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  The black-haired girl shrugged. “I don’t know, but a few girls have reported hearing drumming noises coming from the woods, and others have spotted . . . horns on walks around the property.”

  Kandace resisted rolling her eyes. “So we’re not always kept on leashes?”

  “The better your behavior, the more privileges you receive.”

  “Of course,” she muttered. Just like any proper prison. She moved the clothes aside and sat down, the metal bedsprings squeaking. She sized up the girls, wondering if they were trustworthy or not then decided to risk it. “I’m Kandace Thompson, seventeen, from Los Angeles. I’m here because, according to my mother, and several judges, I’m a substance abuser and a thief. I flunked out of the sixth school my mother forced me into, and Lilith House is my last chance to straighten up, or I receive jail time for my most recent crime of stealing my latest stepfather’s Lamborghini, taking it on a joyride while high on ecstasy—that I purchased by pawning several pieces of my mother’s jewelry—totaling the car, and almost killing an eighty-year-old pedestrian. In my defense, that old lady came out of nowhere and was so hunched over, she barely appeared above my windshield.”

  Neither girl looked particularly impressed, which meant she was in good company. Unless they’d been broken in or rather broken down. The girls seemed so . . . meek. That will never be me.

  “Who are you and what are you in for?” Kandace asked.

  The red-headed girl spoke first. “I’m Aurora Duncan. I’m sixteen, from Arkansas. I got here three months ago. I’m a chronic cutter.” She lifted her nightgown where seemingly hundreds of short red scars crisscrossed her milky thighs. “I’m self-destructive, socially awkward, and a rebellious academic failure, to name just a few.”

  “Wow. You sound like a royal mess.”

  “The mess part? Yeah.” Aurora pulled her nightgown back down and drew her legs to her chest.

  “How long are you here for?”

  “Until I show improvement.”

  Kandace’s eyes widened. “No specific end date? Wow, that’s rough.”

  The girl nodded. “Some girls stay here for years. I’m pretty sure my parents would be just as happy if I never returned at all.”

  “I relate. My mother’s latest husband is a judge and they’re both worried sick that I’m going to publicly humiliate him and ruin his chances for re-election.” She picked at a hangnail for a minute. “They sent me here as much to reform me as to hide me away.” Kandace paused for a moment and then looked to the other girl. “And you?”

  “I’m Sydney Dennison. I got here a few weeks after Aurora. I’m seventeen, from San Diego. Drugs, alcohol, chronic sexual promiscuity, general lowlife behavior.”

  “Nice.” It seemed Kandace wasn’t the only lowlife, after all. She leaned back on her elbows. “So . . . no one’s ever reported this place? At the very least, seems like an animal cruelty charge would stick.”

  Sydney shrugged. “If they have, no one’s believed them. We’re not exactly . . . trustworthy people.”

  The truth of that statement trickled down Kandace’s spine like a slow drip of ice-cold water. Damn, that truth hurt. Of course, Sydney was right. “No,” Kandace murmured. “I get it. My mother wouldn’t believe me at this point if I said the sky was blue. If I told her what happened when I got here, she’d say I was lying because they took my drugs.” And truthfully? That was far from beneath her. She’d done a lot worse than that.

  Aurora lowered her feet to the floor. “You brought drugs in?” She shook her head. “You’re on her radar then. Fly low.”

  Kandace sat up too. “It’s not like she can do us actual harm. That would leave marks, evidence.”

  The girls exchanged a look. “Like we said, we haven’t been here long so we don’t know if it’s true. But there are rumors . . . they do things that will heal before we leave or that make it look like we did them to ourselves. Ms. Wykes’s trained dog is only too happy to carry out her sadistic punishments. That’s what we’ve heard anyway. And sometimes there are . . . screams and then one of the girls is absent from class for a couple of days. When she comes back, you can tell she’s been smacked around.”

  “Seriously? Jasper?”

  They both nodded. “Another student told us about this girl named Beth who got sent home right before we arrived. Apparently, she was making trouble about something, and then all of a sudden, she was found in her room, having overdosed.”

