‘Sugar’s on the table. You take milk?’ He removed a carton from the refrigerator and gave it a sniff. ‘I did indeed,’ he said, when they were seated across from each other, the steaming mugs between them. ‘Gilbert’s Hardware. Nineteen years, right smack in the middle of Main Street. It was supposed to be Gilbert & Sons at some point, but neither of my boys wanted anything to do with it. Three years ago, I sold it to a young couple from New York City. Wish I’d known they were going to turn it into a coffee place, or I might not have done it. Poked my head in there a while back, thinking maybe I’d get a cup of joe. But all they’ve got are these godawful… confections that nobody’s ever heard of, least not in my day. Hazelnut swirl delight.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Viennese amaretto thingamabob. Whatever that is. Well, good luck to them.’
A clock chimed the hour. A deeply resonant tone from another age. They drank their coffee in silence.
‘I was eleven when Tim Stern murdered his family,’ Erin said, glancing up to meet his eye. ‘I was staying in Belle River with my family the summer it happened, I didn’t lie about that.’
He looked at her steadily before setting his cup on the table. ‘I’ve got a tin of ginger snaps somewhere,’ he said, hauling himself from the chair. ‘Gift from the ladies at the care home.’ After a brief rummage in the cupboard, he pulled out a round tin, gaily patterned with blue and yellow pansies.
Care home? She took one of the proffered biscuits. Was that where his wife was?
The warm kitchen, a kindly old man, coffee and ginger snaps. Such a homely tableau. When was the last time she’d done anything like this? A spasm of grief passed through her, for what she’d lost, or never had. She turned away and blinked back tears.
‘We bought the place in the winter of ’79,’ he said, dunking a ginger snap in his coffee. ‘Didn’t know about the murders at the time, though Milly and I were surprised the asking price was so cheap. Just a couple of yokels from the Midwest, so what did we know? That realtor lady sure kept her lip zipped. Didn’t take long for us to find out, what with the neighbours busting to spill the news in all its gory detail. They trooped over here with their welcome casseroles and their gossip.’ He added another splash of milk to his coffee. ‘Poor Milly. She wanted to move out before we’d unpacked the boxes, but we’d sunk all our money into the house. And given the history, who would buy it?’
Erin turned her head towards the window. If he’d bought the house in 1979, then she might have passed Mr Gilbert on the street a few years after that. But in those days, newly freed from Danfield and under the protection of her aunt, she had kept close to Olivia’s house, terrified of being plucked off the street and spirited away.
‘But Milly was so spooked by what happened here, she couldn’t sleep,’ Mr Gilbert was saying. ‘The local librarian, a sweet old gal and smart as a whip, understood our dilemma, so she suggested we do some kind of cleansing ritual. If nothing else, it might make Milly feel better. So, Milly got hold of some old gent from the Penobscot tribe. He came in with a lot of gewgaws and whatsits. Burned a bunch of feathers and switchgrass, with plenty of chanting and dancing to go along with it. When he was done, he claimed the spirits of the dead had agreed to leave the house. Agreed, that’s the word he used. Can you believe it? Stuff and nonsense. But after that, Milly did feel better, so who was I to scoff?’
He looked round the kitchen. ‘Funny how the house burned down while we were out of town. A little road trip to Ohio to visit Milly’s family. Got back to find the place charred to bits. ’Course, the police came around asking questions. Did we have any enemies? Shady business connections? The insurance money paid to build this place.’ He cocked his head at the door to the hallway. ‘Sometimes I hear things that go bump in the night, but usually it’s squirrels or raccoons that get into the attic.’ He gave her a sly wink. ‘Scared you, didn’t it, all that hullabaloo up there? Family of raccoons set up camp about a month ago. Don’t have the heart to move them, even though they make a godawful racket when the mood strikes.’ He glanced out the window, as if he’d just remembered his rhododendrons and the threat of rain. ‘My wife’s got the Alzheimer’s now.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes, well. Our kids visit when they can, but they’ve got their own lives, and their own families to worry about.’ He stood and craned his neck to scan at the sky. ‘I’m going to have to get back to my rhodies soon. Milly loved her garden and I try to keep it going for her sake.’
*
Out front, he examined the sodden lawn. ‘You know, I think about that boy sometimes,’ he said, as he walked her to her car. ‘Wondering what kind of demons drove him to do such a terrible thing. Hard to make sense of, isn’t it?’ He tugged a canvas hat over his head. ‘Back in high school, our younger boy got in with a bad crowd. Drinking, drugs, breaking into houses. There was a time Milly and I thought the best thing that could happen was for him to get arrested. We thought that a spell in juvenile hall, or even jail, would knock some sense into him. But he managed to straighten himself out in the end. When I think about that boy who lived here… there but for the grace of God. It could have been my kid.’
He picked
