“It’s just me,” Owen said, ducking out into the open. “Sorry if I startled everyone.”
Given his experience, stealth would come almost naturally to him at this point. Abigail slipped her arms over the boys’ shoulders as they stood on either side of her. “Why don’t we all go inside for a minute? You can inspect my paint job while I make hot chocolate. Then you can warm up before you go on your way.”
Owen eyed the boys, unamused. “You two told me you were going upstairs to read.”
“We did,” Sean said. “We just—”
“I can’t have you stay with me if you’re going to sneak out.” Owen shifted to Abigail, easing up slightly. “They went out a window on a bedsheet. I was lighting a fire in the woodstove. I never heard a thing.”
“They told me they were practicing their nighttime navigation skills,” she said, not bothering to hide her skepticism. She gave their shoulders a quick squeeze. “But I think there’s more to their story, right, guys?”
Ian broke away from her and appealed to Owen. “I told Sean—”
“You’re responsible for your own decisions.”
“But he made me!”
Sean snorted. “I didn’t make you do anything. You wanted to go.”
“I didn’t think the ghost was real.” Ian had a panicked note in his voice now. “I thought—I thought—”
“Whoa, slow down,” Owen said.
Abigail turned Sean to face her and bent down so that she had eye contact with him. “Tell me about the ghost, okay? Everything you can think of.”
His face had gone deathly white, his lower lip trembling, but he didn’t respond.
“We heard it,” Ian said, crying now. “We heard the ghost!”
Abigail didn’t shift her gaze from Sean, who nodded. “We heard it breathing.”
“Where?” she asked.
“In the ruins.”
“The ruins?”
“The old foundation,” Owen said. “That’s where you heard someone the other night, too, isn’t it, boys?”
“Yes,” Sean said.
“Might it have been an animal?” Abigail asked. “A fox or a squirrel maybe?”
The older boy, his color only marginally improved, shook his head. “It was human. It was…we think it was…”
Chris, she thought.
She put a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Do you boys think you heard my husband’s ghost?”
A tear dribbled down his cheek. “We had to be sure. The other night—we were pretty sure that’s who it was. Now—” He wiped his tear with the back of his hand, took a quick breath. “It has to be.”
Abigail straightened and glanced at Owen, who looked pained, not only for the frightened boys in his charge, she thought, but for her. “I’m sorry. They have active imaginations.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but they heard something out here.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t a ghost.”
She didn’t care. “Wait in the house. I’ll go take a look. Then I can drive you all back to your place.”
“That’s not necessary,” Owen said quietly. “The boys and I can investigate on our way back.”
Abigail shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then we’ll go together.”
She could see he was as determined as she was. The tension between them seemed to have helped steady the boys. She sighed. “All right. Let me get a flashlight.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry—I’ve got on the right shoes.”
Nature was slowly, but inexorably, reclaiming the land where Owen’s great-grandfather had built his summer place almost a hundred years ago, no doubt never imagining that a killer would one day hide in its remains and lie in wait in order to commit murder. Most of the charred rubble was long removed. Now, trees and brush grew in the sunken chunks of foundation, and only parts of the original stonework could be distinguished from the surrounding landscape.
Owen kept the boys close to him. Their talk of a ghost had kicked the cop in Abigail into gear. He watched her push ahead on the path through low-growing wild blueberry bushes and junipers.
Feet-flat-on-the-floor Abigail Browning didn’t seem the type to believe in ghosts. So, what did she think she’d find out here?
Obviously she had something on her mind, Owen thought as she squeezed between a fir tree and a six-foot section of chimney that had broken off its base. She stabbed her flashlight beam into the dark.
“What does she see?” Ian asked, taking Owen’s hand.
“I don’t know. Abigail?”
She visibly relaxed. “Well, well. I like to keep an open mind, but I’ll bet ghosts don’t smoke cigarettes and drink beer.” She shifted her flashlight, taking in more corners of the little hideout and then pointed the beam back at Owen and the boys. “Come see.”
Owen let Sean break off from him and run ahead. Ian looked up at him for a cue, and he nodded, the younger boy immediately pulling his hand free and scooting after his brother.
Using her flashlight as a pointer, Abigail explained the scene to the boys. “Someone used that rock over there as an ashtray,” she said. “See the cigarette butts? And there. A squished empty pack of Marlboros.”