Chapter Twelve

Precisely at noon a few days later, Peter showed up with a hastily scrawled note. Ginger opened the door, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, to find Mr. Scott standing easily on the porch, one hand still poised to knock again, the other lightly grasping a scrap of paper.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Scott."

Peter smiled. "I can't stay," he explained. "I'm on my way to work, but I promised Liz I'd drop this off."

"I'm sorry. I should be inviting you in. Oh wait, you can't stay. Not that you would need an invitation either way. God, I don't know what I'm saying!" It all came out in a rush, her words blending together the more flustered she became.

"Ginger?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that I'm so tired," she went on to explain, thinking pull it together, girl, and this man is a client.

"Oh…?" Peter shuffled his feet on the porch.

"Silly me, but we love our job so much that we tend to just forget things, like eating and … sleeping. Everything here is just fine, Mr. Scott."

"Please, call me Peter," he murmured, his gaze roaming freely over her face. "You know, it's okay to be a little stressed in this situation. I realize you're a professional," he added, "but I used to live here, remember? I know what this is like, professional or not. I think the difference is you haven't run screaming from the house."

"Oh, nonsense, you didn't exactly run screaming into the night," she tried to reassure him. "The house was cleaned very thoroughly. We noticed that right away. Even the delivery men from that furniture rental store commented on it when they came out to bring the beds."

"Liz does love to clean. But she did actually run screaming into the night at one point," he teased, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Hah, well, I can't say that I blame her." Ginger smiled.

"But you're still here, and my wife and I appreciate what you and your boss and the other investigator are doing for us. For the first time since all of this started, we feel like we're finally getting some answers. It means a lot to us, even if the answers we get aren't always the ones we thought we wanted to hear."

Ginger was stunned. Somehow, she had never looked at what Chris did in such a light, had never seen this side of his hobby turned obsession turned career. She had never seen the human side of it like this. "You're welcome." She nodded, unsure of what else to say. "So, is there…" she trailed off, gesturing to the note he held.

"Oh, right." He thrust the scrap of paper into her hand. "Elizabeth is having dinner with her grandmother tonight and would love it if you could take time out of your schedule to join them. It's not far. Grandma Ruth lives in the next town over, about a ten-minute drive. Anyway, my mother always takes the boys for a sleepover on Saturdays, and Liz and Ruth almost always get together for some country air, a meal, and a game of cards."

Ginger winced. "Is the fact that I need a little R and R that obvious?"

"Ah, maybe a little." Peter shrugged apologetically.

"You're probably right. Tell your wife I would be honored to join them this evening."

"Great, Liz will be thrilled. I wrote down the time and address, along with Ruth's phone number, on the paper. Do you need directions?"

"No, I don't want to make you late for work. Besides, I can GPS it, I'm sure."

"Okay, then. I'll see you later."

"Yes, see you later. Thank you!" she called out before closing the door and turning to face the empty rooms before her. Deep breaths. Take nice, slow deep breaths. Chris and Adam would be back before she knew it.

She hadn't heard any more of the laughter or scuffling that had terrified her the night before, but all morning she'd felt as though she were being shadowed. She had the eerie feeling that if she spun around fast enough, she would catch a woman standing behind her, breathing down her neck. In fact, several times over the course of the morning, she had done just that. She had even stood in front of the bathroom mirror, turning this way and that, inspecting the angles behind her. Each time, she had come away feeling more than a little silly, because there was never anything there, of course.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was not alone. Her back pressed harder against the front door, her gaze darting between the living room and the dining room. Maybe she would just take a glass of tea onto the porch.

A creaking sound started from somewhere above her, somewhere on the second floor.

"Or I could skip the tea," she croaked, turning around to grip the door knob. She screamed when the front door was thrown open, knocking her off her feet and onto the entryway floor. Her shoulder collided painfully with the wood pillar that separated the rooms.

"Damn it, Chris!"

"Why is she on the floor?" Adam peered over Chris's shoulder.

"I'm just hanging around," she snapped at them. "The air is cooler down here."

"Ginger, I'm so sorry! What were you doing by the door?" Chris frowned, scooping her off of the floor and setting her on her feet.

"I was about to go outside. What were you doing rushing in here like that?" she demanded.

"We found something."

* * *

Three hours, two pots of coffee, and one game of gin rummy after arriving at Grandma Ruth's house, Ginger was once again climbing into the SUV. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. Although to say she was ready to go back to the house on Walnut Street would have been a bold-faced lie. With a sigh, she turned to face Elizabeth Scott.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Liz."

"Thanks for coming out here tonight. I was hoping you wouldn't find it too—I don't know—weird, or anything, but you looked like you could use a night off."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Ginger muttered.

"Is everything okay? At the house, I mean?" Liz hefted her purse higher onto her thin shoulder.

"The investigation is moving right along. We're making real progress," Ginger assured the woman.

"Have you … noticed anything?"

"Are you kidding?" Ginger teased.

"I mean, have you in particular…" Liz asked hesitantly.

"A little, yes," she admitted.

"When we lived in that house, it seemed like that thing, whatever is there, targeted the women. That sounds crazy." She sounded apologetic.

"No, it doesn't." Yes, it does. "But I've noticed it, too. At least, I have now that you brought it up. I'm the only woman in the house right now," Ginger continued, "but I seem to hear things, feel things, that Chris and Adam don't."

"Just be careful…"

"I will. But, Liz, I have to tell you something." She took a deep breath.

"What is it?"

"Ah. Chris is going to tell you and Peter tomorrow before the filming, but I'm going to tell you now, so you can process it on your own first."

Elizabeth remained silent, her fingers tightening on the strap of her purse the only indication she gave of the tension Ginger knew must have been churning inside her.

"Chris found records at the courthouse today. Three people have died in the house on Walnut Street."

"Oh." Liz exhaled. "Well," she stammered, "people die all the time, and Peter is always saying the majority of accidents happen in the home and—"

"That's not all. A young woman went missing, Liz. Her body was never found."