“When?”
“What?”
“When did her parents find the tape?”
“I don’t know. Early August maybe?”
“So shortly after Christopher and Elizabeth Winchester figured out that you were dating their underage daughter against their will, the entire family mysteriously ends up dead?”
Alex’s face fell, and he looked at me with such an expression of grief that anyone else watching our conversation from the windows of the restaurant might have thought I’d just told him that I shot his dog.
“I would never do anything to hurt any of the Winchesters,” said Alex. “My home life was absolute garbage, Bailey. They were my second family.”
The tremble in his voice alone convinced me once and for all that Alex was innocent. It was something else that Caroline had wanted me to ask Alex, something that I suspected more and more would lead us to the truth about what really happened twenty years ago.
“What about Ethan Powell?”
Alex sniffed, adjusting the brim of his hat so that it concealed the shine in his blue eyes. “What about him?”
“You told me Patrick and Caroline came to visit you before they got on their parents’ boat that night,” I reminded him. “After they left, do you remember seeing Ethan at all? Did he come into the restaurant?”
“Ethan used to come to the restaurant every Friday night with his dad,” said Alex. “After he died, Ethan stopped coming.”
“So you didn’t see him.”
Alex shook his head. “No, I—” He cut himself off abruptly, his lips parted in sudden remembrance. “Actually, now that you mention it, I did see Ethan that night. He took his fishing boat out.”
“On the bay?”
“North. Toward the rocks.” He pointed out the patio windows, where I could just make out the black silhouette of the bluff at the topmost part of the bay.
Blood rushed to my head, pounding in my ears. This was the missing piece of the puzzle that Bodhi had been talking about. “When?”
Alex shrugged. “Patrick and Caroline were here at the time. We were goofing off. Around six o’clock maybe? It was still light out.”
“Did you seem him come back to the marina?”
“No,” said Alex. “But I was working. I could’ve missed him.”
I swallowed hard. “I have to go.”
Alex caught the wet sleeve of my raincoat before I could take another step. “Bailey, what’s going on? Why do you want to know about Ethan?”
I tried to break free of his grasp, but he held on tight. “Please,” I said to him. “If you care about Caroline and Patrick at all, you’ll let me go and stay quiet about this entire conversation.”
Invoking the names of the Winchester children did the trick. Alex let go of my raincoat, even though he looked as though he had a hundred questions to ask me.
“Promise me one thing,” he said.
I checked my watch. My hour was wearing thin. If I didn’t get back to the house soon, Bodhi would come looking for me. “What is it?”
Alex took me by the shoulders, his expression serious. “Fill me in on whatever’s going on as soon as you can.”
I stared into his eyes. They were the same color as the bay on a bitter evening like this, a tempestuous deep blue, sullied equally by determination to know the truth and despair for the girl he had lost twenty years ago.
“I promise.”
22
Unto the Breach
Bodhi and I spent the majority of the tumultuous night awake, hunched over what little research we had of what might have gone wrong with the Winchesters’ afternoon jaunt. We spread out across the new floorboards in the living room, laying out pictures of Artemis, Ethan, his father, and the Winchester family themselves. I printed out the pictures I’d taken of the relevant articles from the Black Bay Banner. On the side of a cardboard box from the basement, we bullet-pointed what we knew about the chain of events that day, writing hastily with a fat, black permanent marker.
“Here’s what I figure so far,” I said, leaning back on my knees to read what I’d jotted down on the side of the box. I’d taken the walking boot off. It was coated in mud from my trip into town. “Ethan goes to Jane’s house early, right? Let’s estimate that around four o’clock. According to this article, the Winchesters took Artemis out at five.”
“And we already know that Patrick and Caroline weren’t on it,” supplied Bodhi, chewing on the marker cap. “They were at Lido’s with Alex.”
“Alex sees Ethan take his fishing boat toward the bluff around six,” I went on. “But he doesn’t know that Christopher and Elizabeth had already left the marina. When Patrick and Caroline left Lido’s, he figured they were joining their parents at the dock.”
