. “Very observant. Yes, I like that particular beach. It’s quiet and private and there’s no one around to bother me while I paint.” He sets the stack of lab reports in his out-basket and turns his full attention to me. “So what can I do for you today? Has your ferocious cat attacked you again?”

“This isn’t about me at all. It’s about something that happened years ago. You grew up in this town, right?”

He smiles. “I was born here.”

“So you’d know the town’s history.”

“Recent history, anyway.” He laughs. “I’m notthatold, Ava.”

“But old enough to remember a woman named Aurora Sherbrooke?”

“Only vaguely. I was just a kid when she died. That had to be around…”

“Thirty-three years ago. When your dad was the town doctor. Was heherdoctor?”

He studies me for a moment, frowning. “Why are you asking about Aurora Sherbrooke?”

“It’s for this book I’m writing. Brodie’s Watch is turning into a large part of it, and I want to know its history.”

“But how does she come into it?”

“She lived in that house. She died in that house. She’s part of its history.”

“Is that really why you’re asking about her?”

His question, spoken so softly, makes me go silent. I focus on the stacks of lab reports and patient charts on his desk. He’s a man trained in science, a man who deals in facts, and I know how he’ll react if I tell him the reason behind my questions.

“Never mind. It’s not important.” I stand up to leave.

“Ava, wait. Anything you have to say is important to me.”

“Even if it’s completely unscientific?” I turn to face him. “Even if it strikes you as superstition?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “Can we start this conversation again? You asked about Aurora Sherbrooke and whether my father was her doctor. And the answer is yes, he was.”

“Does the office still have her medical records?”

“Not for a patient who’s been dead this long.”

“I knew it was a long shot, but I thought I would ask. Thank you.” Once again, I turn to leave.

“This isn’t about your book, is it?”

I pause in the doorway, wanting to blurt the truth, but afraid of how he’ll react. “I’ve spoken with Arthur Sherbrooke. I went to see him about his aunt, and he told me she’d seen things in the house. Things that made her believe…”

“Believe what?”

“That Captain Brodie is still there.”

Ben’s expression doesn’t change. “Are we talking about a ghost?” he asks calmly, a tone you’d use to soothe a mental patient.

“Yes.”

“The ghost of Captain Brodie.”

“Aurora Sherbrooke believed in him. That’s what she told her nephew.”

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