July 13, Saturday

All night my dreams were haunted by young women dying and being buried together in the Whisper Graveyard. They were all sitting on their gravestones, with their hands stretched out to me. Help us… or join us.

A loud bang! jarred me awake. Bright daylight streamed through my window. I'd overslept. My mind raced to identify the noise.

Bang!

My bedroom door jostled. Terror gripped my heart. Someone was in the hallway, trying to break down my door. Thank goodness I'd gotten into the habit of locking my door before I went to bed.

"Wh-Who's there?" I shouted.

Bang! The door rattled again.

I leapt out of bed and ran to my window to climb out onto the Juliet balcony. My heart pounded against my chest. I estimated the damage I'd endure when I jumped into the deep grass—if I didn't break both my legs, I'd probably be eaten alive by snakes. But both seemed less likely than being killed by whoever was intent on breaking down my bedroom door. I climbed to sit on the edge of the railing, trying to work up the nerve to jump. I heard a noise coming down the road and my heart soared to see Sawyer's black truck rolling up.

"Help!" I screamed, waving my arms. "Help me!"

The truck came to an abrupt halt in front of the house. Sawyer jumped out and ran toward the house. "Josephine! What's wrong?"

"Someone's in the house, trying to break down my bedroom door!"

He disappeared under the roof of the porch. I heard the distant sound of glass breaking. Inside, my bedroom door was still being viciously kicked—it couldn't withstand much more. My heart was in my throat when I realized Sawyer had to confront an angry intruder—he could be hurt, or worse. And crazily, my mind went to Rose Whisper—had she lost her life at the hands of an intruder?

I heard the pounding of feet as Sawyer ran up the stairs, and then….

Laughter?

The kicking abruptly stopped, and I could hear Sawyer's voice scolding someone. I frowned, confused. Then a knock on the door sounded.

"Josephine? It's okay. Open up."

I climbed off the railing and stepped back into the room, then fumbled to unlock the door. I opened it gingerly.

To find Sawyer holding back a hooved white furry animal with floppy ears. It opened its mouth and bleated at me.

"Your intruder," Sawyer said with some amusement, "is a goat."

I frowned. "How did it get into the house?"

"Good question. I'll take him downstairs and try to find out while you…" He looked me up and down and I realized I was wearing only a thin nightgown.

"Right," I said, then closed the door. I changed quickly into jeans and T-shirt, then pulled on sneakers and hurried downstairs. The kitchen had been ransacked. The refrigerator door stood open. Broken eggs and other food lay on the floor. Jars and baskets had been pulled off counters, chairs overturned. Sawyer was repairing the narrow door leading from the outside into the kitchen.

"He must've kicked in the lower panels," Sawyer said. "I added some reinforcement so it won't happen again. It's not pretty, but it's secure."

"Thank you," I murmured. "Where did the goat come from?"

"He belongs here. He must've gotten loose and just now found his way back."

I wet my lips. "You seem to know a lot about this place."

He shrugged. "When I was a teenager, I mowed the grass for the owners."

"That was Charles and Sophia?"

"You've been doing your homework. Yes, they lived here then."

"And Rose?"

Sawyer's expression darkened. "Yes. She lived here with her parents until they died."

"What happened to them?"

"Murder, suicide."

"I thought it was a car accident."

"They were in a car when it happened. Rose was in the back seat."

I winced. "That's awful."

He nodded. "Rose went to live with relatives in another state."

"But she came back?"

"About a year ago."

"How did she die? I know it was recent. Her headstone was delivered a couple of days ago."

"We're not sure," he said. "Suspected suicide… overdose."

I swallowed hard. "Where did it happen?"

"She was found in the graveyard."

"Found?"

He shifted from foot to foot. "I found her."

I gasped. "How terrible for you."

"Anything else you want to know?" he asked sharply.

I blinked.

"Sorry," he said quickly, pulling a hand over his mouth. "It just brings up bad memories." He gestured to the mess in the kitchen. "Do you need a hand cleaning this up?"

"No," I said, a little stung by his reaction to my questions.

"Okay, then, I'll try to find a rope to tie up your goat."

"He's not my goat," I protested.

He gave me a wry smile. "He is now."