Page 11 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Effie’s hand flew to her mouth. She regretted being so blunt.
Mr. Anderson’s lips pressed together with what appeared to be suppressed grief, also a hint of anger. “Have you ever heard the name Isabelle Addington?”
Effie shook her head, wordless.
He gave a quick nod. “Had you heard of her, you would remember. As it is, perhaps you didhearher. That is why I’m in Shepherd, Miss James. When one’s family disappears without a trace, only the brutally detached let them go. I am the opposite. I am fiercely devoted, and Iwillfind Isabelle. Iwillbring her home.” He heaved a sigh. “Even if she is dead.”
With that, Mr. Anderson strode toward his carriage.
4
NORAH
Present Day
Shepherd, Iowa
HERHANDSSHOOKas she attempted to pour coffee into a mug. Norah bit back a curse as it sloshed on the counter. She snatched a cloth from the sink and mopped it up, then opted to take the half-full mug rather than fill it any further. With her trembling hands, she’d be lucky to make it to the kitchen table without spilling the entire mug onto the tile floor.
The kitchen was located in the back of the house at 322 Predicament Ave. Its tile flooring was white, discolored from time, and the walls were white, also tinged with yellow from smoke and steam and hours of cooking and baking since it was last painted in the late nineties. Dish towels of sunny yellow hung off a towel bar over the sink. Aunt Eleanor’s choosing. She had loved yellow and sunshine and happiness.
Happiness didn’t exist at 322 Predicament Avenue.
“Am I your only guest now?”
Norah yelped, and more coffee sloshed onto the wood table where she’d just taken a seat.
Sebastian Blaine. He positioned himself in the doorway of the kitchen with that self-confident side smile, his square black-framed glasses, dark eyes, and broad shoulders.
Norah wiped up the coffee using the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The very presence of the man in the kitchen reminded her that he was indeed the only guest now at Predicament Avenue’s B and B. She was home alone with a strange man, no longer under the tenuous protection that Mr. and Mrs. Miller had brought with them.
Ignoring that Norah hadn’t responded, Sebastian approached the table, pulling out a chair and making himself at home. He crossed his ankle over his knee, studying her. “Are you a’right?”
Was she all right? There was no way to answer that. Norah cupped the coffee mug between her hands and stared into the black brew as if the abyss could drown her and send her into eternal peace.
Sebastian eyed her. “It was a rather frightenin’ night. It’s understandable if you’re shaken.”
Norah avoided his direct stare. He had no idea what traumatizing was. Traumatizing wasn’t a dead man in a bed from a heart attack. Traumatizing wasn’t a rumored ghost that haunted the old house. Traumatizing was—
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Norah sucked in a violently anxious breath, clenching her teeth. She was either going to scream at him to go away or curl up into a ball in the corner of the room and rock back and forth. Retreating into herself, into her mind, into the dark places where no one else could follow. Instead, she focused on her five senses in an effort to avoid the latter. Hearing. She could hearbirdsong outside. The refrigerator humming. The soft breathing of Sebastian Blaine as he watched her.
No, this wasn’t helping.
Smell. She could smell her coffee, dusky undertones with a hint of chestnut. She could smell the dish soap on the sink—garden apple—a sickeningly sweet scent. Norah preferred lemon. She could smell—
“It’s not workin’, is it?” Sebastian broke into her self-induced therapy session.
Norah slid her eyes up to meet his. She saw kindness there and knew in that moment he wasn’t someone she needed to fear. He was well-known, a trustworthy guest based on references provided, and he was...
“Groundin’ yourself is difficult.” Sebastian offered an encouraging smile. His eyes were far too knowing as they peered at her through his glasses. “I know. My sister has horrid anxiety. She’s battled with it for two decades now, and it never truly goes away.”
Norah swallowed. She tried lifting the coffee mug to her mouth, but her shaking hands made doing so impossible. She put the mug back on the table with a thud.
“It’s a’right to admit you’re not a’right.”
“And it’sall rightif you leave me alone, please.” Norah’s voice sounded small even to her own ears. The plea in her tone erased any authority she might have included with the request.
