Page 100 of Coram House

I hang up. The phone sits in my hand, dark and inert. This is good news. Bill is at a party. Nothing is going to change before morning. I should eat some dinner and wait for Parker to call me back. But there’s one more thing I need to do. Before I have time to think about all the reasons this is a stupid idea, I grab my jacket and my car keys. And I head for the door.

I back down the driveway too quickly. A pickup truck slams on the brake and honks. The driver shakes a fist at me. My heart is pumping twice as fast as usual. I back out the rest of the way onto the now-empty street. And I drive toward Coram House.

From upstairs, the falling snow looked gentle. At twenty miles an hour, each flake tosses itself against the windshield like it’s trying to break through. If I can time myself on the path that Rooney would have taken to the dump and after to the cove, I can prove that he couldn’t have been the one in the boat with Sister Cecile in 1968. Then, when Parker or Garcia calls me back, at least I can be sure of that one thing.

As I turn onto Battery Street, a gust of wind comes off the lake, rocking the car back and forth. I pass a snowplow, driving in the opposite direction. North Avenue stretches ahead, dark and empty. Then Coram House appears on its hilltop etched into the sky by the spotlights. I pull into the driveway over slushy tire tracks that have hardened to ice. The temperature must be dropping.

I pull around the back, so my car won’t be visible from the street. The wind stills. The snow hangs suspended, as if time has stopped. A black SUV is parked in front of the office.CAMPBELL & SONS, it says on the door. Beside it is a police cruiser. Panic squeezes my throat.

The cruiser could be here for any reason. Could belong to anyone.

I stop the car and call Parker. It goes to voicemail again. I text him instead.At Coram House. Are you here? Call me. It’s important.I hit send and get out of the car.

The office is dark. There are no footprints in the fresh snow leading up the steps. But still, I knock. “Mr. Campbell?” I call.

Silence. I try the handle, but it’s locked.

The cruiser could belong to anyone, but I know it doesn’t. Parker is the only one who suspects Bill Campbell of being connected to the murders. Could he have come here to try to question Bill at work? To catch him off guard? Parker is younger, stronger, sure—but Bill killed two other people and has the element of surprise. The air is cold enough to tear my lungs, but I take it in huge, deep gulps.

Bang.

I jump, then spin around. The driveway is empty. A tornado of snow blows across the empty road. Another bang—loud and sharp. It’s coming from Coram House.

I backtrack down the drive, zipping my coat against the cutting wind. I need time to speed up to the moment I find Parker. But I also want time to slow. Because what if I’m too late.

Coram House’s heavy front door slides open until it’s a yawning hole. It hits the wall with a loud bang. Then it starts to slide closed again, sucked by the wind.

I walk up the front steps. “Hello?” I call into the empty front hall. “Parker?”

There’s no reply but the wind. A faint glow comes from upstairs, like there’s a light on up there. The door presses against my outstretched arm, trying to slam shut.Make up your mind, it seems to say.In or out.But it’s not really a choice. Before the door can close, I slip inside. The wind slams it shut behind me.

27

I’m plunged intodarkness.Like a coffin lid shutting. A laugh bursts out of me. The short hysterical bark of a trapped dog. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I listen for sounds—voices, footsteps, anything. But all I hear is my own breathing and the wind moaning outside.

I pull out my phone and dial 911, but my finger hovers over the call button without pressing. What am I going to say?I’m breaking and entering. Oh, and the developer who owns the property might be on-site. Also he might have killed two people.I’d sound like a lunatic. I lower the phone, but keep it in my hand.

Suddenly, the room is bathed in a faint glow. The white orb of the moon shines through the window. The snow has stopped for now, the clouds gone. But not the wind. If anything, it sounds more violent. A gust rattles the windows, as if frustrated I’m out of reach.

What had the radio said? Rapidly dropping temperatures followed by heavy snow. Bomb cyclone. The kind of storm where people freeze to death. And I’m wandering around an unheated building at an empty construction site, hoping to find a killer.Dumb to the last, my tombstone will read. I’ll look around for ten minutes. Then I’ll go home. Wait for Parker to call me back. I’m sure he’s fine.

“Hello?” I call. But of course there’s no answer. The brass chandelier sways back and forth. The wind, finding a way in.

Then I hear it. A murmur rising and falling. I can’t make out the words, but I’m sure it’s a voice. Someone upstairs. My thumb hovers near the call button again.

The banister is cold and smooth as stone under my hand. The stairscreak and groan beneath my weight. At least I’ll hear if anyone follows me.They’re not behind you, they’re already upstairs, idiot.I lick my lips and find that my mouth has gone dry.

At the top, I pause on the landing. All the doors are shut, except for one. The door to the girls’ dormitory at the end of the hall is half open. A faint wedge of light spills into the corridor. I wait, my heart beating. There it is again. It’s faint, but the rise and fall is unmistakable. Not voices, though. Not even words. Someone in the room beyond is humming.

I drift down the hall, closer. It should be terrifying, but it’s not. The song is familiar, but I can’t name it. Something I heard as a child, maybe. The knob is ice under my hand as I push the door open.

The room is empty. I don’t need to see the floorboards lit up by the moonlight spilling in through the tall windows. Don’t need to tug on the door leading up to the attic to know that it’s latched shut—though I still do. I know it’s true as soon as I step inside. It has the feel of an empty room. There’s no one here to see me, but still heat floods my cheeks. What had I expected? Someone sitting up here, waiting for me and humming? I’m a little old to be turning every gust of wind into a ghost.

Time to go home, Alex.

But as I turn back toward the hall, movement outside catches my eye. The windows look out onto the graveyard and the frozen expanse of lake beyond. Trees bend and snap in the wind. Maybe that was it. Still, I scan the gravestones for footprints or the shadow of someone hiding.

Then I see it. A figure down by the water. Quickly, I step closer until my nose is pressed against the glass. It could be a rock. A trick of the moonlight.

---