Page 25 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

I must look confused, because Smits shrugs. “Your mom told Liz. I just didn’t want anyone here thinking you couldn’t get in.”

“Anyone here…” Ben mutters, shaking his head.

I ignore them and ask Smits for my phone. Then I put the photo on my laptop, where I can blow it up. Even with that, the figure is unfocused.

“It looks like Gail,” I say. “But it can’t be.”

“You thought it was, though,” Smits says. “You were ten, fifteen feet away, and you believed it was her.”

“But it wasn’t.” My voice is firm. “It’s someone dressed to look like her. It was night, and I didn’t get the flashlight up in time, and I made a mistake.”

There’s a long silence before Smits says, “What do you know of your aunt’s financial situation?”

I look over sharply. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“This looks like her, Sam. Enough like her that I need to ask.”

“She doesn’t inherit this place if I fail. In fact, if I fail, she’s promised me money from her own inheritance, for my mother’s care. Not that I’d take it.”

I thud onto the sofa, outrage spiking through me.

“I have to investigate, Sam,” Smits says softly. “Your aunt is missing. There’s no sign of what happened except footprints by the water, but I’m really not convinced that ‘undertow’ is our answer.”

“It’s not,” Ben says.

“Thank you, Mr. Marine Biologist.”

“That would be a limnologist.”

“A what?”

“Person who specializes in the science of freshwater lakes.”

I take a deep breath. “You can feel free to investigate the possibility that my aunt faked her disappearance and is now appearing out of the water, looking like the drowned dead, to scare me off. Knock yourself out, Sheriff. But that isn’t her in that photo.”

“Did she say anything to you?” That’s Ben, earning him an “Et tu, Brutus?” glower from me. He lifts his hands. “I’m trying to figure this out. Just like you.”

“She said my name. Her voice was garbled, which could be proof it wasn’t really her. She reached for me and asked for my help.”

“Okay, so earlier, you thought Caleb might be behind this. That he temporarily took Gail captive to scare you into leaving. What if that was your aunt, in makeup that he made her wear. He threatened her, and she was trying to convey that to you by asking for help.”

“Sure,” Smits says. “She’s going to play along with her evil nephew’s scheme rather than just say ‘Help, Caleb is making me do this.’”

Ben glares at him. “I’m spitballing, okay? We have no idea what he could be holding over her. For all we know, he was there somewhere, with a rifle aimed at her. Or at Sam.”

“I will investigate all possibilities,” Smits says. “I have no idea what is happening right now, but I will find out. Until then, don’t go out at night, Sam.”

“But if we think it’s just Caleb—”

“No matter what,” he says, holding my gaze. “If you think you see your aunt, you send Ben to investigate. You do not go outside.”

“Is that safe for Ben?”

Ben opens his mouth, but Smits cuts in. “Fine. Mr. Vandergriff? If you see or hear anything—or Sam reports something—you will call me and get inside with Sam. Understood?”

I brace for a sarcastic reply, but Ben only says, “Understood.”

After that, Smits surveys the scene. I need to go out to show him the spots—and there are still a couple of hoofprints visible—but once he knows where to look, he sends me back inside with Ben to watch over me.

I retreat to my room after that. I’m not tired, but my brain is spinning, and I want to be alone.

Talking to Ben and Sheriff Smits, I felt as if I had everything figured out. Yes, I saw someone who looked drowned—hence the photo. Maybe it was Gail under duress. Maybe it was a stranger. But there was a logical explanation either way.

There. Sorted. My terrifying experience may not have been a nightmare, but I didn’t actually see my aunt’s drowned corpse rising from Lake Ontario. Because of course I didn’t.

But what about the headless horseman?

The sound could have been faked. The hoofprints could have been faked. But I saw an actual horse and rider.

A dead horse and rider.

A drowned horse and headless rider.

That had to be more fakery, right?

Extremely elaborate fakery.

Even without our grandfather’s inheritance, Caleb has money. Uncle Mark runs some kind of boring but profitable business, where Caleb works. He could hire actors with movie-quality costumes to pull this off.

I have seen nothing I can’t explain.

Except Austin.

I shake that off. There’s the sleepwalking nightmare. I have zero proof that I saw Austin, unlike the photo and hoofprints.

That part did not happen, and the rest is Caleb.

There. Everything neatly tied in a bow.

So why does my gut scream for me to get out of here as fast as I can?

Screams that it makes no sense that I saw my aunt in a “costume” matching the one I “dreamed” for Austin.

Screams that my aunt isn’t an unwilling actor in my cousin’s drama of cruelty.

That she’s dead. Drowned. Dragged into the lake by—

By what? A headless horseman?

Stop this.

Just stop.

There’s an explanation for it all, and Gail is fine.

She’s fine.