by Sey, Susan
Chapter 8
AN HOUR LATER, Addy was parked at the summit of Devil’s Kettle, higher even than Hill Top house, the wind tugging at her little Honda. The weather had gone steadily downhill in the last half-hour, just as Soren had predicted, and was now bordering on hostile. Addy didn’t care. She was too excited. She shoved open her door and leapt onto the weed-choked gravel drive of Davis Place.
Where Hill Top House stood peacefully in a grassy meadow overlooking a pretty slice of water, Davis Place clung to a craggy peak above the snarling lake like some massive wooden ship run afoul of the tides. A sharp-toothed pine forest pressed in on the house from behind, ready to nudge it over the edge the instant nobody was looking. Addy couldn’t hear the Devil River over the wind but she knew it was there in the trees to the northeast, hiding. Sneaking and snaking and whispering pretty little promises like the soul stealer it was named for. And just before the cliff’s edge, the river revealed itself. It burst from the treeline, mad with the need to fling itself — and anybody it had seduced along the way — over that suicidal drop.
But just before that triumphant leap, just before it surrendered itself to the madness, the river disappeared. It simply dropped into the earth, leaving nothing behind but a sheet of suspended mist, an outraged roar and a gaping black maw.
This kind of thing happened sometimes, Addy had learned. Evidently the Devil River’s underbelly was so ragged and relentless that it had literally drilled a hole through its own stream bed. Geologists called it a kettle, or sometimes a pothole. And this one? Devil’s Kettle? It was huge. Big enough to swallow the Devil River whole, anyway, and get a town named after it.
As fate would have it, however, the devil himself wasn’t so easily digested. At least that was how the locals liked to tell it. Because maybe a hundred vertical feet down from the cliff’s edge — but still several hundred feet straight up from the lake — the river burst violently out of a fissure in the basalt. It shot out over Lake Superior under high pressure, shattered and needle-sharp, wretched and magnificent and thrilling.
And Davis Place had front row seats to the show.
Addy hugged herself and danced in place with pure, undiluted joy.
“Addison?” Georgie unfolded herself from the passenger seat of Addy’s Accord, draped an elbow over the open door and squinted at the monstrous old house perched sullenly on the cliff’s edge. “What are we doing at Granny Nan’s old place?”
“Dreaming.”
Georgie hooked her other elbow over the car roof and rested the point of her chin on her forearm. Addy grinned. Georgie never stood when she could lean, never sat when she could recline. It was her particular gift, making everybody around her seem ridiculously tense. And not very good looking, too, though Addy had a feeling she didn’t even try at that one.
Georgie studied the house idly. “Looks like a nightmare to me.”
“It is.” Bianca stepped out of the Honda as well, stood next to Georgie and glared at Davis Place’s back porch. One sagging pillar let loose a nonchalant flake of paint and it spiraled away on the wind. “I haven’t set foot in this place since—” She paused. “Since I was pregnant with Matty.”
Georgie rubbed her mother’s arm. “Since Dad died, you mean.”
“That, too.”
Addy stopped dancing in place. “This is where it happened?” she asked, though she knew very well it was. She’d simply hoped enough years had passed to make it a painful fact rather than an outright deal-breaker. “This is where Joe died?”
“Yes.” Bianca gazed at the porch, her mouth drawn, her eyes tight. “In the basement.”
“He had a little kiln down there,” Georgie said. “Built it himself when he was a teenager.”
“I told him it was a death trap,” Bianca murmured, and touched the line that seemed to live between her brows these days. “Dangerous. Stupid. Everybody knew it.”
“You know Dad,” Georgie said and smiled fondly. “Couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t want to hear.”
“Just like his mother.” Bianca pressed her lips together. “Who absolutely should’ve known better than to let her stubborn son build something so ramshackle in the first place, let alone use it. And to keep it after we built Hill Top House, with a brand-new, up to code kiln?” Bianca broke off and cleared her throat. “Well. That’s neither here nor there now, is it?”
