I flipped forward and stopped. Tucked in between the photos of the mansion was a picture of a little orange pill wedged between two wooden floorboards. I knew what it was—generic amphetamine salts. Exactly the pills Kevin from rehab had favored. At my school in Manhattan, they were the top-selling study aid. The drug made my heart race and pushed me to the edge of panic. I’d quickly learned to avoid it. But my uncle seemed to like that kind of high. James must have dropped the little orange pill somewhere where Lark had spotted it. If she’d taken a picture, she’d either known what it was or planned to look it up later. In either case, she must have figured out what James was on.
I closed Lark’s photos and opened her browser. There were five tabs open. The first was an article from an old issue of Condé Nast Traveler magazine titled “A Life Restored.” A full-page photo showed James and Dahlia standing on one of the manor’s Juliet balconies, gazing into each other’s eyes, surrounded by the wild ivy. The caption read, James Howland and his fiancée, Dahlia Bellinger. The story must have been written before they were married. James looked clean and healthy. They both seemed ecstatic. It was hard to believe that Dahlia would be dead less than a year after the photo was taken.
The article would have been several months old by the time Lark had opened the tab. Surely she’d seen it before. Had she been reading it the night of the fire? The article was filled with photos of the inn’s décor. Many of them showed rooms from the north wing of the manor before it had burned. James’s renovations had been truly spectacular. My heart almost broke when I saw the library that had been destroyed. Then, halfway through the article, I came upon an image of a wall of old photographs. I almost scrolled past before something caught my eye and I took a closer look. I recognized the pictures. They were the same ones I’d found in the storeroom—inside the box marked with an X. In the photo in the middle of the arrangement, another face drew my attention. Though the resolution was too poor to be certain, it appeared to be Nolan’s great-grandfather August Turner.
August Turner seemed to be showing up everywhere. I went back and opened Lark’s photos, scrolled to the image of Nolan in his family’s library, and paid particular attention to the two framed photos beside him. One was a photo of August and Gavin Turner from the same party. The second showed August Turner on his boat. He’d been obsessed with sailing, Nolan had told me. I almost dropped the phone when two seemingly unrelated facts collided in my brain. August Turner had loved boats. And, as I’d learned in the Columbia Daily Spectator, April Hughes’s mother had been a maritime historian.
A quick Google search confirmed that August Turner was the man who’d hired Bernice Hughes to run the maritime museum he’d planned to build on the Hudson River. He was the reason the Hughes family had been visiting Louth. He was the one who had rented the manor for a whole week around New Year’s Eve.
I grabbed the keys Sam had given me to the manor’s storeroom and ran for the basement. I went straight to the storage room and found the box with the X. I pulled out the original of the photo I’d seen online. It was indeed a picture of Nolan’s great-grandfather standing on the manor’s grand staircase, a well-dressed crowd mingling in the entrance hall below. Engraved on the frame were the words “New Year’s Eve, 1986.” The night April Hughes died. The significance of the date hit me just as my eyes landed on a person who’d been captured in the background—a girl in a dark dress, her black braids twisted into a bun on top of her head. Someone in a tuxedo had grabbed her by the wrist, and she was trying to pull away. The guy had his back to the camera, and only the girl’s profile could be seen. Still, I would have recognized her anywhere. The girl in the photo was April Hughes. And I was convinced that the young man harassing her was Gavin Turner.
I clicked back to the photo that Lark had taken of Nolan in his family’s library. I now knew why Lark had taken the picture. She wasn’t interested in the family patriarch. She’d been gathering evidence that Gavin Turner had been at the manor the night April had died. The photos weren’t irrefutable proof, but they didn’t leave much doubt, either. Lark believed Nolan’s father was somehow involved in April’s death.
I slid the phone into my pocket. I knew why Lark had broken into the manor the night of the fire. Once she’d confirmed that Gavin had been at the party, she’d come for the picture she’d seen on the wall. I was sure of it.
As I was preparing to leave the storeroom, a text arrived on Lark’s phone.
Bram, it’s Sam. Have you left the manor? The snow is getting bad.
I’ll leave now, I wrote back.
I hurried toward the kitchen stairs. The snow had covered the windows, and Miriam wasn’t there to build a fire in the fireplace. The room was cold and dark. I didn’t see the man until he cleared his throat.
I froze, then switched on the light and found my uncle seated at the kitchen table. He looked exhausted. I could tell he was crashing. I still remembered the person he’d been—the one who’d been so kind to me when I was little. It hurt me to know I’d lost that uncle forever.
“Good morning.” James sounded zombie-like. “Where were you just now?”
“The laundry,” I lied, as calmly as possible. “My clothes are all filthy.”
“Go back to your room. I’ll bring your laundry up to you when it’s done,” he said.
“Why don’t I make us something to eat?” I asked politely.
“No, thank you,” James said. “I don’t eat as much as I used to.”
“I’ve noticed you don’t sleep very much, either.” I needed to broach the subject carefully, but I wasn’t going to play dumb anymore.
James looked down at the table. “No,” he admitted.
“Amphetamines, am I right?”
His silence was confirmation enough.
