Chapter 9

A long night. A long, long, terrible night.

It went about like you'd expect. Deputies came. I was put in the back of a patrol car. More deputies came. A deputy took an initial statement. Even more deputies came. And then the sheriff came.

I kept my discovery of the bracelet to myself. I still wasn't ready to think about what that meant.

Deputy Bobby didn't come. In the intervals when I wasn't being questioned, I told myself it was because he was off duty. He probably didn't even know. And, of course, he wasn't really my friend—he was someone I knew, one of the few people I knew, and he'd been kind enough to give me a ride home.

I had to give my statement multiple times, and the sheriff had a lot of questions. I answered them as best I could, giving an accounting of my day, everything from when I'd woken up to when I'd found Mr. Huggins. I had witnesses who could place me at the library and at the Otter Slide, but I wasn't sure about the rest of the day. When the questioning became more intensive—when the sheriff wanted to take me to the station, when he wanted to talk about the inheritance—I asked if I was under arrest and said the magic word: lawyer. And then I did it again. And then again. And finally, after saying a lot of words you can't say on TV, the sheriff told me to get out of there because I made him sick, etc.

I checked my room for secret passages, moved my impromptu barricades into place, and fell asleep as soon as I hit the mattress.

When I woke, sunlight was streaming in through the window, and for a moment, I thought I was back home. It would be another bright, beautiful (hot) summer day in Providence. Hugo would already be up. He'd already have exercised. He'd already have done his writing. He'd have coffee for me, and he'd want to talk while I ate a Pop-Tart (okay, two—sue me). For a moment, it was all real. And I thought maybe I'd been wrong. I thought maybe I'd been happy.

Then reality came back to me in the form of a massive, canopied bed and what I thought might be a Chippendale tallboy pushed up against the bathroom door. Vivienne's murder. The scene with Pippi. That weird, ugly end to my conversation with Deputy Bobby. Poor Mr. Huggins. And then the hours of interrogation by the deputies and sheriff. A dull throbbing at the back of my head suggested I sleep for approximately another week, but somehow I got myself out of bed. I moved the furniture back into place. And then I got ready for the day.

After a shower and some vigorous toothbrushing (teethbrushing?), I felt marginally human again. I found a Fortnite tee with a provocative banana on it, and then—because Dashiell Dawson Dane eventually figures things out, no matter how stupid he may seem to the untrained eye—I checked the weather. The day was bright and sunny. Light sparkled on the waves. No rain, no clouds, no mist, no gloom. Definitely shorts weather. I added a pair of low-top Chucks. This was what I had imagined an Oregon summer would be like: perfection.

I made my way down to the kitchen, considering the possibility that, since Vivienne was no longer technically employing Indira, I might have to start fending for myself. (And honestly, the thought of messing up a batch of scrambled eggs was significantly less terrifying than Indira.) But when I got to the kitchen, there was a foil-wrapped plate on the counter with a sticky note that said DASH. Next to it, I found a jar of preserves that—oh my God. They were huckleberry. I removed the foil and found a stack of johnnycakes. Buttered johnnycakes. Buttered, golden, perfectly crispy and soft johnnycakes. And they were still somehow, miraculously, warm.

I devoured them. And the huckleberry preserves. And a couple of glasses of milk from the fridge. And a lot of coffee. At the kitchen counter, yes, because sitting down would have meant taking a break from stuffing my cornhole with johnnycakes.

I wasn't sure when Keme got there; he just seemed to be there all of a sudden, standing in the doorway to the servants' dining room. He was barefoot, in board shorts, and vanishing inside a Quiksilver hoodie. His long dark hair was pulled back, and it exposed the lines of his face, making him look older.

"Uh, hi." I wiped huckleberry jam from the corner of my mouth. "Sorry. I know there's probably some lion-meets-wildebeest energy going on right now, but I was starving—"

He turned and left. A few moments later, voices picked up in the distance, and then, to my surprise, laughter.