  “She smuggled drugs in too?”

  “That’s the thing. We all know no one smuggles drugs in here. But they put out a story that she’d had someone secretly meet her on the property and that person had supplied her. Addicts will be addicts, and all that. Sneaky bastards who go to great lengths to get a fix.”

  The sad thing is, Kandace thought, that’s the truth.

  Another wave of coldness moved through her. And it very suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she wasn’t as tough as she’d made herself believe. Perhaps, instead, what she’d done was turn herself into the perfect victim.

  Just like every single one of the girls here at Lilith House.

  “She didn’t even bother telling anyone the truth later,” Kandace guessed. “Because no one would have believed her.”

  “Probably,” Aurora said. “Or maybe she was so happy to be home that she did whatever she had to do not to be sent back here.”

  “Do you know what she was making trouble over?”

  The girls glanced at each other. “She said someone had molested her.”

  “Molested her? Who?”

  Aurora shook her head. “She didn’t know. She just said she could tell.”

  Kandace raised an eyebrow. “And we’re sure she really wasn’t on drugs?”

  Aurora shrugged. “I wouldn’t stake my life on it or anything.”

  The lights in the room suddenly went out. “Damn,” Sydney whispered.

  “Why did the lights go out?” Kandace whispered back.

  “They shut off the lights at nine o’clock. Our bedtime. There’s a nightlight in the bathroom if you need it.”

  What the actual fuck? Nine?

  “I don’t even have a toothbrush. They took all my things.”

  “There’s a clear cosmetic bag on the sink for you,” Sydney whispered again. “Just the basics. We’re not allowed makeup or lotion or anything like that.”

  “Right,” Kandace muttered, her hand going to the back of her shorn hair. “Vanity will not be tolerated. Ashy skin all around.”

  The squeak of bedsprings suggested that both girls had turned over to sleep. She sat there in the dark, leaning toward the wall cautiously, a chill sweeping through her. Whispers. Coming from within the walls. One, then another. No. Just the wind outside, she told herself, or some strange acoustics in this old house that causes voices to carry from one floor to the next. Yes, it had to be one of those two things. Even so, as Kandace’s eyes adjusted to the dark and the unfamiliar features of the room shifted into focus, that chill remained.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A loud knock echoed from below and Scarlett frowned, standing upright from where she’d been scraping wallpaper off the lower portion of a wall in a hallway in the west wing and wiping her hands down her thighs. She used her forearm to smooth the sweaty pieces of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail away from her face and headed toward the front door.

  When she pulled it open, Deputy West was standing there, holding a box in his hands. Her brow lowered and she eyed him warily. “Deputy West. Hi. What brings you out here?”

  “I appreciated your offer to come and go as I please,” he said, a note of dry humor in his voice. “But I thought it better that I knock and, you know, give some fair warning that you have company.”

  She squinted one eye at him. Huh. So the guy wasn’t the humorless stick in the mud she’d originally thought him to be. “I appreciate that.” She used her arm to indicate her sweaty, messy hair, and her face she was pretty dang sure had dirt smudged on it, b
aggy ripped jeans and old, stained T-shirt. “Gave me just enough time to put on my finest.”

  He grinned and she smiled back, and for a moment, time stilled. Scarlett’s heart kicked up but then so did her unease. No, she cautioned herself. Don’t even go there.

  The deputy seemed to read her discomfort because he cleared his throat and looked away, holding something up. “Uh, I brought something by. I was going to install it, with your permission of course.”

  She looked at the box he was holding, reading the print. “A security front door lock set?” She met his eyes, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Why?”

  He looked to the side, squinting into the trees for a moment and then back at her. “Listen, this place has been empty for a long time. Kids use it for any number of things. Entertainment. A crash pad. I’ve made it a habit to drive by and make sure nothing dangerous or illegal was happening, which is why I was here the other day. If I didn’t know someone had moved in, others won’t either. I’ll install it.”

