Page 184 of Secrets Along the Shore

“Of course you did,” he said, turning his head, so I missed what else he might have spoken. He brushed past me, already heading toward the basement.

I followed, but he didn’t ask for help, didn’t even look back. Just muttered to himself as he opened the panel, words I couldn’t see. He worked quickly, probably something he had done a thousand times and could do in his sleep.

He poked at the switches, grumbling with words I couldn’t understand, then turned to face me. “Estate people don’t care nothin’ about this place. Let it sit too long. Moisture’s gotten in. The power will hold for now, but I’ll have to replace a switch. Always was a temperamental monstrosity.”

I almost smiled. The housewasa temperamental monstrosity. Maybe none of Scanlon’s family wanted the house, and that’s why he left it to me. Perhaps I was his last resort.

With a flick, the lights popped on above us.

Mr. Monroe turned to me and said, “There.”

I nodded, appreciative. “Thanks.”

Monroe didn’t respond. He dusted his hands and started back up the stairs. I followed him again. At the front door, he paused and looked out toward the lake, squinting hard, he turned to face me. “Storm’s coming. Could feel it in my knees this morning.”

I stood beside him, hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. “You still live in town?”

“Just outside it.”

“Do you know if the Bishop family still lives across the lake?”

He glanced at me, something guarded in his expression. “The oldest does.”

“Becca? What about her parents?” I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral.

He blinked. “Left a long time ago. Moved to Bozeman. Haven’t seen them in a good ten years.”

That made me frown. “That’s too bad for Becca. Especially after losing her sister. What was her name? I can’t remember.”

Monroe looked at me like I’d said the sky was purple. “Like I said, there were a lot of you kids. I never could keep you all straight. But the oldest Bishop girl lives alone now. Keeps to herself. That’s how she wants it. I say let people do as they please.”

I hesitated to respond, trying to recall the name of the younger girl, but all I could see was her pink nightgown, soft and bright against the shadows in the lodge hallway. Her sweet smiles and the way she used to run barefoot down the staircase, hair flying behind her like ribbons in the wind.

But her name…

Nothing.

My mind was a curtain, drawn tightly shut.

Before I could press further, Mr. Monroe tipped his head toward the door. “If that’s all, I got a pipe to fix over at the Jensen place. I’ll be back to change that breaker later today.”

I stepped aside. “Of course. Thanks again.”

He nodded once, then trudged back to his truck. I stayed on the porch, watching until he pulled onto the road and disappeared down the trees.

Back inside, I stood in the middle of the foyer and let the memoryfall over me again. I remembered her climbing the banister like it was a jungle gym. The way Becca used to shush her with a finger to her lips when she sang too loud. All while I wished I could hear her tune.

Why couldn’t I remember her name?

I wandered to the staircase, looking up. The same sweeping wood rail curved along the banister where she once sat with her legs swinging. I glanced toward the landing, half expecting to see the girl again, bare feet padding quietly across the wood.

Nothing.

I climbed the stairs and stepped into the bedroom that had been mine each summer. The view stretched across the lake. Straight to the Bishop house.

I pressed a palm to the glass and studied the house. Impenetrable. Curtains drawn. So Becca was still there, which meant she was the one to flash a light at me last night.

Don’t come over.