Page 21 of The House That Held Her

20

I keep casting sidelong glances at Shannon as she scrolls through her phone, tapping rapidly on the screen. We’re cruising down the interstate, headlights illuminating the dark road ahead. I can’t help noticing how she’s already lost in research—digging into whatever she can about Mount Dora and Penny Lark. And it makes my stomach churn, knowing I’ve barely scratched the surface of what’s really going on.

She must sense me staring because she suddenly stops typing and looks up. “Something on your mind?” she asks, her tone gentle, but her eyes razor-sharp.

I tighten my grip on the wheel. “I… I need to tell you something. Well, I need to tell you a lot of somethings. The real reason I was at Penny Lark’s in the first place. The real reason I’m in this mess.”

Shannon’s brow furrows, and she sets her phone on her lap. “Margot, you know you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just–” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Look, I never wanted to drag you into all this. I’m scared about how you’ll react—and more importantly, I’m scared of getting you mixed up in something dangerous.”

She crosses her arms, waiting. “Welp, I’m already here, so you might as well start spilling.”

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles whiten. “Okay. So… a few nights ago, when Hurricane Barbara came through, our main floor flooded. Nate had already left for DC. Water was everywhere. I was inspecting the floor trying to figure out where the leak was coming from when I found a floorboard that wasn’t nailed down like the rest.”

She stares at me, waiting for me to continue.

“When I pulled up the board, I found this black plastic film canister, like the kind we used to take to have developed. Inside that canister was a piece of paper–with a treasure map drawn on it.”

She blinks, obviously caught off guard. “A treasure map.”

I let out a weak laugh. “I know, it sounds insane, but it’s true. It was hand-drawn and had a stereotypical X near this body of water, with streets that looked a lot like Mount Dora. So I poked around a little, and I found it. I found the chest. I dug it up myself and everything. Then I paid a guy who runs a boat touring company to help me take it across the lake so I could get it into my car and bring it back to the house.”

Her face shifts from confusion to alarm. “Margot, wait–you dug up a chest–”

I push on, wanting to get it all out before I lose my train of thought. “Once I had it inside, I had to find the key; the chest had this big, thick lock on it. Long story short, I uncovered a hidden room behind a bookcase in the house and inside that room, I found the key that opened the lock. When I finally got it open…” I pause, feeling nauseous just thinking about it. “I found sixteen human skulls.”

Shannon’s mouth falls open, but she doesn’t speak, so I keep going. “I freaked out and went to the police. I told them what I had found, but when we got there, the skulls were gone. Not the chest; that was still there. But the skulls themselves, they had been removed.”

I feel a tear run down my face. “The cops didn’t believe me, of course, and I can’t fault them for that. But instead of considering the possibility that I could be telling the truth, they basically chalked it up to a hallucination. But I know it wasn’t a hallucination, I know what I saw, what I… smelled. And so, I figured if there were sixteen skulls, maybe there were sixteen missing people. That’s why I went hunting for missing-persons cases in Mount Dora. That’s how I found Michael Lark and ended up at Penny’s house.”

At first, she’s silent. Then the anger surfaces. “Are you—Margot, do you realize how dangerous this all is? You’ve been playing detective with potential serial murders, for God’s sake! You call me out here for a ‘missing persons case’ and then spring this on me?” Her voice rises, and she’s half-shouting. “What if something happened to you? Have you even thought about that? Nate would return and have no clue where you were or why you were in this mess at all!”

My chest tightens. “I know, I know. But Shannon, I didn’t go looking for this! I didn’t ask to find that map. But once I did, it felt like fate… like some sort of opportunity to… to do something with my life, to be valuable again. Even if for nothing but a silly treasure hunt. What else was I going to do in that house all alone? Ever since Lila, I–“

“Stop,” Shannon snaps, cutting me off. “You found actual human remains, Margot. You know approximately zero people in this fucking town, drawing all sorts of attention to yourself, have had multiple interactions with police already, and are a potential suspect in a murder case. And now I’m here, representing you, just learning about this right now!”

Tears prick my eyes. It had been a long time since Shannon yelled at me like this. “I’m sorry. I never meant to keep you in the dark. I wasn’t sure how to tell you. Once Chief Miller sprung the Penny Lark death on me, I knew I was officially in over my head. I’m so sorry.”

She presses a trembling hand against her forehead, exhaling hard. “Jesus, Margot.”

The car grows quiet except for the hum of the tires. My vision blurs with tears, and I blink them away. I know I screwed up. I know how badly I messed things up by not telling her.

After several heartbeats, Shannon’s voice softens. “Look, I’m furious and terrified and so worried for you. But I believe you. And I’m going to help you figure this out.” She shifts, turning to face me more directly. “But once we do, you’re coming back to Maryland with me. You hear me? I don’t care what’s going on with Nate or Hawthorn Manor or anyone else. You’re walking away from this town.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “Really? Just… pack up and leave? But I only just got here.”

She flicks me off. “Don’t test me. I’m more stubborn than you, and I’ll physically haul you out if I have to.”

