Page 2 of If All Else Sails
Abandoned but also the perfect hideout for a serial killer.
I give the sad little house a wide berth, walking toward the water as I swat away birdlike mosquitoes and wipe the sweatstache off my upper lip. By the time I get there, my shirt clings damply to every part of me.The dock is sturdy, if a little splintered, the deep navy gleam of water almost inviting. Almost. A small dinghy motors past, driven by an older man with two little girls in pink life jackets. They all wave.
I wave back, like this is my dock. My sailboat. My little murder cottage.
The name painted in neat script on the side of the sailboat readsQUINTessential.Thequintin all caps is likely some inside joke, because I don’t get it. Frankly, it’s a disappointing boat name. Aren’t boats supposed to have clever names—likeNauti & NiceorLittle Boat PeeporSigned, Sailed, Delivered?
I pull out my phone—still nothing from my brother—and take a few pictures of the water and then the boat. I stop just shy of climbing aboard. I’ve never been on a boat this size and I’m itching to explore. It’s a little longer than the dock, just tall enough that I can’t see much of the deck. I’m curious but not one for trespassing, so I turn and snap pictures of the back side of the cottage, which really should have more windows considering the view.
When I walk back across the lawn, three birds rocket away from a hidden nest under the cottage’s sagging eaves. I come to an abrupt stop when a lacy curtain flutters in one of the windows. My heart leaps into my throat.
Is someone in there watching me?
I mean, itcouldbe Jacob. He did send me the address. But he wouldn’t be hiding in there. He would have run out and given me a bone-crushing hug—his specialty.
I also can’t actually picture my brother stepping on the porch of this place, much less spying on me from inside.
As a cloud passes in front of the sun, I take another picture of the little house. You know—just in case it’s evidence in the event of my disappearance or death.
The phone vibrates in my hand, and I don’t bother with greetings when I see Jacob is calling.
“Tell me you’re the one watching me from inside the creepy murder cottage.”
He sputters a laugh. “The what?”
“You know—the sad little white house that’s falling apart and might be haunted or home to a serial killer. The one whose address you sent me last night. The one I’m standing outside of, hoping it doesn’t collapse when the wind blows.”
“It’s that bad, huh?” His voice sounds strained.
I close my eyes. Breathe in and out slowly for a few counts. Reopen my eyes just in time to see the curtains flutter again. “If you don’t know the condition, that means you aren’t here.”
It also means he isn’t the person inside watching me. I scan my surroundings as I take a step back toward my car.
“I...am not there.”
Disappointment curdles all the happy hope I’ve been holding on to since his text last night. So much for the Super Summer Sibling Extravaganza. And any trust I had in my brother.
When I speak, my voice holds the icy depth of a walk-in freezer. “Jacob, whose house is this? And where are you?”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got the whole drive back home to hear it,” I say, striding toward my car.
“Don’t go yet,” he says quickly.
“Give me a reason not to. Agoodone.”
“The thing is,” he continues, ignoring my questions, “I need to call in a favor.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “A favor.”
By my secret count—secretbecause you’re not supposed to keep records of wrongs by people you love—the favors are already stacked high on my side and somewhat lacking on Jacob’s part.We are as unbalanced as a single person on a seesaw. If anyone should be calling in favors, it’s me.
Jacob is the gas giant at the center of our family’s solar system. My parents and I don’t even wait for him to ask us to jump or say how high. We just stay ready, knees bent and muscles flexed.
Is it a bit of a trauma response to Jacob comingthis closeto dying when he was twelve? Probably.
But even before that, he was the golden boy of the family. Almost losing him simply elevated his status. It also brought us all closer. And if we’re a little lopsided in terms of who runs the show, there are way more toxic family issues we could struggle with. My parents have escaped his orbit the last few years after buying an RV, trading in my childhood home for something a little more manageable, and spending most of the year motoring around the country. I think they’re in South Dakota right now. Or was it South Carolina? Possibly just the South. They’re hard to keep up with these days.
