Pumpkin Roll (17 page)

Pete had said they would talk about it in the morning, but they didn’t. The tension seemed brittle and the topic fragile in the morning light. Continued cloud cover threatened snow, revealing that the cold snap gripping New England was not letting go just yet. The events from last night seemed hard to believe now. If not for Pete having been there, Sadie might have wondered if she’d really seen anything at all. But he
had
been there, and by the lines between his eyebrows and the force of his smile, Sadie could tell the burden of it was sitting heavy on his shoulders.

Instead of discussing what had happened during the night, they were careful as they executed the morning routine: careful to appear normal, careful to stay on schedule, and careful not to give the boys anything to worry about. The boys, for their part, were whinier than usual, probably due to the late-night awakening, but they didn’t ask any questions—thank goodness, since Sadie and Pete had no answers.

Pete drove Kalan to school while Sadie combined ingredients in the slow cooker for dinner—Boston baked beans—and the boys got dressed, an activity that involved lots of laughing and yelling and a few half-naked chases through the house. The baked bean recipe was one of Heather’s Sadie had added to the week’s menu and grocery shopping list on Saturday. She’d been eager to see how it measured up against the bean recipe she made every Fourth of July—right away she was intrigued with the Worcestershire sauce and the variety of beans. She’d never cooked with butter beans before.

As she measured and stirred, she lined up the details of last night’s events—double-checking them in her mind to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. Once the ingredients were simmering, she found Pete’s notebook, flipped to a clean page and wrote down everything in a bulleted list. Pete came home and wrestled the other boys into coats, gloves, and hats before taking them outside to play in the backyard. It took Sadie three drafts of her list before she had the proper chronological order of events. She felt better about having it on paper, even if seeing the intricacies made it seem even harder to believe. Could one person do all of that with such expert execution? How could they not get caught with such intricate timing? What other explanations could there possibly be?

She was just finishing up when Pete came back in and asked if he could use her laptop—he’d keep an eye on the boys through the window—while Sadie showered and got ready for the day. Sadie didn’t like how it felt as though they were circling each other, and although she was eager to talk about last night, she handed him her laptop instead and took a long hot shower.

Once she was dressed, with her hair done and her makeup in place, Sadie felt ready to conquer the day. She returned to the kitchen to check on the beans and trailed her hand across Pete’s shoulder blades as he sat at the table. The boys were still outside; she was cold just thinking about it but assumed since they were running around they must be staying plenty warm.

“So,” she said, lifting the lid of the slow cooker and inhaling the sweet aroma.

“So,” Pete said, his back toward her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said as she stirred the beans. “We both agree it’s nothing supernatural, which means someone is working really hard to make us think that it is.” She paused. “I thought I heard a voice. Last night. When you were outside.”

Pete turned in his chair and gave her his full attention. “A voice?” he said—perfectly even, perfectly calm. Strangely, she found herself feeling an unexpected rush of defensiveness.

“When I went into the bedroom to get the candle,” she explained. “I thought someone called my name just before the door slammed shut. That’s what woke the boys.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“I wish I were,” Sadie said, frustrated that she didn’t have a definite opinion. “But my adrenaline was rushing, and it had been an overwhelming night.”

Pete nodded thoughtfully. Sadie continued. “Anyway, I made a list of the order things happened last night,” she said, retrieving the notebook from the counter and handing it to him. She pointed at the fourth line. “I think whomever we saw in the window shut off the power to the house via the power box on the outside of the house. My parents’ house had one, so I’m assuming this one does too, since it’s an older home.”

“It’s on the west side,” Pete said. “It’s not secured. I found it this morning.”

Sadie nodded, emboldened by having supposed correctly, and continued her hypothesis. “So, if they turned off the power and then came inside after you went
outside,
they could have flipped all the light switches on. There are only six rooms; it wouldn’t be hard. They could have come into my bedroom. My back would have been to the doorway when I was lighting the candle. They said my name and then slammed the door before hiding in the bathroom, or maybe in your bedroom. When you came back inside, they would have known you’d check on me and the boys, which would give them the chance to get out of the house. You heard something in the hallway, didn’t you? That’s why you shined the flashlight out there when we were in the boys’ room.”

