Page 197 of The Right Wrong Promise

I nod to myself as I step outside and—

Holy crap!

The wind slaps my face, whipping my hair into my eyes. I struggle to brush it back with my fingers so I can see straight.

The lake sounds rough tonight, slapping the shore. A blanket of clouds drift in like stampeding elephants.

Ugh.

Hopefully their flight isn’t delayed.

Of course, the kids’ safety comes first, but it would really suck if they get tied up at the airport waiting half the night while I’m stuck here alone.

For now, let’s not think about it.

Besides, for all I know, the storm is localized and might just graze Bar Harbor.

I ignore the pulsing anxiety as I walk down to the site of the burned gazebo and the old storm shelter before the rain starts pounding.

Since it’s been opened before, I’m able to yank the doors wide enough to stare down into the darkness.

They creak like a coffin.

Silly.

It’s only scarier now because I’m here alone.

But I have my phone.

I might as well take a quick look.

With one hand braced against the wall, I descend the steps one at a time.

They’re steep, but sturdy, and soon I’m at the bottom without breaking my neck.

The same stale scent I noticed before rubs my lungs and I try not to cough. This place needs to be left open one day to air out.

I swing the light around, taking in the old clay pottery figures of my grandparents, half-finished, and all those little shoes on the table.

Why did he leave them like this?

Did Gramps ever come down here much after she died? After the fire?

If he didn’t, that would explain the staleness, I guess.

I swear there’s a hint of scorched smoke, but it might be my imagination.

Turning the corner to the back wall, behind the stairs, I shine the flashlight on the stained glass.

It’s so pretty. The colors glint vividly in the light.

As I admire it, I notice something behind the glass, just a dull blurry shadow.

There must be something inside that cabinet.

I can’t tell what it is when I get closer, pointing the beam at the tinted window.

Another painting, maybe? A book? With a small round rock on top of it?