“But Alex never sees Ethan bring his boat back to the bay.” Bodhi studied the scribbles on the box. “Then, according to Jane, Ethan crashes his truck in the middle of the night.”
“Which contradicts what Ethan said about the accident occurring in the morning, after he heard the news about the Winchesters.”
“Right,” Bodhi agreed. “So we have this entire chunk of time during which Patrick, Caroline, and Ethan were all simultaneously missing.”
“Don’t forget the visions,” I reminded him. The support beam overhead loomed in my periphery, as if to remind me how easily Bodhi could’ve died that very morning.
Bodhi inadvertently rubbed the red marks around his throat. “Which we can assume are courtesy of Caroline. If we’re to take that at face value, it means that Patrick and Caroline both died here at the house.”
“That would make sense considering Caroline’s ghost can’t seem to leave the premises,” I agreed. “I’m working off clichés here, but spirits usually haunt wherever they died, right?”
“Sure.” Bodhi scratched his chin, deep in thought. “The question is, did Ethan take his boat out with the intention of sabotaging the Winchesters’ trip?”
I snapped my fingers, recalling the conversation I’d had with Sam Williams. “Sam told me that Artemis took damage in the back as well as the front. Any boat involved in a collision like that would definitely need repairs.”
“Which would certainly explain why Ethan never brought his fishing boat back to the marina,” Bodhi pointed out. “It would’ve automatically raised questions.”
“But we’re still at a loss when it comes to how Ethan ran into Patrick and Caroline.”
Bodhi tapped the marker impatiently against the wood floor. “If he was trying to get rid of the entire family, he would’ve panicked when he realized the kids weren’t aboard Artemis. Maybe he looped around and met them at the house?”
I massaged my temples with the tips of my fingers. “My head hurts.”
Bodhi passed me the bottle of tequila that he had pilfered from the Winchesters’ stash. I sipped straight from it. The smooth warmth of the alcohol soothed my jittery nerves and cleared my mind.
“We need a plan,” declared Bodhi. I handed him the bottle. He swigged the contents and wiped his mouth. “We need something to confirm Ethan’s involvement, because all we’ve got right now is a scattered timeline and a couple of hunches.”
“I have an idea.”
“Shoot.”
I stretched my legs out in front of me, stifling a moan as my muscles unclenched. “Tomorrow’s the summer festival, right?”
Bodhi checked his watch. “Today, actually.”
“Whatever. We already know Ethan’s going to be there.”
“I’m with you so far.”
“So what if one of us went to the festival to keep an eye on Ethan while the other breaks into Ethan’s house to look for clues?”
“We wouldn’t even have to break in,” Bodhi said matter-of-factly. He lay on his stomach on the floor, kicking aside a few photos by accident, and perched his chin in his palms. “Ethan keeps a key under the mat.”
“How do you know that?”
He inched toward me, flipped over on his side, and
rested his head on my thigh. “Because he invited the crew for lunch one day,” he said, his eyes drifting shut.
Absentmindedly, I combed my fingers through Bodhi’s thick hair. “That’s bold. If he’s hiding something, I doubt he’d be so nonchalant about having visitors over.”
“Unless whatever he’s hiding isn’t in the house,” he mumbled drowsily.
“Still. You go to the festival and track Ethan down. I’ll go to his house.”
Bodhi’s eyes flew open. “Why do I have to be the one to distract Ethan?”
“Because you know him better than I do,” I said. “And you’re a better liar. All you have to do is keep him busy for an hour or two.”
He tapped my nose with his index finger. “I resent that liar comment.”
“Bodhi.”
“Fine. Later it is. Right now, however, I highly suggest we get some rest.”
He stood up then reached down to help me to my feet. Together, we abandoned the mess of photos and notes in the living room and went up to Bodhi’s bedroom. I fell into the sheets, exhausted and uneasy. Bodhi pulled me close.
“Bailey?”
“Hmm.”
“What happens if we actually do find something that incriminates Ethan?” he asked, his voice soft and uncertain. “Do we go to the police?”
I was quiet, thinking about it.
“No,” I finally said. “We go to Caroline.”