Pete paused, but finally nodded. “I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A shadow maybe.”

“But you were more intent on making sure we were okay than following what you didn’t consider possible—that they could have come inside while you were doing the perimeter check.”

Pete looked at the timeline without commenting.

Sadie continued. “They got out of the house and turned the power back on.”

She could feel that Pete was trying to come up with an argument but when he looked up, there was the slightest look of resignation on his face. “There’s no way to tell if the power box had been tampered with. I checked it when I went outside. It’s not hard to turn off or on.”

Sadie felt the thrill of victory. He was agreeing with her, but she needed to hear him say it. “So you agree that what I’m suggesting is plausible?”

“But not probable,” Pete said, unable to give in so easily. “Everything would have to go perfectly, with precise timing. They would have been within a few feet of us much of the time and moving around without a sound.” He was hesitant to draw a conclusion, and Sadie let him continue processing for another thirty seconds, but her patience was wearing thin. If he could accept this possibility, then it gave them something solid to consider, to build on. He shook his head. “I don’t see how it could be possible.”

Oh, he was stubborn! “If not that, then the only explanation I can come up with is that there is something spectral going on.” She knew he was not open to that idea—neither was she—but she hoped presenting him with that alternative would encourage him to give her suggested chronology more consideration.

It worked. He straightened his shoulders and folded his arms. He looked her in the eye as though challenging her. “So assuming someone knew the exact layout of the house, orchestrated everything perfectly,
and
slipped out without us seeing them, who was it?” Pete asked.

“The only person I can think of is Mrs. Wapple,” Sadie said, though that wasn’t true. She took a breath and decided to lay it all out. “Or her sister, Gabrielle.”

“Why would her sister do this?”

Sadie hated being questioned by him, hated the detective-face that had taken over his features. “All I know is she’s determined not to listen to my concerns about Mrs. Wapple. Maybe she’s hiding something. Maybe there’s something about her sister she doesn’t want us to know and she’s trying to scare us away.”

“It’s like the plot of a stupid
Scooby-Doo
episode,” Pete said, pushing both hands through his hair.

Sadie tried not to be offended; she liked
Scooby-Doo
. At the same time, this wasn’t the first time the sleuthing dog and his friends had been brought into discussions about her mysteries. She didn’t appreciate the comparison, even if she found the cartoon relatively entertaining. It had been one of Breanna’s favorites, and Sadie had felt a renewed kinship to Velma over the last year.

“Except that leaving the hat in the hallway Monday night was more like an invitation than a skull-and-crossbones,” Sadie added, just to keep things complicated. “There’s no
Scooby-Doo
episode with that plot point in it.”

“So maybe Gabrielle is as crazy as her sister, but can play the part of a normal person better than her sister.”

“A psychopath?” Sadie asked, connecting the dots to the conversation they’d had Sunday night. She sat down in the chair across the table from him. “You’re more familiar with the characteristics than I am. Is there anything else about the sister that fits?”

“Justifying bad behavior,” Pete said reluctantly. “And psychopaths hate to be questioned because they assume whatever they do is right.”

“Gabrielle fits that,” Sadie said. “She refused to listen to my concerns about her sister but agreed to meet me before kicking me out.”

Pete nodded and stared at the tabletop, deep in thought. “Psychopaths often have a difficult time anticipating the consequences of their actions because they assume that they are too smart. The rules don’t apply to them, so why should they fear the punishments?”

“I could keep chasing her down, if I wanted to. Kicking me out of the hotel wasn’t the most effective way to get rid of me.”

“It’s impossible to diagnose a person based on such limited information,” Pete added. “It can take years, and a long behavioral history, before trained psychiatrists can determine psychopathic patterns.”

