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“I told you, Petra’s gone.”
“Where?” Elsa’s voice is so full of heartbreak it makes me want to cover my ears. “Where has she gone?”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Hannah looks my way, concerned I’m going to judge her for not telling her mother the truth. I wouldn’tdare. I know full well how much the truth can hurt. “Now let’s get you into bed.”
The two women leave the kitchen. A few minutes later, Hannah returns and collapses into her chair. I can’t help but pity her. She’s a thief. She’s a liar. But she’s also had a much harder life than I have. I often forget that, despite all the grief it’s brought us, my family’s time at Baneberry Hall made us rich.
When Hannah slides the keys toward me, I push them back across the table.
“Listen,” I say, “I don’t plan on keeping most of the stuff inside that house. Next week, if you want, you can come over and take whatever you want to sell. There’s a shitload of antiques in there. And a lot of money that could be made.”
“All of it’s yours,” Hannah says.
“Not really. Most of it came with the house. It doesn’t belong to anyone. So consider it yours.”
“I’ll think about it.” Hannah takes the keys and, with a grateful nod, shoves them back in her pocket. “But just so you know, I haven’t used these to sneak inside since you came back.”
I cock my head. “What are you saying?”
“That there are other ways into that house.”
“Where?”
Hannah reaches for another cigarette but decides against it. Instead, she stares at her hands and quietly says, “I got in through the door at the back of the house.”
“There isn’t a back door to Baneberry Hall.”
“It’s hidden,” she says. “My mother showed it to me years ago.”
Once again, I look for signs that she’s lying. I don’t see any. In that moment, Hannah Ditmer looks the most sincere I’ve ever seen her.
“Please. Tell me where?”
“Back of the house,” Hannah says. “Behind the ivy.”
JULY 13
Day 18
That morning, I was awakened by a series of blows to my face and chest. Lost in the gray between dreams and wakefulness, I at first thought it was the ghost of William Garson, beating me with his cane. But when I opened my eyes, I saw it was Jess, pummeling me with both fists.
“What did you do?”she screamed.“What the fuck did you do?”
She sat on top of me, red-faced and furious. Although I was able to buck her off me, Jess managed to land a haymaker before falling sideways. Pain pulsed across my jaw as we reversed positions—me straddling her thrashing legs and gripping wrists that vibrated with rage.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled.
“Me?What’s wrong withyou?”
Overpowered and overwhelmed—with rage, with despair, with exhaustion—Jess gave up the fight. It shattered my heart to feel her body go limp beneath mine, to see her sink into the bed, moaning. I would have preferred a thousand punches to that.
“How could you do that, Ewan?” she moaned. “How could you hurt Maggie?”
The mention of our daughter sent me into a full-blown panic. I jumped off the bed and scrambled to Maggie’s room, thinking of Katie Carver and Indigo Garson and all those other girls who’d died within these walls.
When I reached her room and saw Maggie sitting up in bed, the relief I felt was stronger than anything I’d experienced before or since. My daughter was safe. William Garson hadn’t gotten to her.
Then I saw her neck, and my panic returned.