I followed the sound into the servants' dining room. Nobody was there, but the door to the cellar stood open, and a fresh wave of laughter floated up. Indira, Fox, and Millie. I hesitated a moment at the threshold. They wouldn't want to talk to me, not now. One murder, they could politely look the other way, but two...

But the reality was that I needed to talk to them. I needed to know if anyone had seen anything strange around Hemlock House the day before. (For example, it would be ideal if someone had seen Mr. Huggins getting murdered.) And I wanted to know if they'd ever heard Vivienne talk about changing her will, or well, how I might suddenly be the owner of what had to be millions of dollars' worth of property.

The steps down to the cellar were narrow, and the treads looked like they'd been cut by hand. The finished plaster gave way to a stone foundation, and the air took on familiar scents of sunless places and chill earth, in a way that made me think of turning over a rock in spring or, maybe more aptly, a cave. When I reached the bottom, I took in my surroundings: the room wasn't large, and there was no suggestion that the cellar was like a modern basement. It was small, and it clearly had been intended for function: storing fruits and vegetables, I guessed, when the house had first been built. Old wooden shelves stood in rows, with narrow aisles between them, and they were lined with jars of pickles and bags of dried peas and what looked like canned chicken from Costco.

"DASH!"

A supersonic hug (with a tiny human behind it) collided with me a moment later.

"Oh my God, are you okay? He's okay, everyone. You are okay, aren't you? We were so worried!"

They didn't look particularly worried. Indira was transferring jars of preserves from a basket between her feet to the shelves. Keme perched on a wooden box, glowering at me. And Fox lay on the ground, arms and legs akimbo.

"I'm fine," I said. "A little tired; it was another long night."

"We should just run away," Fox moaned. "We should start new lives in Mexico."

"They're having a crisis of artistic vision," Indira told us.

"I'll never make anything beautiful again. It's over. It never even began. I've spent my entire life bilking people out of their money for junk. Why isn't there any cake in this basement?"

"Did you eat?" Indira asked. "I left something for you."

There was something in the tone, and Millie looked at Keme, and the two of them burst out laughing. I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what they'd been laughing about before I came down here.

"I did," I said, and I surprised myself with a grin. "The johnnycakes were delicious. Keme saw—it wasn't my cutest moment."

The amusement on Keme's face died, and he scowled at me again. It was so different from how he looked at everyone else. The boy didn't talk much (I'd never heard him say a word), but the longer I spent around him, the more I realized how expressive his face was. I'd seen chagrin and annoyance and comfort on his face, at different moments, when Indira talked. When Fox spoke, there was usually an underlying current of amusement. And I would have had to be blind to miss how he felt about Millie. But for me (unless he was laughing) there was only this…well, the best word was hostility.

"Keme, I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I feel like I might have offended you or upset you somehow. I really am sorry—if there's some way I can make it right, I hope you'll let me know."

I got nothing in return but the glare.

After a moment, Indira sighed and reached over to smooth down Keme's hair. He yanked his head away and turned the look on her.

"Don't give me that," Indira said in a quiet voice. "We talked about this."

The contest of wills lasted a few heartbeats. Keme broke first, looking down at the floor. When he brought his eyes up, he gave me a mocking smile and threw a shaka. Indira sighed again, but she went back to working on the preserves.

"Cool," I said and threw a pretty weak shaka of my own. It only made Keme roll his eyes and look away, but some of the charge in the moment seemed to have faded.

"Fox," Indira said, "get up or I'm going to step on you."

"I deserve to be stepped on. I'm nothing but life's welcome mat, with a million different tourists wiping their feet on me."

"I'll help you up," Millie offered.

"Thank God," Fox said. "There's a good girl."

As Millie got Fox upright, Indira said, "I ought to make you and Keme put these away."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Fox said, although the injured dignity of the comment was weakened, somewhat, by the fact that they were stealing a Snickers from a box of assorted candy bars.

"Don't think I haven't noticed food going missing," Indira said, looking over her shoulder first at Fox and then at Keme. "If you want something, just ask."

