“W-well,” Lucas replied. “He’s purported to have a heart murmur because of the incident, but . . . that’s all hearsay. He’s never confirmed that.”

“What about the piano guy?” I asked him. “Wes mentioned a piano guy.”

Lucas sighed. “I guess you and your dad didn’t wonder too much over why there was still so much stuff in the house.”

I shrugged. Dad made a habit of swooping in to buy places that had gone into foreclosure, or from sellers who were eager to liquidate properties. That was one of the reasons why, so often, the homes came with extras—junk the previous owners couldn’t be bothered to clean out. Moldavia, in that respect, had been no different. Except, of course, that a lot of the antiques seemed as though they could have been original to the house. Including the piano.

“Someone tried to remove it,” I guessed. “And then what?”

“Heart attack,” Lucas replied. “Died on the spot. Left the property in a bag.”

I balled my hands into fists, shutting my eyes again—eyes that had gotten no sleep last night and might not again tonight. Because, in going to Lucas, the only thing I’d accomplished was making this all worse, just like Erik had said. And not just for myself.

“Then you know why you guys can’t come,” I said.

“If I can’t come,” he replied, his tone soft and, remarkably, unafraid, “then you can’t stay there.”

I looked up to him, a sad smile tugging at my lips. “So then are you going to tell my dad why we have to abandon his newest investment?”

“N-no,” he said, as he glanced away from me. “I’d like to still be allowed to see you.”

For a moment, the storm inside me calmed by a degree. The words “see you.” The way he’d said them. It suggested that he was pursuing me. But, again, the urge to ask about Charlotte rose within me. More than anything, I wanted to fast-forward to the moment when she wasn’t constantly hovering between us—just another ghost in a world that had, for me, become populated with far too many. But, in this moment, I had a bigger problem on my hands.

Frowning, I bit my lip, wanting to tell him about Erik now, too. But I was still hesitant to hand him that part of the puzzle. Because if Lucas learned any more about what was happening in my house, he’d insist on coming over with SPOoKy.

“What am I going to do?” I whispered, almost more to myself than Lucas.

“There is one thing . . .” he said.

I eyed him, reluctant. Because surely whatever his suggestion was, it would involve something that I’d already forbidden.

“I think I know someone who can help,” he replied. “Someone we can talk to who won’t need evidence. If . . . if it’s okay with you, I’ll try to contact him.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone being hurt because of the thing in my house. But if Lucas knew someone who might be able to do something . . . Well, that was better than any other alternative.