Page 110 of Home Before Dark

“It’s hard coming to terms with the fact that someone you loved was capable of such cruelty,” she eventually says.

I’m not ready to start that process. How can I, when so much of what happened that night remains unknown?

But Marta’s mind is already made up, for she says, “I always wondered why your father wrote that book. It always troubled me why someone would go out of his way to spread such lies. It wasn’t until I heard you found the Ditmer girl inside Baneberry Hall that it all made sense. It was his way of justifying it.”

“Justifying what?”

“Killing her,” Marta says. “By exonerating my husband in the pages of his book, your father was also trying to exonerate himself. It’s just that, until recently, none of us knew what his crime was.”

I can’t fault her thinking. In hindsight, much of the Book feels like a secret confession. My father went so far as to point out the spot in the floor where Petra’s body had been hidden, almost as if daring someone to look there.

“I don’t blame you for any of this, Maggie,” Marta says. “Not the things your father said. Or the things he wrote. I can even understand why you’re doing that thing on the auction sites.”

For what feels like the twentieth time during our conversation, I give Marta a look of utter confoundment. “What thing? On what auction sites?”

“You’ve been selling things online. Items from Baneberry Hall. Authentic Baneberry Hall artifacts. That’s what you’ve been calling them.”

“But I haven’t.”

“Someone has,” Marta says. “Several people have brought it to my attention, including my lawyer. He advised me to sue for part of the profits on the grounds that it’s exploiting my tragedy.”

I yank my phone from my pocket and open the web browser. Three search words later—Baneberry Hall artifacts—brings me to an auction site listing at least a dozen items claiming to be from what the seller calls “the most haunted house in America.” I swipe through the wares on offer, seeing a fountain pen, several plates, a pair of candlesticks, and, the most recent addition, a silver letter opener.

I tap the image to enlarge it, paying close attention to the handle. It’s not until I see two familiar letters engraved in the silver—W.G.—that I realize the seller isn’t lying. This letter opener is the same one that went missing from Baneberry Hall.

And I know exactly who took it.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Marta. “I need to go.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all. In fact, you helped me more than you know.”

Marta wears a confused expression as I walk her to her car. I thank her for the pie and tell her I’ll explain everything later. Because right now, I need to talk to a ghost.

Or, to be more precise, a ghoul.

JULY 12

Day 17

I didn’t tell Jess about the bells or my talk with Marta Carver or my fear that something terrible was brewing inside Baneberry Hall. I knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. She’d made up her mind that everything happening there was, if not normal, then at least benign. Denial was a powerful force, and Jess was fully caught in its grip.

Once Jess left for work, I walked with Maggie to Elsa Ditmer’s cottage to again convince Petra to babysit. But instead of Petra, it was Elsa herself who answered the door. We hadn’t spoken since the night of the sleepover, and I detected residual traces of anger in her pinched expression.

“Do you need something, Mr. Holt?” she said, looking not at me but at my daughter.

I explained that I needed to do some work in my study and wondered if Petra could watch Maggie for a few hours.

“Petra’s being punished,” Elsa said, not elaborating why. But itwas clearhowshe was being punished. Petra’s voice, coming from somewhere deep inside the house, drifted out the open door.

“Lord have mercy on me,” I heard her murmur. “Do not look upon my sins, but take away all my guilt.”

Elsa pretended not to hear it. Instead, she finally looked my way and said, “I can watch Maggie, if you’d like. But only for an hour.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

Elsa retreated inside the house for a minute before returning. As she closed the front door, I could still hear Petra’s feverish prayer.

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