Keme widened his eyes; his face was full of an outrage that, for a moment, made him look like a child again. I'd seen that look on the faces of some of the eighteen-year-olds I'd taught.

Indira, though, was unfazed. "I'm serious. Fox, one Snickers; don't take anything else."

"I was looking at it," Fox said, letting a Butterfingers slither back into the box. When Indira wasn't looking, though, they grabbed the Butterfingers again and tossed it to Keme. The boy caught it and made it disappear inside the hoodie.

Indira, with her back to them, just sighed and shook her head. Millie was trying to hide a smile.

"Oh," I said, "speaking of things going missing. I don't suppose you know who has keys to Hemlock House?"

Indira gave me a quick, assessing look. "As far as I know, Vivienne was the only one with a complete set. But the sheriff took her keys. I have a key to the back door—it works on the side door as well, I suppose, although I don't come in that way often. And I have keys to the coach house. Why?"

"I guess it doesn't really matter, but I think somebody went through my stuff. Again, I mean. After the deputies finished their search. But since I don't have a key, I've been leaving the house unlocked, so somebody could have come inside whenever they wanted."

Indira traded a look with Fox, and when she spoke, she sounded troubled, "I haven't seen anyone, Dash. I certainly wouldn't have let someone wander through the house."

"Maybe it was the deputies again."

"I didn't see any deputies."

"Maybe they came while you were in the coach house. Or if you went for a walk or something."

"Maybe," Indira said, but she didn't sound convinced.

"Maybe it's a GHOST!" Millie said.

In the midst of unwrapping their Snickers, Fox winced. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

"I saw a ghost once," Millie said. "At the shipwreck!"

Fox didn't argue, but their face said what they thought of the story.

"And Hemlock House has lots of ghosts. There's Swingin' Susan, and there's the Bird Man, and Princess Margaret—" She was ticking them off on her fingers and then her face lit up. "Oh! And Adolpha the She-Wolf!"

"That seems like a lot of—" I began.

"Of course, silly. To guard the treasure. There's Black Bart and the Mutineer and Lord Livingstone in Chains."

She was close to running out of fingers, so I tried again, "How can one house have—"

"Oscar, the one in the hunting accident, and Oscar Two, he's the one who got his head bashed in after he stole a dinghy, and the Daughters of the Sea. And—"

Keme made an annoyed noise. Fox rolled their eyes.

"The best one of all, Emmeline Grace, the Walking Widow."

"Don't most widows walk?" I asked.

"Yes, but she MOANS while she walks." Millie's words had gale-force excitement. "You can see her on the widow's walk at night sometimes."

Millie was clearly waiting for some kind of reaction, so I said, "Oh. Cool."

Keme made sure I saw him roll his eyes.

"No more talk about ghosts," Indira said. "Dash has dealt with enough death lately." She gave me another considering look. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I honestly don't know. I'm functioning. I guess the complete nervous breakdown comes later."

"You're not going to have a breakdown," Fox said. "I'm going to have a breakdown because I've lived my entire life leaning on the crutch of my artistic genius, and now my world is crumbling."

"It's not all bad," Millie said. "I mean, I'm sorry for poor Mr. Huggins and, of course, for Vivienne. But Dash owns Hemlock House now! That means we can all stay and nothing has to change!"

The information clearly wasn't news—I guessed that Millie had told them about Pippi's revelation as soon as she got here, although it was possible they'd heard it from someone else in town. But the rest of Millie's statement caught me off guard. I hadn't considered how their lives would change after Vivienne's death. Indira would have to find a new job and a new home. Fox would be at the mercy of the new owner to complete their artistic project (I wanted to say it was something with wallpaper, but that conversation seemed eons ago). If Indira moved far away, Keme would lose the one person he seemed truly connected to. And Millie—well, Millie would be fine (she'd listed a large family, as I recalled), but she'd lose her friends.

"I think it's a bit more complicated than that," Indira said gently.

