Page 34

REN

Siren Song, Maine

R en pulled into the hidden driveway and maneuvered the car through the narrow strip in the pines.

In the moonlight, the once-charming cliffside cottage almost looked to be listing to the left as if the structure were leaning in to hear a secret told by the wind. Half the windows were boarded up, and a loose shutter banged against the clapboard.

It looked like the aging parent of the house Ren remembered.

He had spent every summer of his childhood here with his best friend Iggy and his family.

Iggy’s father, Franklin, told Ren the history of the property when he visited as a boy.

Franklin’s grandparents had owned the entire parcel of land that spanned nearly a mile along the bluff.

This house was the crown jewel, and, over the years, the property had been divided among grandchildren and cousins.

According to the attorney’s information, most of the land had been donated to the adjacent nature preserve, and three homes remained on this cliff overlooking the hamlet of Siren Song on the shore below.

Stella was asleep when Ren pulled the car up to the house and parked under an aging portico.

A panoply of stars lit the night sky, but the beauty paled in comparison to his passenger.

She was stripped away in sleep—no identity to hide behind, no armor.

Finding her bound and injured in that garage produced a rage Ren had never experienced.

It was like seeing a lioness caught in a poacher’s trap.

If he could have, he would have made the rapists’ deaths slow and painful.

His eyes swept her sleeping form, his need to protect her as imperative as it was confounding. Ren was mesmerized and then chilled as he remembered her deception. He was drawn in and then pushed away over and over.

Ren was the tide, and Stella was his moon.

A gentle tapping on the passenger window broke the moment.

Ren reared back at the sight of a cloaked figure wearing night vision goggles peering through the driver’s door window.

He was about to pull his gun when a gloved hand lifted the goggles, revealing a frail woman with a pointed nose and short white hair.

A camera with a telephoto lens a foot long hung from a strap around her neck.

She hooked the arms of her round glasses around her ears and narrowed her gaze.

In the backseat, Newton’s tail thumped the leather upholstery.

Ren lowered the window.

“Congratulations, dipstick. I’ve been waiting a month to get a glimpse of him, and you frightened him off.”

“Who?”

“A boreal owl. There’s never been a sighting in Maine. I was gonna be a hero in my birding club.”

Ren glanced at the dense forest between the houses and the road, then returned to the person he assumed was his neighbor. “Sorry.” Ren stepped out of the car, stifling a groan when his back brushed the side of the door.

“You the fella Ignatius left the house to?”

Ren smiled. His childhood best friend, Iggy, would fight anyone that called him Ignatius. He stepped out of the car and extended his hand. “Leo Jameson. My friends call me Ren.”

“Hmph.” She looked over Ren’s shoulder at a broken screen door.

“Place is an eyesore. I try to keep the lawn mowed and the trees trimmed, but I don’t go inside after what happened.

” The woman’s permanent frown deepened as she glanced at the structure.

“Lowell, the local handyman, comes by now and again to check on things—make sure the place doesn’t blow up or burn down. ”

“And you are?” Ren coaxed.

“Virginia Whelan. Call me Ginny.” She took Ren’s hand in gnarled fingers with a brief shake.

Ren lifted his chin to the only other building in sight, a small, white cottage next door. “That you?”

“For seventy-three years now. Town’s down the cliff road. Don’t drive it at night. Come by tomorrow, and I’ll give you the lay of the land.” Ginny turned to leave and added, “Locals don’t think much of new faces.”

“I remember you. I came up here as a kid. Spent a few summers here with Iggy and his family.”

Ginny pulled her glasses down her nose. “You the lanky one who liked Scrabble?”

Ren chuckled, “Yes.”

“And rode his bike across my garden?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

She sniffed. “Glad to see you got some meat on those bones.”

Ren spoke to Ginny’s retreating back. “Thanks.”

Stella exited the car and stepped onto the drive. She opened the back door, and Newton hopped out and darted into the front yard with his nose in the grass.

She glanced up at the aging wood of the portico as a gust of wind blew an abandoned bird nest from the rafters onto the car’s hood.

“Luxury accommodations, I see.”

Ren crossed to the front yard and stared up at the structure.

Behind the cracked glass and chipping paint, he could see the charming home he remembered—a pale blue clapboard colonial with black shutters and a red front door.

The second floor had a barn roofline capped with a room-sized glass cupola.

A formal front entrance with a covered porch led to a foyer with a wide staircase, but he had never used it as a child.

He and Iggy always barrelled into the house from the side door, leaving their bikes scattered in the driveway.

Behind him, Stella said, “Wow.”

Ren turned to find her staring up at the stars. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s like my whole life I’ve been looking at a ceiling, and I finally see the sky.”

“I used to spend hours out here with a telescope,” Ren said.

“What’s the story with this place?”

“A childhood friend of mine died in an accident last year. He left it to me in his will.”

“That’s nice. Not the accident, obviously.”

“It was a shock. I hadn’t spoken to him in years.

This place was Iggy’s family vacation home.

Iggy—that’s my friend—his dad, Franklin, moved up here permanently when his wife passed away.

The dad died five years ago, and the house went to Iggy.

I came up every summer with their family.

The lawyer told me Iggy never visited once since inheriting the place.

He and his dad didn’t have the best relationship when we were kids, and it got worse as they got older.

Iggy lived in California. I guess he figured his girlfriend and daughter wouldn’t want it, so he left it to me. ”

Stella pulled a bent nail from a loose plank. “Maybe he secretly hated you.”

Ren’s reply was more to himself. “It was the best part of my childhood.”

Stella wasn’t concerned with the sentimentality of the story. “So if someone was looking for you, would they find property records?”

Ren scratched the scruff along his jawline. “Nothing. The will is still in probate. The records haven’t been updated. The house is still technically in Iggy’s name. Seemed like the perfect hideout.”

“Assuming it doesn’t collapse on us.”

Ren scratched Newton’s head. “That’s a bit dramatic. It’s a fixer-upper.”

“It’s a knocker-downer,” Stella replied.

Ren took Stella’s shoulders and turned her toward the side door. “Come on. Let’s check it out.”

“What do you think happened?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“The neighbor said she wouldn’t go inside after what happened .”

“I have no idea.”

They turned to unload their meager belongings from the car when light appeared in the entry hall, illuminating the leaded glass sidelights at the front door.

“Wonderful,” Stella said. “It’s also haunted.”

Ren chuckled. “Well, at least it’s a friendly ghost—turning on the lights for us.”

A moment later, the room went dark.

“I’ll check out the wiring in the morning.”