Page 31 of How to Fake a Haunting

Adelaide stared out the window, her mouth pressed in a thin, bloodless line.

“Adelaide,” I pressed, “how long have you been sleeping with him?” She didn’t answer. “He had a girlfriend,” I said, recalling that first day, talking with him in the driveway. “We were supposed to give her some of our nonexistent animal-bone jewelry.”

Adelaide shrugged. “They broke up.”

“You told him about the haunting, didn’t you? You told him the truth about why we needed the animals.”

I thought there might be a chance she hadn’t, and if she had, I never expected her to admit it. So when she sighed and nodded, I didn’t know what to do.

“Did you tell him about November?” I finally managed. “About what I . . .” I couldn’t finish.

Adelaide’s face twisted in outrage. “Jesus Christ, Lainey, of course not! I would never tell anyone about that. I swear.” She looked hurt, as if the accusation had wounded her.

“I barely told him anything. Just that it was a ‘teaching your husband a lesson’ kind of thing. But, Lainey, he’s not going to say anything. He’s actually really cool.”

“Did you two laugh about it?” I asked. If Adelaide had betrayed me so easily, how deep did the betrayal run?

“Did you talk about how ridiculous I am? How pathetic? You’re the hero in the story, right?

The one with all the wild and hilarious tales of deploying stink bombs and hiding in closets.

And I’m the wife who’s too weak to leave her husband and too weak to stay without roping her best friend into something crazy. Did you write the note together too?”

Her forehead crinkled. “What note?”

“The fucking blackmail note! What I’m trying to figure out is, did you decide the whole haunting thing was taking too long, that you were sick of hanging around my attic every night when you could be getting it on with a guy who removes dead animals from under people’s porches for a living?

” Adelaide recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

“Or was it Todd’s idea?” I continued. “Maybe he found out who Callum’s parents are and thought—wrongly, of course—that I might be able to get some of their money for the payout? ”

“Wait, seriously? You got a blackmail note?” Adelaide’s tone was unreadable.

“Cut the act. I walked past Todd’s truck in your driveway.

Inside was the same light-blue stationery as the note I got.

” I studied her face. She looked dazed, maybe even a little ill.

“Let’s say you weren’t part of it,” I offered.

“Even if you started sleeping with Todd the day after you met him, it’s been, what, a couple of weeks?

How well do you really know him? Enough to know he wouldn’t use what you told him to his own advantage? ”

Adelaide shook her head, but she didn’t look so sure anymore. “He wouldn’t . . . There’s no way—” she stammered.

Suddenly, I was so overcome with exhaustion I wanted to cry. No, I wanted to sleep, preferably curled up beside Beatrix, where I could hold her and pretend everything was as wonderful as she was and that the future—our future—would be okay.

I wanted many things, but what I wanted most was for Beatrix not to get hurt, for her to be happy and safe. And if that was what I truly wanted, then I knew what I had to do . . .

“We need to take a break from the haunting,” I said, and though the idea of giving up filled me with unbridled terror for Beatrix and misery for myself, I knew as soon as the words were out that I’d meant them, and that I’d feel more comfortable if Adelaide’s elaborate plans were no longer unfolding behind the scenes, if there were no further opportunities for me to stumble upon masked figures in the mirror or hear about creepy teddy bears migrating around the house.

Adelaide looked rattled. “No. No way. We’re so close. You can’t do that, Lainey. You can’t give up. We have too many things in the works. We have—”

“There’s no ‘we’ in this scenario. Not anymore.”

“But what about Bea—”

“This is for Bea. I can’t traumatize my daughter to get rid of her father.” I sighed. “Maybe it’s time to call the number of that lawyer my mother gave me.”

“But Cal’s parents—”

“Will do everything they can to help him. Rosalie made that perfectly clear. But it’s not like they’re the Kennedys or have ties to the Mafia.

I would have to make sure any lawyer I retained knew what they were dealing with.

” My voice had a shrill, defensive quality to it; even I didn’t believe the things I was saying.

Still, I stood there stubbornly, refusing to cry no matter how helpless things were.

Why couldn’t Callum just fucking leave of his own accord and make all my problems go away?

Adelaide shook her head again. “I watch him sometimes, Lainey. Did you know that? From doorways. Windows. The peephole in the attic. He stands in front of the mirror and berates himself. Screams at himself to stop drinking, then goes into the kitchen and makes a drink.

“At first, I felt sorry for him. You know men. They don’t want to show their emotions.

To admit to weakness. He only shows how he really feels when he thinks there’s no one around.

But then I started watching him more closely, watched how he’s been responding to the haunting.

And I’m convinced he’s dangerous. Unstable.

Erratic. To be honest, I don’t know how he still has his job.

But if he had custody of Beatrix . . .” She trailed off.

Just when I thought she wasn’t going to say anything more, she said, “It would be a travesty. And quite possibly, a tragedy.”

Now there were tears in my eyes. “Even so,” I said, “I’ve got to find another way.”

Adelaide stared at me, the challenge and concern in her expression giving way to something I didn’t recognize. “Do you know why I want to help you?”

“Huh?”

“Why I want to help. You’ve never asked. Or, you did ask, but you never pushed.” She waited, and I sighed.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Because I was Beatrix. I was a little girl with a shitty alcoholic father. I waited years for my mother to do something about it. My entire childhood, really. But she never did.”

I stared, dumbfounded but also annoyed. She’s telling me this now?

“He died. Cirrhosis. And his alcoholism killed my mom too. Three months later. The stress from years of living with him, of letting his demons run her life.”

“I’m sorry, Adelaide. I really am. And I wish you’d told me sooner. But I can’t keep doing what we’re doing.”

We were both quiet for a long time. Finally, Adelaide asked, “You’re sure?”

I swallowed. “I’m sure.” I glanced at the door behind her. “I need some space. To process everything. You should probably go.”

Adelaide glanced out the window, to where the cloud-covered sun had shifted in the sky, the flies littering the sills now in deeper shadow. “At least let me help you—”

“I’ll be fine. Seriously. I’ll finish cleaning up. We’ll talk later or something.”

Again, she looked around the room helplessly. I sensed she was waiting for me to say more, but I stayed quiet. Eventually, she let out a small sigh. You’re making a terrible mistake, it said. All I could do was hope she wasn’t right.

And with that, Adelaide walked out of Bea’s room, down the stairs, and out of the house, leaving me, what was left of the flies, and all my problems in her wake.