"It's a mare's nest," Fox said. "And we don't even know if he really owns the place. Do you?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't know how it could be possible. It's not like I bought the place—I would have remembered that, trust me."

Indira and Fox shared another of those looks. Indira spoke first. "Did Vivienne say anything about it?"

"Nothing. I started thinking that maybe I'd gotten some papers mixed up—she told me there was a fair amount of paperwork before I could start my job—but then I realized I never signed anything. We were going to sign the paperwork when Mr. Huggins showed up, and then I didn't see Vivienne again until—" I stopped myself, but the unsaid words hung in the air.

"She never said anything to me about her will," Indira said. "Or about Hemlock House. I don't mean to offend you, Dash, but I didn't get the impression that she knew you well or had any particular fondness for you. When she mentioned you, it all seemed professional."

"No, that makes sense. We didn't know each other."

Fox chewed slowly. "A beneficiary deed, maybe. The property transfers to you upon her death, and it doesn't have to go through probate like the rest of the estate. Although having it processed by the recorder of deeds—well, that seems like a snappy turnaround."

I tried to choose my words carefully. "I got the impression from the deputies—"

"You mean Bobby," Millie said. "Indira saw him drive you home last night."

Heat rushed into my face.

"And we decided you two are super cute together. Well, Fox and I decided."

"He has a boyfriend," I said.

"That's what Indira said, but Fox said—"

"What did Deputy Mai tell you?" Indira asked.

"Uh, I mean, he didn't tell me, but he kind of suggested that if the will and the deed had been manipulated, the most likely person would have been Mr. Huggins."

"That makes sense, in a weird way," Fox said. "Use the will and the deed to misdirect. Everyone is looking at you, assuming you killed Vivienne because she made you her heir."

"Pippi's version of events."

"Meanwhile, Mr. Huggins gets away with murder and with stealing all of Vivienne's money."

"Wait, what?"

"Vivienne was broke." With exaggerated innocence, Fox asked, "I didn't mention that?"

"Fox," Indira said, and she sounded like my mom when she was losing her patience.

"Tell us, tell us, tell us," Millie said.

Keme even leaned forward on the box, clearly ready to capture every word.

"It took some time actually going through Vivienne's records because she's been shuffling money from one account to another—trying to keep all the balls in the air, I guess, and paying these bills with that money while she waits for royalties to show up in that account. That kind of thing. So, there are a lot of transfers, a lot of fluctuating balances. But she's broke. She's got nothing. I mean, she was barely paying her bills."

"That doesn't make any sense," I said. "She has to have tons of money. The TV show, the books, all those real-life cases she helped solve."

"But she doesn't," Fox said. "It's gone."

"Mr. Huggins stole it," Indira said thoughtfully.

"Well, that's an assumption. But somebody stole it, and I think Mr. Huggins might have done it."

"I never liked him," Millie said. "He cornered me in the dining room one time, and his breath smelled like liver."

Keme sat bolt upright on the box, his whole body stiffening.

"He and Vivienne had an argument, I think." I tried to think back to that night. "They were in her study all day, remember? And I woke up that night when Mr. Huggins left. He slammed the door. You know how you can just tell someone's angry?"

"HE KILLED VIVIENNE!"

After we'd all recovered from the flash-bang effect of Millie's pronouncement, I said, "I don't know. If he did, I don't know how we could prove it—remember, Vivienne's study was locked from the inside, and the only way in or out was through my bedroom."

"The only way that we know of," Indira said. "Couldn't there be another secret passage? Or—wait. Maybe Mr. Huggins lowered himself from the sleeping porch—it extends off of Vivienne's study. He crawled down, and then he came inside quietly, and then he left again, this time slamming the door so that you'd be sure to hear him leave."

Millie's face was alive with excitement. "Or a NINJA! A ninja could have gotten into Vivienne's bedroom through the sleeping porch, and then he'd leave again the same way, and nobody would ever know."

"Not unless they happened to randomly guess a ninja," Fox said drily.

