Page 22 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
“Dad!” Harper’s plea was watery with tears.
Sebastian’s tone was void of any of his typical pleasantry and calmness. Instead, it was sharp, stifled only by the obviousattempt to keep his voice down. “You need to leave. You shouldn’t be here.”
“And go where? Grandma and Grandpa’s? Dad, I’m not going back there.”
“Why not? They’re chuffed about you.”
“I don’t care how proud they are, they’re notyou.”
Silence. Norah’s grip tightened on her mug. She really should go back to her room and leave the father and daughter alone. Eavesdropping was poor form. It was evident Sebastian wasn’t happy his daughter had followed him here, but the why of it confused Norah.
Sebastian cleared his throat. The old floorboards groaned beneath his weight. “I don’ know why you’ve come here, Harper. I’ve nothin’ to offer you, an’ you know that.”
There was desperation in Sebastian’s tone but also a firmness that brooked no further argument. She couldn’t imagine what Harper must be feeling as her father sliced through her hopes with his words.
Nothing to offer? He was a successful podcaster, well established in the world of true-crime entertainment. Despite the fact that true crime was consideredentertainment, Norah wanted to hurry up the remaining steps and argue on Harper’s behalf. Nothing to offer? How about being a father? How about love? How about stability?
Harper’s next words were resigned. “I’ve had nineteen birthdays, with most of them being celebrated by you with a gift card. But maybe—” Harper’s voice broke—“maybe I need more. Maybe you just need tobemore.”
Wow. Norah held her breath.
“Go to bed, Harper. We’re both tired.” Now Sebastian’s tone was one of defeat. Then came the firm closing of a door.
Harper sniffed, drawing in a shuddering breath. There were footsteps, the house giving up Harper’s whereabouts with its creaking as she traversed the hardwood floor in the hallway. And then her bedroom door—bedroom number two—closed.
All was silent.
Norah was more certain than ever that this house was a tomb that sucked hope from the hearts of anyone who occupied it. It was as if the sun had gone down at 322 Predicament Avenue the night Naomi’s murdered body had been found, and it had never risen again.
8
“IGOTTHEBUSHESall trimmed.” Otto’s announcement came on the heels of Norah’s phone ringing. She waved at him with a smile of thanks. He plodded over to the coffeepot, making himself at home like the boys had done all her life. She drew comfort from the familiarity of Otto’s presence and the way he puttered about the place as though it were his own home.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Norah turned her back to Otto and shrank onto a kitchen chair. The voice of her attorney, Rebecca Kline, in her ear did nothing to bring her inner peace.
“I don’t want you to become overconcerned,” Rebecca stated. “I know what happened there two days ago with the death of one of your guests. I half expected you to reach out to me, so now I’m calling you.”
Norah pressed the phone to her ear harder than needed. “I didn’t think there was anything to be worried about legally.” Which wasn’t completely true, considering Dover had advised her to seek counsel.
Rebecca cleared her throat. “Well, theoretically, you’re right.Nothing at your business was the cause of Mr. Miller’s sudden death, but we can’t ignore the fact that he did die at your house. This means, if Mrs. Miller is motivated, she and her attorneys may seek retribution.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Norah argued.
“Still, if she claims something in the house was responsible for Mr. Miller’s heart attack, and if she can get any medical documentation to back that up, you could have a lawsuit on your hands. It’s unlikely, but possible.”
“Because of a ghost?” Norah looked up as Sebastian entered the kitchen. Did the man never leave the B and B? Never go anywhere else? He hovered around the place like someone with no purpose in life.
Otto pulled out a chair, his wrinkled face drawn in question as he listened to Norah’s one-sided conversation.
Rebecca laughed nervously. “Well, I’ve done a bit of research on this type of thing. Thankfully, the legal world hasn’t gone so off the wall as to litigate successful lawsuits against ghosts. However, if Mrs. Miller and her attorneys can make the claim that you run a haunted house essentially—meaning you capitalize on its notorious history, either directly or indirectly, as a draw for your clientele—then an argument could be made that your place of business contributed to literally scaring someone to death. It’s why the owners of some promoted haunted houses hand out waivers for people to sign before they’re allowed inside.”
“I don’t run ahaunted house. I run a bed-and-breakfast.” Norah hated the way her voice sounded defensive.
Otto reached out and patted her knee in a grandfatherly gesture of comfort.
Sebastian was pouring himself a cup of coffee, but Norah could tell he was listening intently too. The privacy in this house was nonexistent.
