Page 24 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Sebastian shifted his eyes to Norah. She lifted her gaze to meet his and was surprised by how she was drawn to the understanding she saw there. After his rude rebuttal to his daughter last night, she hadn’t felt particularly warm toward him this morning.
“I think I can help you,” Sebastian added. “This is what I do anyway. It’s why I’m here. I came to this place to research the cold case of Isabelle Addington, so why don’t we work together? It will help me, and it will help you. We’ll collect the facts, explore the history, and—”
“And sensationalize Naomi’s murder while you’re at it?” Otto’s gruff voice interrupted.
Sebastian appeared to be offended by Otto’s harsh words, who was only trying to protect Norah. “No. I’ve already told Norah that has never been my intent. Norah’s family’s story is not—”
“But you can’t just ignore it either.” Norah stated the brutal reality of it. Even Rebecca had been less than subtle when she’d brought it up. “My sister and Isabelle Addington are the only two known murders in Shepherd, Iowa. They were both attached to this place, and both murders remain unsolved.”
“Then let’s solve them.” Sebastian turned his coffee mug between his hands, the mug making a scraping sound on the table.
Norah noticed him glance at Otto. Sebastian’s smile was cautiously kind. “I’ll be careful with Norah, Otto. Don’t worry.”
Otto’s bushy brows drew into a protectiveV. “You’d better,” he groused. “She’s our girl—the only one we got left.”
Norah’s heart ached at the thought. Aunt Eleanor had died, Naomi killed. Otto was right. Norah was the last to take care of 322 Predicament Avenue. She was living out her murdered sister’s dream. Part of her wished she could have switched places with Naomi. Naomi would have risen to this occasion with energy. Norah merely prayed and wished it all to go away. It was a never-ending nightmare.
Norah tugged on her cardigan, the spring air nippy. She slipped her feet into clogs and stepped out onto the back porch of the farmhouse Aunt Eleanor had purchased over fifty years ago. Her aunt then turned her attention to bringing the historic building back from what would have been an inevitable death. Eleanor had poured her whole self into restoring the dilapidated house. And now? Now Norah owned perhaps one of the most beautiful old farmhouses in Shepherd, if not the most shrouded in lore. And, for better or for worse, having a cemetery in the backyard only added to the mystery and aura of the place.
She tugged the door shut. The knocker against the antique lion head pounded its iron-on-iron announcement. A brooding maple tree extending its branches overhead was budding with the promise of green leaves. A squirrel hopped from branch to branch, chattering at being disturbed. Beyond the maple, the patchy spring lawn was dotted with gravestones, some tilting east, some broken at their ornate granite tops, others sunken into the earth. It wasn’t a large cemetery. It boasted seventeen graves of seventeen forgotten people, with three of the markers markingnine of the souls who’d died. Father, mother, child. Father, mother, child. A pattern that was repetitive not only here but in small family graveyards throughout the Midwest.
Movement among the forgotten graves snagged Norah’s attention, and she stiffened ... only to relax when she noticed it was Harper. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her arms wrapped around herself as she stood, back to Norah, staring down at a flat-topped marker.
Something about Harper’s dejected young form tugged Norah toward her. So different from herself at nineteen, her interaction with Harper yesterday had reminded her of Naomi. Maybe that was what had compelled her, a memory.
Harper looked up as Norah approached. She sniffed and, with her sleeve, wiped her eyes. They were red-rimmed. That she’d been crying was something the young woman couldn’t hide. The feeling of offense toward Sebastian resurfaced in Norah.
“Are you all right?” Norah asked.
Harper hugged herself tighter. Her brilliant pink hoodie hung over her petite frame like a blanket of emotional protection. She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I-I heard you and your father last night,” Norah ventured.
Harper gave a little sigh. “Sorry.”
“No, no. I was awake. I just didn’t want you to think I’d been spying.” Norah stuffed her hands into the deep pockets of her chunky cardigan.
Harper sniffed again. “Dad means well, I guess. My parents are free spirits, and I was never part of their plan. They never married or anything, and a kid sort of messes up the plans of dreamers.”
Norah didn’t press Harper for anything more. She knew what it was like to have people poke and prod at your private emotions.
Harper shifted her feet, nodding at the marker in the ground. Its granite top was so worn, the words that had been etched intoit were illegible. “I wonder who this was. If they feel forgotten today or if they don’t even care where they’re buried.”
Norah looked down at the stone. She’d seen it many times since she was a girl. “There aren’t any records that I know of for this graveyard.”
“It’s so sad,” Harper concluded, still staring at it. “Being forgotten. A whole life was lived, and now ... it doesn’t even matter. The world just goes on without you after you die.”
Norah gave Harper a sideways study. She wasn’t a therapist, but she’d done enough therapy herself to hear the undertones of loneliness and the burden of something deeper.
Harper dug the toe of her shoe into the grass. “Dad and I, we’re a bit too similar, to be honest. We both like to get into things and figure them out. I just wish—” she hesitated—“I wish sometimes he’d figuremeout.”
“If you need to talk to someone—” Norah started.
“I’m pregnant,” Harper blurted out.
Well, shehadbeen going to recommend the name of her therapist. Norah fidgeted with a button on her sweater. She wasnotsomeone who was emotionally capable of helping Harper with something like this.
Harper turned to face Norah. “Dad doesn’t know.”