“Lark found out, too, didn’t she? Is that why Dahlia made her move out of the manor?”
James sighed and nodded. “Dahlia thought Lark would be safer around Ruben. It was ridiculous.”
“Were you on amphetamines back when Sarah died, too?” I already knew the answer. It explained everything. The unpredictable rages. Sarah’s fear. The laptop that he’d hurled from the window. I just wanted James to confirm it.
“My father always told me I’d amount to nothing. He said I was too spoiled to ever put in a hard day’s work. The day I announced I was starting my business, your mother predicted it wouldn’t last. And you know what? She was right. A year later, I was heading toward bankruptcy. I thought the pills would help me stay on top of things and prove everyone wrong. Then, before I knew it, my life was spiraling out of control.” James looked up at me. “Your mom says you’ve been asking questions about the tragedy. It’s time you knew the truth. It was my fault. If I hadn’t been high, I would have had someone come to the house to check the furnace.”
“So my father died because you popped too many pills and forgot to schedule a maintenance call.”
He winced. Hearing the truth seemed to hurt. “I’m so sorry, Bram. I tried to get better so I could make amends. I left for rehab the day of Sarah’s funeral. That’s why I was away for so long.”
That was a lie. Any sympathy I’d had for him was now just fuel for my fury. “I didn’t see you for years. You couldn’t have been in rehab that long. You abandoned me.”
“I was ashamed of what I’d done. After I got out of rehab, I couldn’t bear to go back to Manhattan. So I came here to Louth. When I met Dahlia, I thought I’d been given a second chance. Once we got settled, I was going to ask you to come stay with us.”
“But you didn’t,” I pointed out. I wasn’t buying any more of his bullshit, but I had to keep myself under control. There was much more I wanted to know. “When did you start using again?” I asked.
James gestured to the refinished kitchen. “When this money pit sucked me in. I funneled every dollar I had into the renovations. I couldn’t even afford the insura
nce premiums. When the pressure built up, I gave in to temptation again. I tried to hide it. I’d lie in bed next to Dahlia until she fell asleep, and then get up and roam the halls until dawn.”
“You were the one making the noises Lark heard at night.”
“She thought it was a ghost at first. That’s when she became obsessed with the legend of Grace Louth. After that, Lark’s problems snowballed. If I hadn’t been using again, we could have gotten her help before she burned the house down.”
I was on the verge of exploding. It took a moment to calm down before I trusted myself to speak. “Why do you keep insisting that Lark started the fire on purpose?” I demanded. “It doesn’t even make sense. Why would she do something like that?”
James shook his head. “Maybe she believed in the curse. Maybe her father put her up to it. Who knows why the mentally ill do what they do?”
I wasn’t going to let him get away with saying that. I had to set him straight. “For your information, Lark didn’t come here to destroy the manor. She was looking for a photo that was hanging in the library.”
“A photo?” he asked, looking up at me.
“It was one that had been taken at a New Year’s Eve party in 1986.”
James’s expression changed. He knew exactly which one I was talking about. “Yes, I remember that picture. It was destroyed in the fire.”
No, it wasn’t. It was in a box downstairs. He must have known that.
“Have you found out why Lark was trying to find it?” he asked.
I hesitated before I answered. James seemed to be digging for information, and I just wasn’t sure why. I decided to give him a little, to see what he’d do with it. “There was a girl in the photo. April Hughes—the one who froze to death out in the woods. The picture was taken the night she vanished. It may have been a clue.”
“And the photo’s been lost,” James groaned, acting as though he were physically pained. “What horrible luck. Have you told Sheriff Lee about any of this?” he asked.
“How could I?” I asked. “You confiscated my phone.”
James hung his head. “I’m sorry about that, Bram. I’ll run up and get it,” he said. He pushed his chair back and stood. “Go ahead and make yourself some breakfast. I’ll be back down in a moment.”
I didn’t move until I heard his footsteps on the stairs, when I took out Lark’s phone and texted the pictures I’d found to Sam for safekeeping. Then I dialed a number and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“It’s your daughter,” I said. “I just have a second. You told James that I’ve been asking about my father’s death.”
“My dear, James is your caretaker. He needs to know when you’re showing signs of instability.”
“Mom, do you remember telling me that James had been working too hard—and that was the reason why he’d forgotten to have the furnace checked out?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Were you aware that James was addicted to amphetamines at the time?”
There was a pause then she answered. “Yes.”
“Are you aware that the symptoms of amphetamine abuse can include extreme paranoia and delusions?”
“Yes, Bram, I am. What is your point?”
“My point is that you chose to believe a man you knew was addicted to amphetamines over your own daughter.”
“I chose no such thing, Bram.”
“I told Dad about something that happened once when I slept over at Aunt Sarah’s. James had come home from a business trip early, in the middle of the night, and scared the hell out of her. She must have been convinced he was dangerous, because she made me hide in a closet. I think Dad went over to her house the morning they died to talk to her about what had happened. When I found the bodies at around eleven-thirty, Dad and Sarah were both fully clothed. They hadn’t been having sex. They’d been having a conversation about James.”
“That’s what you thought you saw. You were never there, Bram.”
