“No, I’m not,” I squeaked.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s—I’m Margot.” My voice betrayed me by quavering.

“Don’t move. I’m calling the police.” He stepped toward me, and I ducked back toward the wall. But he was only trying to get closer to the stairs so he could yell down to the first floor. “Mr. Albright! There’s an intruder here!”

Albright’s footsteps came quickly—it sounded like he was jogging—and he appeared at the top of the stairs moments later, his eyes wide with surprise.

“She was in Aggie’s room,” Barrett said.

“Oh, no, no—Barrett, you’re mistaken,” Mr. Albright said. To me, he said, “I’m so sorry, Margot. This is Barrett Sutton. Barrett, your parents had planned to talk to you about Margot when you got home, but since you’re here early, they obviously haven’t had the chance. I didn’t know she was home, or I would have said something.”

Barrett’s brow got even lower, his glower more pronounced. “And what exactly are you doing here?” He folded his arms across his chest. He wore a battered white polo shirt and knee-length light blue shorts with a torn hem. On his feet were leather loafers—boat shoes, I guess. They were bleached by the sun and salt water and the sole was peeling away from the leather. It was the kind of ratty outfit only an insanely rich person could feel comfortable wearing. He’d have been underdressed at Walmart.

“I live here,” I said.

He turned to Mr. Albright for clarification.

Mr. Albright sighed. “I’ll explain, Barrett. Why don’t you come downstairs?”

Wait, they were going to go and have a secret conversation about me? That didn’t seem fair. I felt a bit shocked myself, to be honest. Laura and John hadn’t even mentioned my existence to him? This prompted a number of unpleasant theories: Maybe they hadn’t thought it would work out. Maybe I’d done something to offend them.

Or maybe they didn’t tell him because they predicted—correctly—he’d be upset. That was definitely starting to seem like the most likely explanation.

“It’s fine, I’ll wait for Dad.” Barrett stared at me as if I were a household object that had come to life. “How long has she been here?”

At least he didn’t call me it.

“Three weeks,” I said, even though he hadn’t addressed the question to me.

“How long are you staying?” He seemed to resent having to speak to me. “And why were you going into Aggie’s room?”

“She lives in Agatha’s room,” Mr. Albright said.

Barrett stared at him, confused. “She does?”

“Yes,” Mr. Albright said. “And she’s here for the foreseeable future. She’s helping your mother with Agatha.”