Don't Tell a Soul

by Kirsten Miller

  “Who did you text?” I asked when he pressed send.

  “Her daughter.”

  Nolan’s phone chimed as a response arrived. He held up the screen for me to see. Fuck you and your whole fucking family. It was from Maisie.

  “That was Maisie’s mom?” I thought of the beautiful girl with her bright lipstick and bold furs. She’d seemed so formidable. Now I’d found the chink in her armor. I wished I hadn’t. I didn’t think she would have wanted me to see it.

  “Fuck your whole family. That’s what you get for trying to help people around here,” Nolan mused. Then he looked over at me. What he saw must have worried him. “Hey, Bram, don’t look so terrified. Nora’s going to be okay. This kind of thing happens all the time. She’s had a pretty serious drinking problem for years.”

  He pulled out, and just as we turned onto the road that led along the river, a brand-new Mercedes raced past in the opposite direction, spraying Nolan’s car with slush. The driver was wearing a red fur coat, her bird finger pressed against the window.

  “You’re welcome!” Nolan shouted at the speeding car. Then he turned to me with a sheepish expression. “Sorry,” he said. “You said no surprises. I guess that wasn’t a good way to start our evening.”

  “You do remember this isn’t a date,” I said flatly.

  “Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made it perfectly clear. You don’t date.”

  * * *

  —

  As we continued up the road, I got a good look at the three lovely old houses that sat perched over the Hudson River. The first still seemed to be closed up for the winter. The second belonged to Maisie and her mother. Its lights were blazing and the front door stood wide open. That meant the third house was Nolan’s. He pulled up in the drive and clicked an app on his phone, and the porch lit up.

  “Impressive,” I said, admiring the stately building. They were probably only built a few decades apart, but his house and my uncle’s belonged to different centuries.

  On the way to the door, I noticed cameras tucked under the eaves. The three that I could see were positioned to cover the front lawn and the road that ran along the river. I assumed there were more hidden elsewhere around the house.

  “What’s up with all the security? I thought the country was supposed to be safe,” I said.

  “Nora used to wander over and pass out on our porch. My dad was worried we’d wake up one morning and find her frozen to death,” Nolan explained. “Now whenever the cameras catch her heading our way, he just phones the police.”

  “The police?” I asked. “Isn’t that overkill?”

  Nolan stopped at the door and took out his keys. “You obviously haven’t spent much time with Nora. Tonight you saw a damsel in distress. A few more drinks, and she turns into a demon. Last week she threw a vodka tonic at my father’s head. Glass, ice cubes, and all.”

  He held the door open for me, so I went in. Inside, Nolan’s house was beautiful and reeked of old money. I could smell the soup on the stove, but other than that, there was no sign of anyone else in the house.

  “Where’s your housekeeper?” I asked.

  Nolan picked up a note that had been left on a table near the door.

  “I guess she finished up and went home. She says that the soup should be ready whenever we want it.”

  I knew in my bones that I should ask him to take me back to the manor. His father might have been my uncle’s business partner, but I didn’t really know Nolan, and I didn’t want to be alone with him in his house. The truth was, though, I was tired and hungry. So I let Nolan help me out of my coat.

  The house was freezing. I felt myself shiver and wondered why no one had turned up the heat. Instinctively I kept my bag—and the weapons inside it—close.

  “Sorry. It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” Nolan observed. “My dad likes it to feel like a meat locker. Why don’t we go into the library and I’ll start a fire? It should get toasty in there pretty quickly.”

  I followed Nolan to the wood-paneled library, which felt less formal than the rest of the house. Book-filled shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, and a sofa upholstered in a dark-colored tartan waited in front of the fireplace. It was the perfect place for rich old men to sip scotch and scheme. I stopped in front of a collection of photos in silver frames and scanned the faces in the pictures. At least four generations of privileged Manhattanites looked back at me, the women sharp-eyed and stylish, their brothers and husbands rakishly handsome. I traced Nolan’s Roman nose back through the decades to a barrel-chested, mustachioed man standing on the prow of a boat.

  “That’s my great-grandfather August.” Nolan was looking over my shoulder. “He’s the one who sailed up the Hudson and brought us all to Louth. He spent every minute he could on that boat.” He pointed to another photo of a very old man with his arm around a teenage boy wearing a tuxedo. They appeared to be at a formal party. “That’s him as well. He lived to be a hundred and three.”

  “Are you the kid in the picture?” I asked, though I knew he couldn’t be. Everything about the photo screamed 1980s.

  “It’s my dad,” Nolan said. “Before he lost his hair. And yes, I pray every day that the same fate doesn’t await me.”

  I sat on the edge of one of the sofa cushions and watched Nolan stack wood in the fireplace and light the tinder that he’d wedged beneath. His strong, agile hands knew just what to do, and his dark hair fell forward as he worked. A distant part of me recognized how attractive he was, which made another part of me want to run.

  Headlights swept along the library walls as a car pulled into the driveway next door. When the lights went out, I walked up to the window and watched Maisie help her mother into the house. Maisie walked slowly with her arm wrapped lovingly around her mother’s waist. Their bodies leaned together like two grief-stricken guests at a funeral. One wasn’t sure she could make it. The other wouldn’t let her give in.