Georgie rubbed her mother’s arm again and sent a look over the car at Addy. “Granny Nan hasn’t been back since Dad died, either.” She shrugged. “Put a massive padlock on that kiln and moved to town. Never looked back.”
“Guilty conscience, I expect.” Bianca scowled.
“Mom.” Georgie looked at her mother again. “It was an accident. You know that.”
Bianca shrugged and smiled wanly at Addy. “The ventilation failed. The official report cited carbon monoxide poisoning, but it was really just stubbornness. Sheer, stupid stubbornness.” She didn’t say whether it was her late husband’s or her mother-in-law’s. Addy didn’t ask. Didn’t figure it mattered.
“I’m sorry.” She circled the car, put her arms around Bianca. “I’m so very sorry.”
Her mother-in-law squeezed her back, the scent of sorrow and perfume mixing with the bitter lake wind. “It was a long time ago.” She drew back and swiped a delicate finger under each eye. “Goodness, fourteen years now!” She turned to peer at the house. “Has nobody really set foot in this place for fourteen years?”
“Well, no. Look at it.” Georgie snorted. “Why would they?”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll show you,” Addy told her. She turned to Bianca, took her hand. “Do you feel up to coming inside? You don’t have to.”
“Do you mind?” The edges of Bianca’s smile trembled. “I really do want to hear about this idea of yours but I don’t know that I’m up for a tour. Not just yet.”
“Of course.” Addy squeezed her hand. “Georgie and I can do this.”
She gently ushered her mother-in-law into the passenger seat and clicked the door shut on Bianca’s pale gratitude. She turned to Georgie, who was standing hip-shot on the gravel drive, her arms crossed over her model-thin torso, her perfect face wide awake for once and full of suspicion.
“We can do what, Addy?”
Addy ignored her. She ignored the sagging back porch, too, and marched through the knee-high prairie occupying the side yard, Georgie dogging her heels. She popped out into a stingy front yard ringed by a low stone wall, the wind tearing at her hair. She walked to the front porch steps, her back to that incredible view, and fished in her pocket for the key. Anticipation bubbled in her veins and she grinned at Georgie like a lunatic. She held up the key and said, “Ready?”
“What, to go in there?” Georgie laughed. “Hell, no.”
“Don’t be such a baby.” She swept her gaze from the peaked roof to the stone foundation, took in the stark, no-nonsense lines and angles that had stood for generations without bending and looked likely to stand for several more, paint and porches be damned. There weren’t even any obviously broken windows. “This house is indestructible.”
“This house is a zombie,” Georgie said darkly.
“A what?” Addy blinked at her, surprised. You just never knew what Georgie was going to say.
“A zombie,” she said again and stabbed a finger toward it. “We abandoned this place, Addison. It should have fallen into the lake by now. We wanted it to fall into the lake but did it? Hell, no. We come up here fourteen years later, and it’s still standing right where we left it, staring at us with its one weird zombie eye.” She glanced up at the circular attic window, which gazed out over the lake with what Addy had to admit was a decidedly malevolent air. Georgie shuddered and folded her arms. “I’m not going in there.”
Addy gave her a patient look. “You’re stalling.”
“Of course I am! Why would I risk even my outfit let alone my life going into this—” She broke off, circled a manicured nail in the air taking in the whole
situation in front of her “—place?”
Addy hesitated. Delicately, she reminded herself. Ease them into it. Plus, until she saw the interior for herself, she couldn’t be sure her idea was even workable. She smiled innocently. “How else are we going to know how much we can sell it for?”
“You want to sell it? Oh, thank Christ. That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll get Marcia Mays up here right now. She can do the walk through, then figure out how to list it. Which is what realtors are for, I might remind you.”
“Or we could just tell Gerte that Jason Bloom took all our money and a hair model to Bimini and we’re this close to demanding cash buy outs from every last one of them.”
“Except Peter,” Georgie said, but stopped dialing.
“Except Peter,” Addy allowed. “All things considered, I really think it would be better if we did this part ourselves. Quietly. Don’t you?”
“Hell.” Georgie put her phone away and gave the house a baleful look. “I’ll bet there are bats in there.”
