“Thank you.” Kate hung up and turned slowly.
The elderly ticket agent squinted at her. “Say … you’re not that granddaughter who—”
“I need a taxi,” she said shortly.
His expression softened. “Sure, I’ll call Ernie. Take him five minutes to get here.” He reached for the phone behind the counter.
Her hands trembled as she returned the envelope to her purse.
Always the same when someone recognized her: initial excitement, followed by morbid curiosity, shifting into pity as they remembered the grim details of the newspaper story that had captivated the world four years ago. At least newspaper photos were black and white, so her red hair didn’t give her away.
Ernie took fifteen minutes to arrive and looked so bent and frail, Kate feared he would snap as he carried her luggage to the taxi. He put one of the trunks on the back seat, which meant Kate had to sit up front with him.
They rolled through a downtown area that looked closed on a Sunday night—except for a nightclub called the Galaxy, with a couple in evening clothes arguing out front. Kate heard distant jazz music as they passed.
The taxi turned into a residential neighborhood, and the tension inside her settled a little. Even in the dark, she could see that the houses were grand, set back behind sweeping lawns. Her grandfather had quit acting a long time ago, and he’d probably lost a fortune in the stock market crash and depression, like everyone else, but it looked like he still managed to live well. Her gaze lingered on a particularly beautiful gray house as the taxi pulled up at the curb. “Is this it?” she asked, pleased.
“That’s it,” Ernie corrected, rolling the car forward to stop in front of an imposing stucco mansion with dark wood trim and a tile roof. Not as lovely as its neighbor, but still large and impressive.
Then Kate noticed the plywood over one of the upstairs windows. The broken railing on the balcony. Tall weeds covering the lawn. The front door gaped open for some reason, casting a golden light that was more eerie than welcoming, shadowed by overgrown trees.
Her hopes sank. “Are you sure?”
“If you’re looking for Oliver Banks, this is the place. Lived here as long as I can remember.”
Kate waited near the taxi as Ernie made several trips with her luggage, then had no choice but to pay the man and watch him drive away.
The trees rustled in the strange, warm wind.
She looked up at the full moon, glad she hadn’t missed it in the chaos of traveling, and her nerves calmed a little. Jupiter’s tenth and eleventh moons had been discovered at Mount Wilson Observatory, only a few miles from here—the world’s largest telescope, one reason not to completely loathe the idea of living with her grandfather.
Kate made her way up the long front path, clutching her purse, stepping around gaps in the bricks. Ernie had placed her luggage just inside the open door, so she entered as well. She started to close the door but saw that it had been purposefully propped by a large bust of Beethoven, so she left it ajar.
She stood in a grand foyer with terra cotta tiles underfoot and a curving staircase hugging the left. A rectangular table dominated the space—a dining table by the look of it, oversized and out of place, covered in strange clutter. An empty fishbowl next to an ornate vase, next to a crate of soda bottles. She noticed a hulking figure in the corner and gasped, stepping back, before realizing it was only a stuffed bear on its hind legs, wearing a Three Musketeers hat.
Kate inhaled and straightened the front of her traveling suit. “Stop it,” she hissed. This was her grandfather’s house. Nothing dangerous here.
But then, why hadn’t he come out to greet her? He must have heard Ernie bringing in the luggage.
Several arched openings led deeper into the house. The one on the right revealed a living room with lights on, as messy and strangely decorated as the foyer. Much of the room was out of view, so she called out, “Hello? Grand—”
The whine of a violin cut her off—one ominous note hanging in the air … stretching … making Kate hold her breath … before sliding into an eerie melody. More of a keening wail than a song, full of dark, jarring notes that made her skin crawl. Kate glanced over her shoulder at the staircase, half expecting to find a vampire lurking.
She hadn’t known her grandfather was musical.
Cautiously, she made her way to the living room, each step bringing more of it into view. She stopped just past the archway.
At the far left, another wide opening led to what must have been the dining room, but without a table. In the empty space, a bald man played the violin, his body swaying with each sweep of the bow. Not her movie star grandfather. This man was short and stocky, with a face as angry as the music pouring out of him.
He seemed unaware of her, so she took a moment to inspect the living room. Two sofas faced each other: one, an Art Deco fan shape that belonged in a stylish city apartment; the other, tufted green velvet that would have looked at home in a manor house library. The gilded coffee table was cluttered with dirty dishes and newspapers. A tall bookcase was in the middle of the room, next to a wingback chair, its shelves overstuffed with books and yellow National Geographic magazines. And, absurdly, there was a rusty wheelbarrow near the front window, filled with hats.
The music stopped abruptly, leaving throbbing silence. Kate looked to the dining room and found the violinist glaring at her, the bow frozen on the strings.
She straightened. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Oliver Banks.”
“Who are you?” he asked with narrow-eyed suspicion.
“I’m—” She stopped herself, not wanting to reward his rudeness. “This is his house, isn’t it?”
“Sure, sweetie, but he doesn’t want visitors.” The stocky man turned to the side, putting her out of view, and started playing again.
Kate wavered, wanting to say something scathing but not wanting to shout over the music. Finally, she turned away.
Back in the foyer, another arched opening led toward the back of the house, where dim light leaked from a room on the distant left. The kitchen, she guessed, but she would have to walk down a dark hall to get there.
She wished she’d arranged to arrive in daylight, when she was capable of confidence and easy smiles. Her other self.
A haggard-looking dog padded from the back of the house, paused at the edge of the foyer, then whimpered and returned the way it had come.
Kate followed the dog, clutching her purse at her waist, angry at her own racing heart. She heard a masculine voice in the kitchen and tried to reassure herself that her grandfather would be delighted to see her. That he’d only lost track of time. But the sinister music had crept into her bones, and everything about this place seemed strangely off-kilter, like one of those funny houses at the carnival, where the floors tilted and walls leaned.
At the end of the hall, the back door was open, revealing a moonlit yard. Kate felt a tickle of fresh air and suddenly understood the propped front door, allowing a cross breeze on such a warm night. A sensible idea, which calmed her nerves. Kate liked sensible.
She entered the kitchen on the left.
And stopped short.
A teenaged boy with his hair slicked back lay on the floor, his head flopped to the side, his eyes staring lifelessly. Another teenaged boy glowered down at him, breathing hard, holding a butcher knife. “You put up a good fight,” he said in a dark tone. “I like that.” He turned to look at an old man in striped pajamas cowering against the kitchen counter. “Now you.”