Relief mingles with lingering fear, but at least I don’t feel alone anymore. Shannon’s always been the fiercest protector I’ve ever known. “All right,” I whisper. “Let’s get out of this mess. Then I’ll go with you.”

“Damn straight, you will” she replies.

I manage a small smile. “So, we need a plan. We don’t know what Marty knows—or if he’s involved—but he did leave Mount Dora. That’s got to mean something. Maybe he’s distant enough from it all that he’ll talk.”

Shannon nods, her gaze distant as if she’s mentally composing a strategy. “We start slow. Mention Hawthorn Manor, watch his reaction. If he’s out of the loop, he might still know stories about George Hawthorn from back then. And if he does know something big, we definitely don’t want him to clam up. We can’t spook him.”

I sigh, my grip tightening on the wheel. “Right. So, no immediate talk of… you know. The skulls.” My stomach flutters at the thought. “You think he’s part of it?”

She shakes her head, her expression conflicted. “Hard to say. If he left town, maybe it’s because he wanted no part in whatever’s happening. Or he might’ve seen something he shouldn’t have. Either way, we need to approach carefully.”

I nod, forcing myself to focus on the road. Despite the tension, having Shannon here steadies me. She always has a plan.

We finally spot the big box store, “Optimum Office Super Store,” looming right in the middle of a strip mall. It’s a huge, nondescript building with bright fluorescent letters on the sign hugged on either side by a discount furniture store and a fabric store.

After parking near the entrance, I take a moment to collect myself. “We can do this,” I whisper under my breath, more to convince myself than anything.

Inside, the buzz of overhead lights mixes with the sound of scanning registers. A young greeter offers a halfhearted welcome, which I barely register. Shannon and I head straight for the customer service desk, where a woman with vibrant red hair looks up from her computer.

“Can I help you?” she asks, smiling politely.

I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re looking for Marty Hughes. I believe he’s the manager?”

She picks up a phone and pages him over the intercom. A few moments later, a tall man with graying hair steps out from the back. His name tag confirms he’s Marty. He flashes a warm smile, coming over to greet us.

“Hi there, I’m Marty. What can I do for you ladies?”

My heart pounds. I remind myself to breathe. “Hi, Marty, I’m Margot, and this is Shannon. We’re hoping you may be willing to chat with us for a few minutes. My husband and I just recently moved to Florida from Maryland. We, uh–we bought Hawthorn Manor in Mount Dora.”

Marty’s friendly expression crumbles the moment I say “Hawthorn Manor.” His shoulders go rigid, eyes darting around like he’s worried someone might overhear. “Listen, I don’t know you,” he says in a tense whisper. “And I don’t want anything to do with Mount Dora or that house. You need to leave.”

I feel Shannon stiffen at my side. I take a tentative step forward, making my voice as gentle as possible. “Please, Marty… if you know something, anything, please. We’re not here to cause trouble.”

He shakes his head firmly. “No. I’ve been done with that place for years. I want nothing to do with it. I’m sorry, but you need to go.”

He steps out from behind the counter, guiding us toward the doors. My heart sinks, but desperation flares up inside me. Just before reaching the exit, I whirl around and pull out the old newspaper clipping Shannon found—the one with Amelia, George, Chief Miller, and Marty as kids, labeled “The Bugs.”

“Marty, please.” My voice trembles. “I know you were one of them. We don’t know who else to trust, but we do know something’s horribly wrong in Mount Dora.”

Marty’s eyes lock on the yellowed photograph. The color drains from his face, and his gaze turns glassy with tears. Slowly, he takes it from me, his hand shaking. “It’s been years since I’ve seen these faces,” he murmurs. He brushes a fingertip over the grainy images. I catch a glimpse of a wistful smile, quickly replaced by haunted worry.

Shannon edges closer. “We’re just looking for answers. We don’t want to drag you into any danger.”

Marty looks up, scanning the store once more. After a shaky breath, he mutters, “Follow me.”

He leads us down aisles of office chairs, folders, and printers. Eventually, he unlocks a door marked “Manager’s Office.” We slip inside, leaving the store’s bustle behind. The room is cramped, stacked with paperwork and cardboard boxes. Photos on the desk show a smiling family—a woman with warm eyes, two college-aged daughters, and a teen boy standing in front of a sailboat.

A flicker of pride and sadness passes over Marty’s face. “That’s my wife, Josie. My kids: Emma, Rachel, and Tyler. Emma’s at Florida State, Rachel’s at UF, and Tyler’s in med school at UCF. Everything I do– it’s for them.”

He glances at Shannon and me, his posture stiffening. “Which is why I’m telling you now: if I share anything with you, you keep my name out of it. My wife’s battling breast cancer, and my kids need me. I can’t afford to get pulled back into… whatever happens there.”

I nod, my voice hushed. “We understand. We won’t bring trouble to your door. I promise. Please, we need to know what’s really happening in Mount Dora.”

Marty seems to sag as if the weight on his shoulders is too heavy to carry. He lowers himself into the chair behind the desk and drags a hand over his face. Taking a deep breath, he begins to speak, his voice low and filled with a heavy sadness. "What you have to understand is, everything the Bugs did back then, it was all because of Dorothy Hawthorn.”