In the morning, the storm had burned itself out, leaving nothing in its wake but a cloudless cerulean sky and a mess of tangled debris in the front yard and in the garden behind the Winchester house. Earlier, Bodhi and I ate leftover pancakes on the back porch, soaking up the sun and trying to ignore the anxiety that built between us in anticipation of that day’s event. Ava from the Sanctuary called my cell phone to inform us that the summer festival kickoff had been pushed from noon to two o’clock in order to allow more time for the volunteers to clean up the storm damage in the park. Bodhi groaned at the news.
“It figures,” he commiserated. “I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. My stomach’s been turning since last night.”
For the remainder of the morning, Bodhi and I reviewed our strategy. We would head down to the festival together to find Ethan. I would fake some kind of mysterious illness and excuse myself, leaving Bodhi to entertain Ethan. Then I would sneak off to Ethan’s house, have a look around, and be back at the festival within the hour.
“This feels too easy,” Bodhi said as we boxed up the photographs strewn across the living room floor. We both decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to leave our notes out in the open for anyone to see.
“Don’t jinx it,” I scolded him.
Unlike Bodhi, I was glad for the extra time to prepare. The hours melted away too quickly for me. Before I knew it, it was time to put away the last of the old pictures and head down to the festival. We decided to walk. It was too nice of a day to spend any time at all inside a car, and my ankle finally felt like it was on the mend. Bodhi chattered like an excited bird as we strolled hand in hand down the path. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought that we were just another couple excited for the fresh food, football games, and fireworks. In an alternate universe, an eight-year-old Kali gallivanted along beside us and pleaded for ice cream, but in this universe, I pondered possible problems with our plan instead.
Black Bay was in its element. Beneath the affectionate sun, the park whirled with activity. The main street had been closed off to make room for food trucks, fruit stands, and small booths advertising fun crafts, handmade jewelry, and face painting. Children giggled underfoot, twirling ribbons and spinning pinwheels. Dogs gamboled from frisbee to frisbee, chased after squirrels, and trailed behind messy kids in the hopes of finding a free snack. The flag football tournament kicked off with an immediate touchdown from a lithe teenaged girl whose slender legs blurred as she ducked beneath the arm of a brawny boy and barreled into the end zone. Near the stage, speakers pumped cheesy singles by mainstream artists from the last several decades. Everyone from five to sixty found something to sing along to. The Winchester Celebration banner had been re-pinned, slightly worse for wear after the storm but devoted to the cause nonetheless.
Bodhi stopped at a food truck advertising baozi, peered at the menu, and then stepped into line. “Want something?”
“Uh, I’m not sure I’m in the mood to eat,” I said. As it was, my stomach leapt into my throat every time I spotted a man with a build similar to Ethan’s.
Bodhi fished a few dollars out of his back pocket. “We might as well enjoy ourselves, Bailey. After all, this is Black Bay’s premiere event.”
So we snacked on baozi and sipped fresh hibiscus tea from a stand nearby, and as we watched Ava direct an uproarious game of Simon Says, I almost forgot what we had come to the summer festival to do. However, I abruptly remembered when a looming presence approached me from behind.
“There they are!” boomed Ethan. He stepped between Bodhi and I, tugging me into a side hug. I swallowed down my disgust lest my lunch reappear at Ethan’s touch.
“Ethan!” Bodhi performed some kind of complicated handshake with Ethan before clapping him on the back, his pleased grin never faltering. I marveled at Bodhi’s abilities to stay cool and collected in the presence of a man we suspected to be a sociopathic murderer.
“I see you’ve already found the food trucks,” Ethan said, nodding toward the unfinished half of my snack.
“Would you like the rest?” I offered, trying to take a leaf out of Bodhi’s book. “It’s delicious, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well.”
Ethan accepted the morsel. “That’s a damn shame. What’s wrong?”
“Stomachache,” I answered truthfully.
Bodhi took my hand, squeezing my fingers to comfort me. “Bailey’s been a little under the weather these past few days, but she was determined to see the festival.”