  “What happened to Maisie’s mom?” I wondered out loud. I didn’t really expect an answer.

  “I’m sure Nora’s had a rough life,” Nolan said. “Growing up in Louth isn’t easy. Apparently, she tried to get out at one point, but the town dragged her back. This place is like a black hole. It’s hard for people here to escape.”

  “She must have been young when she had Maisie,” I said.

  Nolan shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “But that’s pretty common around here.”

  “Who’s Maisie’s father?”

  “They say it was someone she met in the city. I guess she went down there to be a model or actress and ended up back in Louth with a baby. I’ve heard lots of rumors, but the only thing anyone knows is that the father had loads of money.”

  “Who do people think the father might be?” I dug.

  “Ask around, and you’ll hear people claim it’s everyone from the Rock to Derek Jeter. But I try not to listen to the gossip,” Nolan said. “Too much of it is all about me.”

  The clam chowder was delicious, though I was so famished, I would have eaten just about anything. I sipped my soup, trying to swallow my anxiety, as Nolan chatted away. All I wanted to do was eat and leave, even if it meant going home to the mysterious girl in white. But I couldn’t waste an opportunity to pick his brain about Lark.

  “The other day on our walk, you mentioned that Lark drove my uncle James crazy,” I finally ventured. “What exactly was she doing? Do you know?”

  Nolan nodded as he swallowed. “She told me she heard things at night in the manor. That’s what got her interested in the legends. She used to stay up all night investigating the noises. I guess that’s when Lark’s mom got fed up and sent her to live with Ruben.”

  “So, it really was her mother’s idea?” I asked. I remembered the sound of Ruben’s shotgun cocking. What kind of mother would
send her daughter to live with a man like that?

  “That’s what Lark told me. May I ask you a question now?”

  “I guess,” I said cautiously.

  “Why do you act so freaked out when we’re alone? Do you do that with every guy, or is it just me?”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” I told him.

  “Are you sure the rumors haven’t scared you?”

  That piqued my interest. “What rumors?” I asked, watching him carefully.

  “The name Ella Bristol doesn’t ring a bell?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. I’d never heard the name before, but I had a hunch she was the girlfriend Maisie had briefly mentioned. “Who’s that?”

  “Wow. I’m surprised Maisie hasn’t whispered it in your ear yet. Ella is a girl I went out with a few times the summer before last. She was great, but at the end of the summer, I had to go back to school. That fall, Ella ran away from home. According to social media, she’s somewhere in Manhattan, and everyone here thinks I lured her there.”

  “Did you?” I demanded. I knew bad things could happen to trusting girls. But I also knew that gossip like that spread because it was scandalous—not because it was true.

  Nolan screwed up his face as though the idea were ridiculous. “No! I was at school in Connecticut. And for the record, I’ve never lured anyone anywhere.”

  My eyes narrowed. I was sure he was holding something back. “Then why would they think that?”

  “Because every Little Red Riding Hood tale needs a Big Bad Wolf, I guess. No one can imagine that maybe Ella skipped town because she was an interesting girl and Louth is the most boring place on earth. So.” He cocked his head. “Are you sure that’s not the reason you’re so freaked out?”

  I let the subject of Ella Bristol go for the moment. I could see I wasn’t going to get anywhere, and there were plenty of other subjects that seemed more promising. “Like you, I know better than to believe every rumor I hear,” I said. “There are a few floating around about me as well.”

  “Really?” He seemed a little too interested. “Do tell.”

  Before I could answer, Nolan’s phone chimed and his expression instantly darkened.

  “Hold on one second.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Nolan’s face was grim. “The perimeter of the property is wired. Something just tripped the alarm.” He tapped at his security system app. “Don’t worry. Unless Nora’s broken loose again, odds are it’s a deer.”

  I leaned in and saw that multiple cameras were transmitting live video to Nolan’s phone. He swiped through the feeds until movement in one overlooking the front yard caught our eyes. Three large figures in black were making their way across the grass toward the house. Ski masks concealed their faces, and though I couldn’t tell what they were holding, I could see that their hands weren’t empty.

  “What the hell?” I gasped.

  Nolan hit a button on the app, then grabbed me by the arm, dragged me down the hall, and pushed me into a windowless bathroom. “Lock the door and don’t come out until help arrives,” he ordered.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, panic surging in my chest. “What do they want? Can they get inside?”

  The last question was answered by the sound of shattering glass. “Don’t make a sound,” Nolan said before he shut the bathroom door.

  The instant I turned the lock, I realized I’d left my bag at the table. Without my weapons, I had no way to defend myself if the men got inside. But there was no going back. It sounded like a tornado had just hit the house.

  “Nolan!” I shouted over the din. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t hiding, too.

  There was no shouting, no screaming. Just the sound of glass breaking and wood splintering. A minute later, the racket came to an abrupt halt. I sat on the floor, my back against the wall. I could feel cold air seeping under the bathroom door. I knew I needed to check on Nolan, but my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t turn the knob. I heard the wail of sirens in the distance. They grew louder, almost deafening. Soon after, they were followed by the sound of boots on the porch and a banging on the front door. Then there were voices. I was relieved to hear Nolan’s among them.