  Scarlett leaned a hip on the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Seems like a pretty excessive welcome to the neighborhood gift. Is this a service Farrow provides all its new residents?”

  “No, but it’s not only for you. It’ll save me the work of having to make a report when some stoned kid tries to enter without knocking and scares you and your little girl.”

  Scarlett chewed at her lip, glancing at the box again. “All right. But I insist on paying for the lock set. It looks expensive.”

  “No need. My friend’s dad owns the hardware store. He’s the one who picked it out. He has better taste than I do. Anyway, friend discount. I practically got it for free.” Scarlett eyed the beautiful aged brass set on the photo. It was simple, yet elegant, and perfect for the arched wooden door she planned to have sanded down and re-stained. Honestly, if she’d gone shopping for one herself, she’d likely have chosen that exact one.

  “All right. Well, thank you. I accept. But you’ll have to let me at least repay you with a glass of lemonade and some cookies.”

  For a moment it appeared he was going to turn her down. His mouth opened, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded once. “Sounds nice. Thanks.”

  There was an awkward pause. “Okay then,” Scarlett said, backing away. “I’ll leave you to it. Oh! Do you need any tools? I have all the basics . . .”

  “No. I brought what I need. I’m all set.”

  “Okay, great. I’m going to . . . uh”—she hitched her thumb over her shoulder—“get back to work, but just holler when you’re done.”

  “Will do.”

  Scarlett shot him one last smile and then headed back to the hallway where she’d been working. She stepped into the bathroom nearby and cringed at her reflection in the mirror. God, it was worse than I thought. Not only did she have dirt smears on her face, but there was white dust from the dried wallpaper paste in her hair and eyelashes, and a tiny piece of wallpaper stuck to her cheekbone. She looked absurd. She was surprised he’d been able to speak seriously with her at all.

  She used a wet piece of toilet paper to clean her face as best as she could and then brushed the white dust from her hair. She sighed. Without a shower and a vat of makeup, this would have to do.

  Scarlett went to the window at the end of the hall and looked outside where Haddie was still lying on her belly on a blanket, her elbows propped up, a pile of books next to her. Scarlett knocked on the glass, not really expecting Haddie to be able to hear her, and was surprised when she looked up, waving at her mother. Scarlett smiled, waving back and watching as Haddie looked away, focusing on her book.

  That was one thing they shared in common. Both she and Haddie could get lost in books for hours. Sometimes they spent entire Sundays in their PJs, lazing under blankets and reading.

  Scarlett went back to her scraping for a while but was too distracted, listening to every small bang and clatter from where Deputy West was working below, so after about twenty minutes, she put down her scraper yet again and headed toward the kitchen. She made a pitcher of lemonade and popped open a Tupperware container of the chocolate chip cookies she’d made earlier that day and put several on a plate.

  She wrapped a couple of cookies in a napkin, poured a plastic cup of lemonade, and went out the back door to take the treats to Haddie.

  “I thought you could use some sustenance,” Scarlett said when she’d made it to where Haddie lay, dropping onto her knees next to her daughter, placing the lemonade on a flat square of grass and the cookies on the blanket.

  “Thank you, Mommy.” Haddie reached for a cookie. “What does sustabance mean?”

  “Sustenance. It means a source of nourishment. I know how easy it is to forget to eat when you’re involved in a good story.” She nodded to the open hardcover on the blanket in front of her daughter. “How are you liking Charlotte’s Web?”

  “I love it. Templeton’s very selfish, but he makes me giggle too.”

  Scarlett grinned, picturing the childlike reaction to a funny fictional character. “Who is that again? It’s been a while. The rat, right? The one who’ll only help Charlotte for food?”

  Haddie nodded, her expression growing thoughtful before she glanced into the woods. “Yes, that’s him,” she murmured, looking back at her book. “He’ll help Charlotte for food.”

  Scarlett stood. “Bring the blanket and the cup and napkin in when you’re done reading, okay?”