“It’s a good possibility.”
“Mice?”
“I wouldn’t bet against raccoons, Georgie.”
“Oh God.” Her head rolled around on the stem of her neck like a wilted flower and her arms dropped to her sides. But she put a cautious foot on the steps. “If I die in here, make sure I’m buried in that vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress I just got.”
Victory. “It looks great on you.”
“I know.” She tippy-toed up the steps and stood fingering a silky lock of pale golden hair while Addy fitted her key into the rusty lock. A small wrestling match ensued but Addy eventually prevailed, wrenching the door open. Georgie’s perfect face registered a sour disbelief.
“You’ll make a beautiful corpse,” Addy assured her. She grabbed Georgie’s elbow and dragged her inside.
Willa Zinc parked her rusty Ford pickup next to Addy’s neat little Honda in the overgrown driveway of Davis Place. She had one boot on the gravel before she noticed Addy’s mother-in-law inside the car beside her, pointedly looking the other way and pretending — as usual — that Willa didn’t exist. Fine by her. That street went both ways.
She heaved the truck door shut. Had to put some muscle into it as the truck was as old as she was, but that was fine. She had plenty of muscle. Didn’t look like it, she knew, not when she barely hit five-two in her work boots. But she knew how to use what she had, and a little muscle was plenty when nobody expected you to have any. The surprise was as useful as the strength.
She squinted into the wind at the monstrous old house squatting on the basalt bluff like a melting candle. It wasn’t as bad as it could be, she admitted. Not nearly. The windows looked intact, and there were no obvious cracks in the foundation, but the shingles were a mess. The siding was shot clean to hell and unless Willa missed her guess, the back porch was thinking about seceding from the union and getting itself an apartment in town. Looked like those wild turkeys stalking Hill Top House had been making themselves right at home up here, too.
She shook her head. Rich people. They’d throw money at any old thing. As a rule, Willa was only too happy to catch it. But Davis money? Her lip curled involuntarily. It had been years since she’d been desperate enough to take money from a Davis.
This, however, wouldn’t be taking. This was earning, and that was a different thing altogether. Besides, did she really care who was signing the checks so long as she made the mortgage and paid the lawyers?
Her lip curled again. Well, yes. Yes, she did. But refusing the Davises their heart’s desire was a petty pleasure she simply couldn’t afford. Not then and not now. At least she’d earn it this time. Cold comfort, true, but comfort nonetheless.
She grabbed a metal clipboard box from her backpack, dragged a pen from the ponytail sticking out of her ball cap and steeled herself to do business with the Widow Davis.
Not, she told herself with a shameful little twinge of relief, the one in the car to her left. No, she’d be doing business with the one who presumably valued her life little enough to be inside this ugly old tumble-down house. The one who valued her reputation little enough to have called Willa twice now in a single week.
She pulled the brim of her cap nice and low, and started with the foundation.
Addy stood in the doorjamb and studied what had been the foyer once upon a time. A layer of dust — okay, dirt — coated the floor, and the sidelight was grimed by years and years of weather. An enormous granite-faced fireplace squatted directly ahead of them, the heart of the house from back in the days when it had supplied heat to the entire place and doubled as the oven. The kitchen, she knew from the blueprints she’d studied, was through a swinging door beside the fireplace and took up the back half of the entire first floor. She turned left and walked down a short, useless hallway that connected the foyer to an equally cramped parlor. Large piles of God only knew what — hopefully just furniture — were draped with moldy sheets.
It should have felt a lot bigger, Addy mused as she returned to the foyer and followed another five-foot-long hallway the other direction into a somewhat larger dining room. Yet more sheet-draped piles filled up the stingy space, and Addy rolled her shoulders under a twinge of claustrophobia. She shook her head. Six thousand square feet, and she was feeling cramped.
“I think the original Davises might’ve accidentally hired a maze maker instead of an architect,” Addy called back to Georgie, who had refused to move beyond the front door.
“Drop breadcrumbs or something then,” Georgie said. “Because I’m not coming after you if you get lost.”