  I got to my feet, unlocked the door, and opened it to see the living room covered in broken glass. The windows around me were all shattered. Only a few jagged teeth protruded from the panes. An icy wind swirled around the room, lifting the drapes and rustling the pages of a magazine on the coffee table. As I made my way to the sound of Nolan’s voice, I hit something with the toe of my shoe, and a sharp pain shot up my foot. A brick was lying on the rug. It wasn’t the only one. Strewn around the room were a dozen others just like it. They had to be heavy, and the arms that had thrown them must have been strong.

  Nolan was standing, arms crossed, in the entryway facing a middle-aged woman and a younger man—both of whom were wearing brown hats and uniforms trimmed in gold. The sight of them jolted me. Suddenly I remembered that it might be best for me to avoid the law.

  I was backing out of the room, when the female officer’s eyes locked on me.

  “It’s okay, Bram. They’re gone now,” Nolan said. “This is Sheriff Lee.”

  “Who is this?” the sheriff barked as she flipped open a notepad. She did not seem happy to see me. “You didn’t mention you had a guest. What’s your name?” she asked me.

  “Bram Howland,” I told her.

  “James Howland’s niece?” she asked without looking up.

  “Yes,” I said. Then after a pause, I added, “Ma’am.”

  My attempt at politeness made zero impression.

  “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No,” said Nolan. “My father is in the city tonight.”

  “And which city is that?” the sheriff asked flatly. “There’s more than one. Albany? Buffalo?”

  “He’s in Manhattan.” I could hear the frustration in Nolan’s voice, and I understood why. He’d just been the victim of a serious crime. There was evidence lying all over the floor. And yet somehow Nolan was the one being questioned. The injustice of it made me furious.

  “Shouldn’t you be taking our statements?” I demanded. “Don’t you want to know what we saw?”

  The sheriff glanced up at me with the strangest expression. “Mr. Turner has already provided all the information we need. I’ll talk to the neighbors and examine the footage from his security cameras myself, but it sounds like the vandals did a pretty good job of concealing their identities.”

  “Vandals?” I repeated. “This wasn’t a bunch of asshole kids knocking over tombstones. These guys were out to hurt us. Don’t you want to check the footprints in the snow or examine these bricks for prints?”

  “Please, miss,” the deputy piped up. “Language.”

  The sheriff didn’t seem to care. “It’s snowing, Miss Howland. The footprints they left have been covered with new snow. As for fingerprints on the bricks, folks around here usually wear gloves when it’s cold outside. The people on the security tapes don’t appear to have been any different.”

  The lady wasn’t stupid. She just wasn’t interested in solving our crime.

  “This is a small town,” I said. “You must have some idea who’d be capable of doing this.”

  The sheriff stayed silent and let her deputy answer. “To be honest, miss, it could have been anyone.”

  I’d never heard anything so insane. “What does that mean?” I demanded.

  “It’s okay, Bram,” Nolan assured me. “No one was hurt and the house is insured.”

  “You got lucky.” The sheriff was looking at me when she said it. “We’ll keep an eye on the house tonight, but I think it’s best if I take Miss Howland back to the manor.”

  “I agree,” Nolan chime
d in, before I had a chance to argue.

  I looked up at him in surprise. “But what about you?” I asked, wishing we could have a moment to talk alone.

  “I’ll be fine. I have Louth’s Finest looking out for me.”

  * * *

  —

  I was marched outside—one cop in front of me, another bringing up the rear—as if I might make a break for it at any moment.

  “Hey! Is she okay?” a girl’s voice called out. Maisie was stomping across the yard in her nightgown, her long, bare legs tucked into snow boots. I almost didn’t recognize her. Without her lipstick, she looked like a kid. “Bram?”

  “There was a disturbance at the Turner house, but Miss Howland wasn’t harmed. I’m taking her back to the manor,” the sheriff responded matter-of-factly. Then she turned to her deputy. “You stay here with Mr. Turner until I get back.”

  “Is Bram going to be okay up there all alone?” Maisie asked as the sheriff opened the door of her car for me.

  I don’t know why Maisie asked the sheriff, when I was right there in front of her.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “But some guys just attacked Nolan’s house. If I were you, I’d go back inside and lock all your doors.”

  Maisie didn’t move. She just stood there and stared while I got into the cop car. She was still standing there when I was driven away.

  Riding up to the manor with Sheriff Lee, I watched the darkness at the edge of the headlights, expecting to spot something. Strange figures standing among the trees. Ghosts in white dresses. Dead Girls in their nightgowns. Animals far too large to be pets. Men in black coats holding bricks in their fists.

  I didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  We drove in silence until the sheriff pulled the cruiser to a stop at the top of the drive. The glare from its headlights reflected in the manor’s ground-floor windows. Wrapped in its ivy coat, the house seemed ancient and deserted. I reached for the door handle, eager to make my escape. Then the sheriff switched off the headlights, and the world went dark.