“You said before that the reason people come here, the reason they want to make contact with dead people, is that they have questions they want answered. That’s why I came here today. Not to ask any ghosts or spirits or whatever, but to ask you, an actual living person, if you can help me figure out the truth about my mother.”

He lit his cigarette, took a drag, and watched the smoke that drifted out of his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least. “I can’t help you.”

“Okay,” Olive said. “Sorry to bother you.” She hopped down the steps and headed for Main Street, back toward the village, half thinking she’d see Mike hiding and waiting for her. But he was long gone. “Coward,” she muttered.

When she got to School Street, she turned and doubled back to the old inn, sneaking across people’s backyards. She came up behind the building and walked along the side until she was almost to the porch. She could hear Dicky pacing across the rotten floorboards. She peeked around the corner and saw he was on his phone.

“Well, her daughter was just here!”

Olive’s heart thumped hard in her chest.

“I don’t know,” Dicky said, agitated, practically shouting. “But she was asking questions. She knows something. I don’t know who she’s been talking to, but she knows Lori used to come here.”

Olive continued to watch, crouched down, peering around the corner. Dicky’s boot heels banged against the worn floorboards as he paced back and forth.

“I don’t think so. No. We need to meet again and figure out what we should do. All of us.”

He waited, listening.

“I know what we agreed to! I’m not a fucking idiot! Don’t give me this unsafe shit. Don’t you think we’re already unsafe?”

He listened again.

“Well, how much time do you need for that?”

He paced faster, boot heels clicking.

“Jesus! That’s too long. I’m telling you, this kid is suspicious and who knows who she’s been talking to.”

She heard his lighter flick, an inhalation, then smelled the sharp tang of cigarette smoke.

“Okay. Okay. I guess I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to trust you, but you better be right about all this. I’ll wait till then, but I’m not happy. Yes, the second Sunday in September. Yes, here, where the hell else? Okay. Yes. Same time as usual. Spread the word. Get everyone here. Everyone. And make sure you bring the diary!”

Olive pressed her back against the building, listened to the front door open with a jingle, then slam closed.

The second Sunday in September. She had to be here, to find a way to sneak in and hide. To see who was coming and what they were up to.

And what they might say about her mother.

CHAPTER 19

Helen

AUGUST 4, 2015