Page 207 of Waiting For A Girl Like You
“Let me find it.” Pulling out his phone, Liam rested a hand on her exposed thigh as he flipped through photos. “Here it is.The code to get in is the date I met Cecilia. If you can’t remember it, you’llbe able to find the information in a set of her personal journals that chronicled the years until she met me. I left them at Haven House. I thought it was fitting to keep them there. You can find the journals at the edge of the stone. Look for the shadows in the flower beds, and the beasts in the wilderness. Our secrets are with the ghosts who remain in the river.”
“The ghosts who remain in the river?” Carter frowned and leaned over Liam’s shoulder to read. “Sinclair could have considered that bayou behind the house as a river, and didn’t you guys have some ancestor who committed suicide there? My Great-Uncle George is obsessed with genealogy and has our whole family mapped out. He likes to show it off, especially after everything with Toby, and I swear there’s a Fairweather on there who committed suicide by drowning herself. I can call Uncle George and get more details if you want me to.”
“You know, I vaguely remember hearing something like that.” Her father rubbed his jaw as he tried to remember the details. “When I was a kid, the locals used to say Haven House was haunted, but no one could agree on who exactly was doing the haunting. One option was a legend that claimed a couple had died in the bayou. When I moved Simone and Ty into Haven, she said weird shit started happening, so she had Ty paint the awnings blue as if that would help.”
“If a couple drowned behind Haven, they had to be part of our family,” Jamison said, then turned to Carter. “And our family is your family, too. So, your uncle might have some details.”
Carter removed his sunglasses, looking less than amused. The man always seemed so serious, which solidified the fact in Jamison’s mind that he indeed had Fairweather blood running through his veins.
“You don’t have to keep bringing that up.”
Liam smirked at his friend. “Wait. Are we related now?”
“Do you want me to call my uncle or not?”
“Go ahead,” Jamison said, finding Carter’s total disdain for Liam’s teasing hilarious. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”
Making the call, Carter nearly hung up on the fourth ring, but a sleepy elderly man finally answered. “Carter? Is everything okay? Your grandpa isn’t hurt, is he?”
“No, Uncle Georgie. Sorry to wake you. We’re all good, and Grandpa is still up in Arkansas, but I’m down in Florida,” Carter replied. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Whenever you have a chance,could you look at the information you have on the Fairweathers? I want to clarify something that I thought I saw in your notes.”
Carter’s uncle groaned as he moved around. “Hold on, let me go into my study.”
“You don’t have to do it now—”
“Don’t be silly, kiddo,” George said, cutting him off. “I’m retired and can take a nap later.”
Jamison swore Carter blushed at being called kiddo and bit her lip to keep from smiling.
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson, for looking this up for us.” Her father leaned forward so he could be heard. “We’re having an early morning discussion regarding ghosts, and Carter tells us you might be able to answer a few questions.”
“Carter, who is that person?” George asked in a whisper.
“That’s Ben Fairweather,” Carter told his uncle. “He’s here with me.”
There was a long pause. “Holy Moley,” George breathed. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m a big fan. Well, not a big fan. You know what I mean. I’ve followed this whole nasty business like everyone else in the world, and it’s kind of exciting to know that we’re connected.”
Jamison nudged her father’s shoulder, knowing how much he disliked the wordfan. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Anderson,” he replied. “I’m going to pass the phone to my son-in-law so he can ask his questions.”
Son-in-law.
Her heart swelled when she caught the way Liam straightened at hearing the phrase son-in-law come out of her father’s mouth. “Hi, Mr. Anderson. My name is Liam Cohen, and I’m wondering if you can tell me anything about the bayou behind Haven House.”
“What do you want to know?” George asked. “It was used for transporting lumber—”
“No, not that,” Liam cut in politely. “I mean, are you aware of any deaths in or near the bayou?”
“Oh, yes!” George cleared his throat. “But,uh, Mr. Fairweather? I want to clear one thing up first. My brother told me your family was led to believe Wilhelmina Anderson murdered her father at Haven House, but she didn’t. Wilhelmina was my mother’s grandmother, and Mom said that her Nana told her all about the Fairweathers after they went down to Florida for a visit. Wilhelmina told her how she escaped fromHaven House at Christmas. Her sister escaped too, though I can’t recall her name—Lucinda, maybe? I’ll check my notes.”
Carter dipped his head so George could hear him. “Escaped what, Uncle George?”
“Willa escaped the men! The Fairweather men!” George yelled into the phone excitedly. “According to my mother, Willa said she got out just in time because the Fairweather men were evil to their core. No offense, Mr. Fairweather, but it was a whole sordid story.”
Jamison winced as all eyes shifted to her dad, who merely shrugged. “You know what? Calling them evil is probably fair at this point.”
“When all that mess came out about Tobias Miller, and we found out Haven House was real and the whole unbelievable story unraveled... my brother and I kind of thought maybe our mom was telling the truth about her grandmother. Maybe the men in that family were actually crazy.” George gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“It’s fine,” her father continued to assure the man, and Jamison patted his shoulder in silent thanks. “But are you aware of any deaths that might have occurred in or by the water?”