I couldn’t believe it. “What in the hell are you talking about! I’ve told you a hundred times I was there!”
“Damn it, Bram, you weren’t on the security tapes!”
It was my turn to go silent. “What do you mean I wasn’t on the security tapes?” I asked at last.
“Your uncle had installed security cameras outside the house, hoping to find out who Sarah was cheating with. The police watched all the tapes. They saw your father go into the house early that morning. They saw the maid arrive hours later, at around three. No one else entered or left the house in between.”
My world went sideways. I put a hand on the table to steady myself. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.
“Your therapist didn’t think we should confront you with the facts. She wanted you to come to terms with the truth on your own.”
And I finally was. What had never made sense was suddenly, unquestionably clear. It had taken five years to understand the truth. I turned around to see James standing in the doorway.
“I’ve got to go,” I told my mom. As I lurched forward and grabbed a kitchen knife off the counter, I fumbled Lark’s phone.
“Bram!” I heard my mother shout as the device fell to the floor.
James picked up the phone and ended the call. Then he looked at the weapon in my hand and nodded sadly. “Is this really what it’s come to? You’re threatening me with a weapon?” he asked. “Your mother has been trying to convince me that you need medical attention. I kept assuring her that you would be fine once you got settled in. It seems she was right this entire time.”
“You edited the security footage from your house. You knew how to do it and you had plenty of time. The leak wasn’t an accident, was it? You murdered my father,” I said. “You murdered Sarah.”
He looked at me with such pity that I almost doubted myself. “Do you hear how crazy that sounds, Bram? You know better than anyone else how much I loved Sarah. I would never have done anything to hurt her. My dear, you are not well. We need to get you some help.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I am not going to let you do this to me again. I know what I saw that day. I know I was there.”
“I called the sheriff when I was upstairs. She’s already on her way,” James said soothingly. “When she gets here, you can tell her everything you saw. Whose phone did you use to call your mother just now?” He looked down at the phone in his hand and then back up at me. “Bram, did you steal someone’s phone?”
“Of course I didn’t steal someone’s phone!” But I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t let him know it belonged to Lark.
“I think you should let me hold on to it until the sheriff arrives,” he said. “Stealing a phone is grand larceny. If we return it without any damage, we may be able to convince the owner not to press charges.”
He took a step toward me, and I held out the knife.
“Okay, Bram,” he said. “Take your knife and go upstairs to your room. Sheriff Lee should be here any moment now.”
I stood on the rose room balcony and looked down. The only way out of the manor was over the side. There was little chance I’d walk away uninjured if I jumped. In fact, there wasn’t much chance I’d be able to walk at all. Worst-case scenario, I’d hit my head on a rock buried beneath the snow and that would be the end of my story. James would never be brought to justice. I’d just be the latest Dead Girl, driven mad by the manor’s curse.
There had to be another way out of the house. Grace Louth had found it the night she’d leaped into the river. April Hughes had slipped out of the manor without being seen. And Lark has been able to come and go as she pleases. I thought of the box of family photographs Grace Louth’s mother had sent her the night she’d escaped—and all the strange photos Lark had taken of the manor’s façade. I’d studied each one of them, but I hadn�
�t seen anything. Maybe, it occurred to me, what I needed to find was something that couldn’t be seen.
I reached over the balcony’s railing and stuck my hand deep into the ivy. I could feel the vines wrapped around something icy cold. They weren’t clinging to the stone itself. An old photo from Lark’s scrapbook popped into my mind. The picture had been taken shortly after the mansion had been built and Frederick Louth had decided the manor looked too new for his taste. His gardeners had mounted a metal trellis to the walls. The photo had shown them weaving ivy vines through it. Once the vines had grown, the trellis had disappeared.
Could the picture in Lark’s scrapbook have been one of the photos that Clara Louth gave her daughter the night Grace disappeared? Did the picture of the trellis hidden under the ivy show Grace how to escape?
Grabbing hold of the metal trellis with my left hand, I pulled myself up onto the balcony railing. The wind whipped around me while I felt for a hold with the toe of my left shoe. I climbed down slowly at first, terrified that the hundred-and-fifty-year-old lattice might peel off the wall. But it worked as well as it had for the girls who’d escaped before me. Yet as I got closer to the ground, one thing continued to bother me. If Lark had known the secret, why had she chosen to jump the night of the fire? Then I realized the answer was obvious. She hadn’t jumped. Someone had pushed her over the side.
I was still four feet off the ground when I saw headlights coming up the hill through the snow. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if James had really called the sheriff. Then the car disappeared between the hedges and stopped. The driver turned off the headlights and cut the engine. The vehicle was hidden from view. I heard a door shut and footsteps followed. I dropped down from the trellis and crouched in the shadows as a figure in black walked up the drive to the house.
The front door opened. “I told you this was a bad idea,” Gavin Turner growled. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs,” James replied.
The road to town was no longer an option. There was a chance someone was waiting behind the wheel of the car hidden between the hedges. The only safe place I stood a chance of reaching lay on the other side of the woods from the manor. I sprinted across the lawn and slipped into the forest. I hoped to make my way to Ruben Bellinger’s house.
Don't Tell a Soul Page 24
