Unraveling Isobel (9 page)

“So you've lived here your whole life, huh?” I yelled over the radio.

“Born-and-bred native. I know it's dorky, but I love it. I like visiting the city, but I can't imagine wanting to live anyplace else.” She looked over at me. “What about you? Are you dying to get off island?”

“Not dying exactly, but I miss the city. My friends and stuff.”

“Not to mention how weird it must be to be living at Morrigan.”

“Weird?”

“You know about the house and everything, don't you?”

“Of course,” I said, bluffing. It's my experience that if you really want to know stuff, you are better off acting like you already have all the information. I stared out the window and didn't say anything else in hopes she would fill in the blanks.

“Does it freak you out at all?”

I shrugged.

“I hope you're not ticked that I asked. It's not like I believe
that stuff. People around here just like to run their mouths. They're jealous. Besides, if there was any proof that it was murder, then Nathaniel or his dad would have been arrested.”

Murder?! Holy shit. Did my mom know people on the island thought her new husband did in his first wife and daughter? I made a noncommittal noise.

“I don't think it would be a big deal at all except for the other stuff.”

There was other stuff? Murder seemed like more than enough to me.

“What with the original Mrs. Wickham being kept locked in the attic way back when. And those kids that went missing? People figure there's too much smoke not to have any fire.” Nicole swung into our long driveway with a spray of gravel. “Then there's
another
fatal accident in the family, so of course people assume there must be some kind of foul play, but it's not like things are connected, you know?”

I could feel myself starting to sweat. People locked in the attic? Missing kids? Had we moved into Hell House? “People love to talk,” I murmured.

“Exactly.” The gravel crunched under the car tires as we rounded the last bend. Nicole stopped the car. She pulled her hair back and looked up at the house. “I will admit if there was going to be a house on the island that's haunted, this would definitely be it. If a building could hold on to negative energy, this place would have more than its fair
share. Not that I buy into what everyone says.”

“People think the house is haunted,” I said in a flat voice. I could feel the memory of the girl I saw by the window pushing to the front of my mind, and it took all the energy I had to shove it back down. I didn't want to go there. You start thinking there are ghosts, then voices speaking to you, and before you know it, you're bouncing around a rubber room wearing a tinfoil hat.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Nicole asked.

“No.” I hoped my voice sounded more confident than I felt. I looked over at Nicole. She was still staring up at the house. “Do you?”

She turned to look at me, and I leaned back quickly. Her eyes looked hungry and her teeth seemed not just shiny but also sharp. “Of course I believe,” she said, her voice low.

“I should go.” My hand fumbled for the door handle. I felt my chest release when it clicked open, and I spilled outside the Jeep. Every muscle in my body was screaming to run.

“We're still on for lunch tomorrow?” Nicole asked.

I looked back at her. She'd reverted to looking like your typical blond cheerleader. Her face was flushed from the wind, and I noticed for the first time that she had a sprinkle of light freckles across her nose and cheeks. Whatever I had seen a moment ago must have been just a trick of the light. Or of the mind. I took a deep breath. I just had a wee freak-out, which was understandable. There was all this new information, and the talk of ghosts on top of that was enough to give anyone a panic
attack. It didn't mean there was anything wrong with me.

“Lunch tomorrow would be great,” I said. I hefted my backpack and turned to go into the house. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Keep your eyes open, Isobel,” Nicole called out as she popped her Jeep in reverse to turn around. “Remember, ghosts don't care if you believe in them. They can still believe in you.”

Chapter 11

“
M
om!” I called out as soon as I opened the door. I stood in the doorway, my voice echoing in the marble foyer. I could hear the tall grandfather clock in the hall ticking, but that seemed to be the only sound. It felt like the house was holding its breath. Waiting for something.

Whoa. I had to stop thinking like that or I was going to freak myself out.

No one was home. There wasn't anything sinister about that. In fact, you could argue that having the place to myself was a good thing. I stood there a beat longer. I didn't want to shut the door behind me; I liked the idea of being able to escape easily. I forced myself to take a deep yoga breath.

I shut the door. No boogeyman lurched down the stairs. No ghosts floated out of the closet.

“I am not afraid,” I said, reminding myself and also putting the house on notice just in case.

“Well, that's a good thing,” a voice said.

I screamed and whirled around.

Nathaniel pushed open the swinging door from the kitchen. His mouth was stuffed with a bagel. He glanced around.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“What's wrong? Are you trying to make me lose it? Why didn't you say something when I came in?”

“I didn't know I was supposed to. You called out for your mom. I didn't know I was required to announce my presence like it was role call.” Nathaniel looked at me. His eyes softened and his voice lowered. “Are you okay?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? The fact that I had screamed like a four-year-old girl because someone told me a ghost story seemed to indicate that “okay” was not a term to use when describing me. That's when I noticed Nathaniel was holding a knife. A really sharp knife. My eyes locked onto the blade. I backed up a step until I was pressing against the front door.

“Well, that didn't take long,” Nathaniel said.

I looked away from the knife and into his face. “What are you talking about?”

“So who told you?”