  Haddie nodded, already immersed back in the tale of friendship and farm life.

  She made her way to the front entry where the deputy was putting tools back in the red toolbox on the floor. The shiny, aged brass door lock set glinted from the dull, patchy wood. The deputy glanced up. “All set,” he said, straightening.

  “It looks great. Thank you.”

  He closed the door and engaged the deadbolt, then unlatched it, using the handle to pull it open. “There are two locks, nice and sturdy. No one’s going to get through this front door without a battering ram.”

  Scarlett let out a breath. “I doubt anyone will go to that much trouble for the use of a crash pad and place to get high.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he murmured. “Anyway, better safe than sorry. From what I remember, the back door lock is still in working order, and the French doors all have crémone bolts. Those are old, but still strong. You should go around and make sure all the lower-level windows are locked and get them inspected as soon as possible.”

  She nodded, though to her, he seemed overly concerned about the safety of a stranger. Then again, maybe that came with the job. Safety was his business after all. Perhaps it was part of his nature too. She was having a difficult time getting a read on the man.

  “I’ve got lemonade made if you’re still up for a glass.”

  He followed her to the kitchen and washed his hands, and then at her suggestion, they went out to the gazebo behind the house where she poured the lemonade and offered him a cookie.

  He thanked her and took a big bite of the cookie, chewing, swallowing, and then nodding toward Haddie, lying at the edge of the woods in the distance. “That’s your daughter there?”

  Scarlett took a sip of lemonade and then nodded. “Haddie. She’s seven going on seventy-seven.” She breathed out a smile.

  He glanced at her and then down at the hand sitting on the wood-chipped Gazebo bench. “You’re divorced? From her father?” He appeared almost confused for a moment and then grimaced. “Shit. I mean, darn it. I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

  A feeling not unlike affection twisted through her. He was handsome, yes, but he was not one of the smooth charmers she was used to. She’d thought him surly and rude the day before, but today, now that he’d let his guard down, she was getting this sense of . . . awkwardness, as though his social skills were unpolished. Not because he was impolite but because he didn’t have much practice using them. He was . . . unexpected.

  His uncertainty confounded her, especially considering his good looks. She figure
d good-looking men had plenty of opportunity to hone their charm. It was just a fact of life. Why hadn’t he? She glanced at his ring finger, noting he was unmarried.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I don’t mind the question. Haddie’s father and I were never married. He’s not in the picture.”

  He studied her for a moment and then his gaze moved back to Haddie, an expression she didn’t know him well enough to read crossing his features and then disappearing. He held up the chocolate chip cookie. “These are really good.”

  “Thanks. They’re Haddie’s favorite.”

  For a moment they were both silent as he finished the cookie and took a long sip of lemonade, and she stared off in the distance, watching him from her peripheral vision. He was so close and she was so keenly aware of his presence. It made her feel twitchy, exposed somehow. She hadn’t found herself attracted to a man in a very long time. “So um, can I ask you something, Deputy?” She turned to face him.

  “Sure,” he said, setting his glass down and leaning over to pluck a long blade of grass growing through the slats in the gazebo floor. “But call me Camden.”

  Camden. “Okay. As long as you call me Scarlett.” She paused. “You said kids use the house for entertainment. What exactly did you mean by that?”

  The deputy—Camden—glanced at the house and then away. He used both hands to fiddle with the blade of grass in his fingers, pausing for longer than felt comfortable as though he was taking the time to choose his words carefully. Was he worried about scaring her? Making her feel unsettled in her new home? He’d already done that by showing up and installing security . . . “There are stories about the house. You might already know some of them given that you can find them online.”

  “Yeah,” she confirmed. “I looked up the house’s history. Spooky stuff.”

  “The kids think so too. They set up dares . . . you know, ‘spend the night in the scary house and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks,’ that kind of thing.”

  “Ah. The old sleep in the abandoned haunted mansion dare. A classic.”

  His lip quirked. “I guess it’s a classic for a reason.”