Page 10 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

He exhaled with a sardonic look. “I’m not so sure.

Between the bizarre shape outside, the empty hallway door knocks, and everything else, we might be dealing with more than ghosts.

Or maybe nothing at all.” A wave of tension rippled through him; the manor’s atmosphere was certainly living up to its haunting rumors.

“But the Home Office wants us to see if there’s an actual murderer,” Amelia said, picking up the folded list Mrs Hughes had given her. “And if this is purely natural… at least we can confirm that.”

Finn dropped back into his seat, feeling the day’s events weigh on him. “We’ll look at these names tomorrow, see who might have had reason to be here after hours or to do something that spooked James.” He gestured at the list. “Anyone jump out?”

Amelia glanced over the sheet. “Donald, Mrs Hughes, Evan, Catherine, Marianne and the kids—those we’ve met. But there’s a handful of others we’ve yet to encounter.”

Finn nodded. “We’ll have to talk to James’s wife, Marianne, more thoroughly, as well as the children, though obviously they’re in mourning. And Catherine’s perspective might be crucial. She was around, or at least close by.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Amelia set the list aside, finishing the last few bites on her plate. “I’m about done. You ready to call it a night?”

His stomach felt content, but a small part of him resisted the idea of wandering these corridors alone. Still, the day’s fatigue tugged at him. “Yeah, let’s head up.”

They tidied their plates on the table, the remains of dinner left neatly for the staff.

Amelia stretched her arms overhead, stifling a yawn.

Together they left the sitting room, stepping into the corridor that led to the main staircase.

The manor’s nighttime hush pressed in around them once more, an odd hush broken only by their footsteps.

Halfway up the stairs, a wave of nostalgia for simpler cases washed over Finn. He stole a glance at Amelia, noting the faint bruise near her temple that refused to fully fade. She caught his look, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Everything okay?” she murmured, voice echoing softly in the lofty stairwell.

He mustered a wry grin. “Just glad you’re here, even if this place unsettles me a bit.”

She smirked, gently bumping his shoulder with hers. “Sure does beat falling through a floor, that’s for certain.”

They reached the landing. The corridor lights here flickered as though the wiring might be outdated. At last, they arrived at Finn’s bedroom door—his cozy chamber from the other night. The door stood closed, the antique knob polished to a dull shine. Finn paused, turning to Amelia.

“Care to come in?” he teased lightly. “At least so I can be sure a ghost doesn’t drag me under the bed.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m not sure being your girlfriend necessarily includes checking under the bed for monsters.” Then, in a gentler moment, she stepped forward, placed a light kiss on his lips. “But thanks for the invitation.”

A pleasant warmth spread through him. “Any time.”

Drawing back, she smoothed a hand along her blouse. “We need to be professional, though, right? We’re not on holiday. We’ve got an investigation to handle, and I’m sure if the Home Office caught wind of us being… Affectionate with each other around here, we’d be in a whole heap of trouble.”

“True,” Finn conceded, letting out a faint sigh.

“Good night, Finn,” she said, turning toward the corridor that branched off to her room. “Try not to conjure any poltergeists.”

He watched her slip away, footsteps fading until she disappeared around the bend. A fleeting pang of loneliness hit him, but he shrugged it off. They both needed rest for the day ahead.

Stepping into his bedroom, he closed the door behind him.

The room looked much as it had that first night: a cozy bed with thick blankets, a small writing desk near the window, and the same old fireplace, now unlit.

The only difference was the nighttime hush creeping through the window’s drawn curtains, amplifying every shift of wood or rattle of the old glass.

He flicked on the solitary lamp by the bedside, the faint glow revealing the large bed. The space was undeniably comfortable—warm colors, plush duvet, the faint floral scent of fresh linens. Yet a chill, perhaps from the old stone walls or the ghostly rumors swirling in his mind, made him shiver.

Dropping his jacket on the back of a chair, Finn glanced around, half-smiling at the thought of ghosts after everything he’d faced. He moved to the desk, where he’d left a few personal items. The old wood creaked under his palm.

“Ghosts? If you’re in here,” he whispered dryly, “keep the noise down. I’m exhausted.”

With that, he switched off the lamp, leaving only the corridor’s glow under the door seam.

He sank onto the bed, the mattress dipping comfortably beneath him.

Outside, the wind sighed through the Welsh countryside.

In the stillness, his mind churned with images: a dark shape crawling across the lawn, a frantic heart failing in a locked panic room, and the knock that led to an empty corridor.