“No one told me anything,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Did they tell you I was a murderer, or in this version was it my dad? Obviously what happened couldn't have been an
accident. I hope whoever it was took the time to mention the Wickham family curse.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” My eyes flickered back to the knife.

“I was making a bagel.” Nathaniel held out the knife, and I could see a smear of cream cheese on the blade.

“Oh.” I wished the floor wasn't marble. All I wanted to do was dig a hole and crawl inside. Nathaniel was staring at me. His jaw was tight and I could see him swallow. It almost looked like he was trying not to cry. “You should feel free to ignore me. I'm a huge drama queen. Just ask my mom,” I said.

“Whatever.” Nathaniel kicked the swinging door to the kitchen open and walked out.

There went any progress we'd made in being friends. It was going to take more than shared lunches and singing Christmas carols to get over the fact that I'd basically implied he was capable of murdering his own family. I followed him into the kitchen. Nathaniel was putting clean dishes back into the cupboard.

“Look, I'm sorry,” I said.

“You better be careful, I've got a ladle.” Nathaniel waved a giant soup ladle back and forth. “You never know what a trained killer can do with an innocent-looking kitchen utensil.”

“I don't think you're a trained killer.”

“So should I be insulted that you think I'm an amateur killer?” He pulled another item out of the dishwasher. “Uh-oh. An ice cream scoop. You better back up before I decide to use it.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you make it very difficult for a person to apologize?”

“No, I don't have any friends who would pass on that kind of information. Remember, I told you I don't get invited to play any reindeer games.”

“You could have warned me, said something about what people thought. You had to know someone was going to say something.”

Nathaniel banged a pot down on the counter. “Right. Hey, Isobel, welcome to the family. By the way, you should know most people at school think I killed my mom and sister. Turns out, when they died, I didn't think to have an alibi set up. Of course neither did my dad, and he has motivation, too, because he got the life insurance payout. Sure, it could have been an accident, but that doesn't give people much to talk about, does it? Don't let that bother you, though, just make yourself at home. Have a nice day at school.” Nathaniel pulled another pan out of the dishwasher and practically tossed it into the cabinet. “For some reason, I'm guessing that wouldn't have been a great opener.”

He had a point, but still. “You could have found another way to say it.”

He turned his back to me and continued to put the dishes away. “Maybe I'm a lousy communicator, but I couldn't think of a great way to drop that kind of news.” There was an unmistakable edge to his voice.

I leaned against the counter and watched him. “I guess not,”
I agreed, hoping I hadn't ruined everything by acting so jumpy. One thing I was sure of, I didn't want to lose the rapport we'd started building. “If it'll make you feel better, I could tell you something embarrassing about my family,” I offered.

He paused, as if weighing his response carefully. “You aren't going to sing again or anything, are you? I've already had enough trauma in my life.” This time, his tone was light.

I swatted him with one of the kitchen towels. “I'm being serious. I'm trying to even the score.”

“Okay.” Nathaniel jumped up so he was sitting on the wooden butcher-block counter. “Spill it.”

Suddenly I felt nauseated. What had I been thinking when I'd opened my mouth? I only had one really big family secret, but other than Anita, I'd never told anyone about my dad. It would have been easier to tell someone that my dad had leprosy or was a terrorist than that he had a mental illness. It was just a small step from someone knowing about my dad's condition to their wondering just how much like my dad I might be. I didn't need anyone, Nathaniel especially, thinking I was crazy.

“Forget it.”

“Forget it? You promised me a story of humiliation. What happened to evening the score?”

“I decided I don't want to.” I grabbed my backpack and went to turn around. Nathaniel jumped down and grabbed my elbow.

“Hang on.” He stepped in front of me to block my path. “You can't just decide not to.”

“Of course I can. Look at that, I just did.” I tried to keep my voice casual, but my heart was beating hard and fast. I tried to step around him, but instead of letting me pass, he lowered his head to stare into my eyes.

“What's the matter, are you afraid?”

I refused to look away or blink, lest he take it as a sign of weakness and pounce. “Maybe I don't feel like telling you my secrets. It's not like you told me yours. Nicole did.”

“Don't be pissed at me. You brought the whole thing up.”

“And now I'm dropping it.”

“You're afraid,” he said, crossing his arms.

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. You can say what you want; I know I didn't kill anyone. I've got nothing to be ashamed of. Clearly,
you've
got some issues, though.”

“I'm not ashamed of anything.”

Nathaniel raised one eyebrow. “Sure.”

“I'm not.” I pressed my lips together. This is why I never missed having siblings. I'd had a stepbrother for less than a week and we were already fighting. It was just a matter of time until someone told us to take a time-out and we'd have to sit in different corners. “I don't have to tell you anything.” I meant to say it firmly, but it came out more like a scared whisper.

Nathaniel looked at me for a moment more and then shrugged. “Got me there. Well, this heart-to-heart has been fun. If you'll excuse me, I've got homework.” He turned and left the
kitchen, leaving me trying to catch my breath. I could hear him as he raced up the stairs. My legs suddenly felt weak, and I leaned against the doorframe. I could feel the notches in the wood where generations of Wickham kids had marked their heights.

I didn't even have to look to know I didn't measure up.

Chapter 12