Page 192 of Secrets Along the Shore
“What is all this?” Evan took the seat across from me. While he rifled through an old ledger book left on the desk, I slipped the folded article into my front jeans pocket. “Why would Scanlon keep all this? And why hide it?”
“Because it wasn’t meant to be found.” My voice was steady, but I felt anything but.
He moved closer and peered at the file in my hand. “That’s your file?”
I nodded. “He kept records. Of all the kids. Detailed ones. Some of these…they’re personal.”
“Creepy personal,” he agreed.
I closed the file cover gently and glanced up at him. There was a shift in his demeanor—something curious now. Almost too interested in Scanlon’s things.
“You said earlier that Scanlon had secrets. How would you know that?”
Evan didn’t answer right away. His eyes swept the room again, as if calculating something. What was he looking for?
“I’ve lived here my whole life. My mom taught at the school for a few years. People talked.”
“About what?”
“I told you. Things. Rumors. Stories that didn’t make sense back then.” He stood and approached more ledgers on the shelf, ticking each one off down the row. “People said kids disappeared. Or changed. Came back quieter. Like they were afraid. Not that I blamed them. This place freaked everyone out.”
I absorbed his comment, remembering I was happy here. How could I have not seen what he saw?
His shoulders slumped on a sigh. “Look, maybe it’s best you don’t dig too deep. This kind of history…it could hurt you. And what’s the point in digging it up?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I said. “Why did Scanlon leave this to me? Not the school. Not his heirs. Just me. There’s a reason, and it’s in this room.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Maybe you should just sell it and walk away. This place has too many…well, too much pain for everyone.”
He’s nervous. I can feel it in the way he avoided eye contact with me.
I stood, needing to get out of here for now, needing to close the entrance and forget this room existed. “I think I’ve seen enough for today,” I said abruptly, stepping past him. “My head’s killing me.”
“You okay?” He followed beside me.
I nodded tightly. “I just need to lie down.”
I ushered him out through the bookcase and pushed the book back into its place. A hidden latch behind the book pressed in and the shelf moved to shut. I caught the glance Evan cast back at the wall, a look of longing to stay behind.
As I led him toward the front door, I saw it clearly in his face—curiosity, but also calculation. Evan may be friendly, but he wasn’t innocent. Not completely.
“I think I need more time before I list the house,” I said as he paused by the front door. “To sort through everything. Figure out what’s worth keeping.”
His jaw ticked. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
He hesitated, then finally stepped off the porch. I watched as he walked toward his car and glanced back once—up toward the front of the house, his eyes narrowing, searching. He was looking for the small hexagonal window. It made me wonder how no one ever figured out where that little window went to in the house.
I didn’t wave. I didn’t move. I just stood there until he drove away, also wondering what else people missed.
At the kitchen table, I stood at the window looking out on the lake and Becca’s home across the water. There was a faint hum in my body, the sense that I was standing on the edge of something deep and dangerous.
I removed the clipping from my pocket.
Olivia Bishop…Livvie.
I traced the edges of her photograph from the article. Her smile. Her wild, wavy hair. Her eyes so full of trust.