I opened my mouth—the explanations didn't feel right, for a few simple reasons: first, climbing up and down from the sleeping porch was clearly beyond Mr. Huggins's physical capabilities; second, the sheriff had said all the doors were locked, and I assumed that included the door to the sleeping porch; and three, I was (almost) a hundred percent certain zero ninjas were involved in this murder.

Before I could voice any of that, though, I caught a look at Keme's face: the transparent frustration on it, the hint of—well, I wanted to call it panic. He was shifting restlessly on the box, rubbing his hands on his knees.

"You thought of something," I said.

For an instant, he looked at me with gratitude. Then he held up two fingers.

"Two?" Indira said. "There were two people—"

"TWO MURDERS!" Millie sprinted across the cellar to squeeze Keme in a hug. "He's right! Mr. Huggins got murdered too!"

Which, yes, was a very good point, and one that we'd apparently all lost track of after the revelation about Vivienne's finances.

"Quite right," Fox murmured.

"Excellent point, Keme," Indira said.

"Okay," I said with a grin, "now I feel like an idiot. Thank God you're here."

To my surprise, Keme gave me a hesitant smile in answer. It folded almost immediately, but it had been there, and it had been real.

"So, what does that mean?" I asked. "I think we're on the right track—the sheriff's office seems to think so, too. I mean about Mr. Huggins and the money. There's definitely something suspicious there, and I didn't imagine that argument between Vivienne and Mr. Huggins before she died. But Keme's right. Someone killed both of them. Why?"

"To conceal their ill-gotten gain," Fox said. They were sidling toward the box of candy bars again, but they stopped when Indira gave them a look. "I think we're right to assume that Mr. Huggins was involved somehow. But let's be honest: we—" He indicated the four of them. "—knew Adrian Huggins, and that man's cheese, as the saying goes, done slid off his cracker."

I blinked.

"He wasn't very smart," Indira clarified. "I can't imagine he was a very good lawyer, and I have no idea why Vivienne used him—and apparently trusted him—for all these years."

"Because she liked people she could boss around," Millie said. Then she gasped and covered her mouth. Through her fingers she mumbled, "I didn't mean to say that."

"What do you mean?"

"No, I shouldn't have said that! Ms. Carver was so nice to give me a job!"

But Fox was giving Millie a strangely assessing look, as though they were seeing her for the first time. "No, that's right. Vivienne liked being the one with the upper hand in a relationship. She certainly did with Mr. Huggins; he jumped when she said jump—even if it was straight off a cliff." Fox grimaced. "God, that's not what I meant."

Indira ran fingers through her hair; that witch-streak of white caught the light. In a strained voice, she said, "She liked that I was reliant on her. She never said it, but I could tell. It came out in little ways."

I thought I could see the edges of what they were describing. Fox, with their dreams and visions and despair; Indira with her need for a home; Millie, who only wanted to be taken seriously; and me. I fit the pattern too. I needed work. I needed help. I would have been another baby bird in Vivienne's nest. Was that why she had been so quick to hire me? Because she knew I needed her more than she needed me?

I tried to bring my thoughts back to the conversation. "You think Mr. Huggins helped someone else steal the money?"

Fox spread their hands. "I think somebody has that money. Whether Mr. Huggins had a partner in crime or he was a patsy or he was simply someone's tool, well, that's harder to tell."

"It might not be the money." Indira had mussed her hair without seeming to realize it, and it gave the witchy vibes an extra spark. "It might be hate. Or love. Someone who needed Vivienne the way we all did. Someone who hated needing her. And hated Mr. Huggins too."

"What about Pippi?" I asked. "What about that manuscript?"

No one seemed to know what to say to that.

After a moment, Fox said, "What I wouldn't give to see Mr. Huggins's finances."

It took me a beat too long to realize what had happened. Millie was looking at me with untrammeled excitement. Indira was looking at me in sympathy. Keme was looking at me like he knew that somehow I was going to screw everything up. And Fox was looking at me like they meant to shove me out of a plane at ten thousand feet.

"Hold on a minute," I said. "Why does it have to be me?"