“Right, thanks.”
She skirted a pile of furniture and found the lake-facing window. Even handicapped by years of dirt and a miserly eight-pane, the view grabbed Addy’s heart like a fist and wouldn’t let go. She turned away from the window with an effort and squinted back toward the foyer. She mentally knocked out hallway between them — and the one leading to the parlor, too. In her mind’s eye, she replaced those ridiculous eight-panes with a couple of generous bay windows, and surrounded them with window seats and some built-in book shelves. She’d save that fireplace for sure, she thought as she walked slowly back to the foyer. Give it a good polish and make sure it was functional. It would provide a visual anchor opposite the view and give people a reason to gather outside their rooms when they couldn’t paint. As for the kitchen…
“Uh oh,” Georgie said, and Addy snapped back to the present. “I know that look.”
“What look?” She stopped at the staircase which gave out — ridiculously — into the teeny hallway between the dining room and the foyer. Intricate woodwork, she thought. Match or replace?
“That look. The one you’re doing right now.”
“I’m doing a look?” Addy pressed a thumbnail into the bannister at her elbow and satisfaction licked through her. Hardwood. No pine here.
“Yes. Right now. And that look usually means—” Georgie broke off. Addy hardly noticed. She was too busy buffing the balustrade with her shirt sleeve. A dull glow emerged that had satisfaction deepening into something more like anticipation.
“What,” Georgie asked in venomous tones, “is that?”
Willa Zinc appeared in the open door behind Georgie. She followed Georgie’s offended stare to a pile of what was surely dried raccoon droppings on the hearth.
Willa said, “Scat.”
“Gladly.” Georgie turned on the heel of her delicate sandal but Addy sprang into action and caught her arm before she could hit the porch.
“She means the noun, Georgie, not the verb,” she said, laughing. “Hey, Willa. Thanks for coming up on such short notice.”
Willa gave her a neutral nod while Georgie glared at her. “Noun?”
“Person, place or thing,” Willa offered helpfully, her small face perfectly blank. Addy thought it was blank anyway. Hard to tell with that Saints cap pulled down so low.
“I know
what a noun is,” Georgie said as she tugged her elbow from Addy’s grip. “But scat is a verb.” She lifted an expertly shaped brow at Willa and gave her a saccharine smile. “An action word.”
“It’s also a noun,” Willa told her.
“It is,” Addy said. “It means animal dung.”
Georgie gave an involuntary little skip. “Shit?”
“Yep,” Willa said, a whiff of amusement in her dry voice. “Good thing you wore sandals.”
Chapter 9
GEORGIE FROZE ON the spot, though Addy couldn’t tell if she was terrified of the poop or outraged at Willa’s little poke. “Yes, well.” Georgie treated Willa to the tight-lipped smile that ordinarily turned offenders into pillars of salt. “Not everybody is willing to do trucker chic with such enthusiasm.” She dragged a scornful eye over Willa’s jeans, down vest, long sleeved t-shirt and dark ponytail. “Or so long beyond when it was actually in fashion.”
“Well, ouch, Miss Davis.” Willa rubbed the heel of her hand over her breastbone. “Just ouch. I can’t tell you how your condemnation of my sartorial choices wounds me.” Willa arched a brow. “That’s sartorial. I can spell it if you like. It means—”
“As if my day weren’t already crap,” Georgie cut Willa off and spoke directly to Addy. “As if it weren’t enough to drag me up to Granny Nan’s moldy old death trap and make me stand around in shit. You just had to invite Willa the Skunk Whisperer, too? God, Addy. What did I ever do to you?”
Willa pushed herself off the doorframe and stuck her pen into her ponytail. “Well. That’s my cue. I’ll just leave you ladies alone with—” She eyed the pile of scat significantly. “—well, with whatever poops like that.”
“Willa, wait!” Addy spread staying hands Willa’s way then glared at her sister-in-law. “Georgie, be nice.” She turned back to Willa. “I’m sorry, Willa. Georgie’s having a difficult day.”
