Page 93 of The Only One Left

“I was,” I say, leaving out how Mary now haunts my every waking hour. I’m sure she’d haunt my dreams, too, if my mother left room for her.

“He also told me you think she was murdered,” my father adds.

“According to Kenny, so does everyone else. Everyone except your detective friend.”

“So it’s true? That’s what you really think?”

My father’s back to gripping the gate, staring at me through the bars with an expression that’s one part concern, two parts disbelief. He wants me to say no. Probably to spare him from looking like a fool when word of it inevitably spreads through town like the flu. Unlike him, I don’t have the energy to lie.

“Yeah. That’s what I think.”

“That’s all the more reason to get you away from this place.”

It gives me an even greater reason to stay. Since the town’s only police detective doesn’t believe Mary was murdered, it’s up to me to prove that she was. And to find out who did it. Because it all seems to hinge on Lenora’s past—and how much of it Mary knew—I can’t leave until I learn the truth.

I turn back toward Hope’s End and say, “Dad, go home.”

“Kit, wait.”

I don’t. I continue up the drive, fully aware my father’s still watching, hoping I’ll turn around, open the gate, follow him back to a house I no longer recognize. I keep my eyes fixed on the lights of Hope’s End. It’s not home, either. But I can’t shake the feeling that my future rests inside this place where tragedy struck twice.

Two separate nights.

Decades apart.

Yet linked to one person who I’m pretty sure has all the answers but won’t reveal them until she gets what she wants.

Back in the house, I head straight for Lenora’s room. She’s still awake, her bright eyes aimed at the ceiling.

“Do we have a deal?” I say.

She taps twice against the call button.

The matter’s settled.

Lenora’s going outside.

And the price for taking her there is the truth.

THIRTY

An opportunity to sneak Lenora outside presents itself two days later, when everyone else at Hope’s End leaves to attend the funeral of Mary Milton.

Although the mood is solemn, the weather is anything but. It’s a gorgeous autumn day—perhaps the last one of the season. Sun floods the sky, throwing off rays that take the sting out of the October chill. The cloudless sky is so blue it reminds me of sapphires. The Atlantic is calm, and for once the wind decides to take the day off.

Not that the weather matters. Even if a hurricane was blowing through, I’d take Lenora outside when given the chance. For the past two days, she continued to be mostly unresponsive, tapping out answers only when necessary. The result was long days of tense silence and uninterrupted boredom. The two of us simply sat, doing nothing. After that, even I’m eager to get outdoors.

I haven’t told anyone else about my plan. Not even Lenora. I was tempted to tell Carter, but I opted not to just to be on the safe side. The last thing I want to do is run the risk of Mrs. Baker finding out and putting a stop to it.

I watch from the top of the Grand Stairs as the others gather to leave, Archie and Carter in dark suits, Jessie going against the grain in a white wrap dress, and Mrs. Baker wearing what she normally does,with the addition of a wide-brimmed hat and cat’s-eye sunglasses. As soon as they’re gone, I rush to Lenora’s room.

It startles her when I begin to push her wheelchair toward the door. Her left hand flies off the armrest, flapping like the wing of a frightened bird. She looks up at me, her face a giant question mark.

“You’re getting your wish,” I say before wheeling her out of her room. “But then you need to hold up your end of the bargain, okay?”

She happily taps twice on the armrest.

“Good,” I say. “Let’s go.”

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