Ethan swept a hand out to indicate the hubbub around us. “I don’t blame you, Bailey! Look at all of this. Come with me. You don’t know entertainment until you’ve seen Black Bay’s comedy troupe attempt improv.”
He waved us in front of him, but I stood my ground. “Actually, I don’t think that baozi really agreed with me. You two go ahead.”
Bodhi, ever the accomplished actor, frowned, and worry lines appeared on his forehead. “You sure, baby? I can take you home.”
“No, no,” I insisted, trying to ignore Ethan’s persistent gaze in my periphery. “I’ll be fine. Go on, and have fun.”
“All right.” Bodhi kissed me. His lips lingered near my ear as though he wanted to say something, but he drew away again without speaking. “Ready, Ethan?”
“As ever. Feel better, Bailey.”
“Thanks, Ethan.”
They vanished amongst the busy crowd. I watched them go, keeping an eye on Bodhi’s strong back and long hair for as long as I could. Then, dodging a wandering toddler, I squeezed past the last two food trucks at the end of the street, glanced over my shoulder, and dipped down a side street.
Bodhi had given me directions to Ethan’s house. He lived on the south side of Black Bay, opposite the quaint collection of houses to the north. There, a series of winding canals led to the bay. The landscape was swampier, and the air felt moist and sticky. Ethan owned a private plot of land tucked away from the rest of the town. The dirt road was muddy and viscous from the storm, so I kept to the grassy shoulder. It had taken me a good hour to wash the mud out of my walking boot from the night before.
I paused in the driveway, bewildered, when Ethan’s house came into view. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting. An obvious bachelor pad, maybe, or a rundown shack. Instead, I found a pretty yellow cottage with white shutters, pruned bushes, and blooming primroses in flower pots on the window sills. A hand-laid stonework path led to the porch, where a swinging bench rocked languidly in the light wind. In front of the red door, a welcome mat proclaimed, “Ask not for whom the dog barks. It barks for thee.�
��
Sure enough, when I picked up the mat to find Ethan’s spare key and turned it in the door, a series of high-pitched ruffs met my ear. I opened the door cautiously and blew out a sigh of relief when Ethan’s portly dachshund flipped over to offer me her belly instead of attacking my ankles. I knelt to give her a quick rub, looking around the inside of Ethan’s house.
A woman had lived here once. The house sported a feminine touch, from the printed couch to the lace curtains to the lilac tablecloth in the breakfast nook. It was small and cozy but smelled distinctly of cigar smoke and men’s aftershave. As I set Ethan’s key on a coffee table by the television, the dachshund curled up with a rope toy in a plushy bed beneath a window.
“Okay, Ethan,” I muttered. “Let’s see what you’re hiding behind that teddy bear personality of yours.”
I swept the living room from top to bottom, lifting rugs, inspecting drawers for false bottoms, and upending sofa cushions to check beneath them. The dachshund—whose name was Winnie according to the elegant cursive printed on the side of her water bowl—watched in confusion as I raided Ethan’s cupboards in the kitchen, but there were no clues amongst the dishware as to whether or not Ethan secretly harbored homicidal tendencies. I did, however, discover that the cabinet under the kitchen sink was chock full of bourbon. I inspected the bottles with a frown. According to Doctor Marx’s files, Ethan had been sober for several years, but the open wax seals and half-empty bottles said otherwise. Still, Ethan’s drinking habits weren’t proof that he had murdered all four of the Winchesters twenty years ago.
I hesitated before checking the bedroom. There was something invasive about entering someone else’s sleeping space without permission. A lump rose in my throat as I peered in through the open door, but like the rest of Ethan’s house, the bedroom was clean and snug. The bed was made, the floor was clear, and a pile of freshly folded collared shirts from Powell’s Lumber Mill sat atop the dresser waiting to be put away. I looked under the bed, rifled through the dresser drawers, thoroughly searched the closet, and inspected the adjoining bathroom to come up empty-handed. With an annoyed groan, I pushed my sweaty hair away from my face. If Ethan had hidden something, he’d done it damn well.
The Haunting of Winchester Mansion Omnibus Page 24