“We’re not diagnosing,” Sadie said with a shrug. “We’re just considering possibilities. And, quite frankly, Mrs. Wapple doesn’t really seem . . . capable. The sister’s the only other person involved in this situation, and she has not been reasonable to deal with on any level.”

Pete didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and when he did speak it wasn’t what Sadie was expecting to hear. “I’m going to call social services,” he said, pushing back from the table. “Whatever—
whoever
—is behind this might back off when we stop being involved and turn it over to people who can really do something for Mrs. Wapple. We’ll let them figure out what Mrs. Wapple or her sister is trying to hide. This is bigger than us, and we need to get out of it.”

Pete left the room, and Sadie kept her disappointment in his quick decision to herself. A moment later, she heard him shut the door to his bedroom. While waiting for Pete to return with an update, she alphabetized the canned vegetables in the pantry, and then decided to organize them by expiration date instead. She looked out the window every minute or so to make sure the boys were still playing, glad they were working out so much energy. A part of her wished she could do the same. She could feel her frustration building. Frustration with what had happened last night, frustration that the trip was going this direction, and even frustration toward Pete. She felt like he was leaving her out, or trying to protect her. Whatever his motive, he wasn’t sharing all his thoughts the way she was sharing hers. She didn’t like it.

Thirteen and a half minutes later, give or take a few seconds, Pete returned to the kitchen, notebook in hand.

“So?” she asked, meeting him in the middle of the tiny kitchen and looking at him expectantly.

He looked up as though surprised to see her there. “Oh, yeah, I talked to a case worker and gave them the information. They said they’d send someone over in the next few days.”

“Days?” Sadie said. “That’s too long.”

Pete shrugged, an entirely too casual gesture for Sadie right now. “The wheels of bureaucracy move slowly, especially in a big city like this. We already knew that would probably happen.”

“And you’re not bothered by that?” Sadie asked as her frustration broke through the surface. “This woman is sick, and she’s in pain. We’re just supposed to sit back and twiddle our thumbs?”

Pete’s jaw tightened, but he quickly reset his neutral expression as he tossed the notebook on the table. “We need to go somewhere for a few hours,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Get out of the house and clear our heads. Where should we go?”

“That’s it?” Sadie asked, not wanting to change the subject. “You’re not going to dialogue this with me?”

Pete blinked at her. “We’re trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense. It’s an exercise in futility.”

“And we’ll never make sense of them if you shrug your shoulders and pretend it didn’t happen.” She paused, not wanting to lose her temper. “Maybe we need to call the police about last night. Maybe they can help us make sense of things.”

“I
am
the police,” Pete said, sharply enough that Sadie startled a little. He must have heard the edge too, because he shook his head. “We’re not calling the police,” he said evenly. His jaw tightened again.

“You’re in the middle of this, Pete. They might be the objective perspective we need to figure this out.”

She was upsetting him and she watched his chest expand as he took a deep breath. He pointed out the kitchen window to where the boys were playing in the backyard and lowered his voice while taking a step toward her. He didn’t sound angry and the edge in his voice had softened, but his words were sincere. “I have three little boys I’m supposed to be taking care of, Sadie. My son’s children. And there is something really scary going on in their house. I don’t know what to do; I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if we should leave the house and go to a hotel, or if I should call Jared and tell him to come home.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the floor while shaking his head. He took a deep breath before meeting her eyes. “Calling the police about hats and lights going off and on will have them rolling their eyes. Nothing has been taken, no one’s been hurt or threatened, there is no proof of a crime, and things are just weird enough to make us look like a bunch of overzealous hicks caught up in pre-Halloween fantasies.” He stopped for a breath. “More important than that, however, is that at some point Jared and Heather
are
going to come home, and I’ll need to tell them what’s going on—and I have no idea what that is. You want to discuss every possibility, but I don’t see anything that makes sense. I can’t believe something paranormal is happening, but I can’t believe anyone would set this up either. I just don’t know, okay? I don’t know. And that’s the scariest thing that could ever happen to me.”