Page 9 of Is Anyone Listening?
My grandmother was at the top of that list, but since we were staying at the inn, it seemed better to move her down for now. We didn't need her to kick us out before we got any information. It would be better to start with some of the employees, maybe even the yoga teacher. Someone not directly working for my grandmother might be more willing to talk to us.
As I flipped through pages of my notes on Natalie, I couldn't help wondering what room she'd stayed in. And as the window rattled from a gust of wind, a shiver ran down my spine. She could have been in this room for all I knew. She could have been sitting on this bed, just like I was, not knowing what was coming…
I drew in a shaky breath as I completely freaked myself out.
I was being ridiculous. Natalie could have been in any room in the inn.
Putting the file aside, I took out my phone to distract myself with social media, but I couldn't seem to relax no matter how hard I tried. Giving up, I opened my suitcase, changed into PJs, brushed my teeth, and then got into bed.
As I turned off the lamp next to the bed, I tried to think happy thoughts, but every muscle in my body was tense, and I began to wish I'd chosen the room with the bathtub. That might have helped me relax.
I also really wished there was a TV in the room. I could watch something on my laptop, but it needed a charge, and the only plug was by the desk.
I just needed to sleep.
Tomorrow, everything would look better. Closing my eyes, I tried to find a happy image to concentrate on. And then I heard a crash. I jolted up in bed, wondering if it had been the wind or something else. It was quiet now…or was it?
It sounded like someone was crying.
I got out of bed, moving closer to the wall vent where I could hear sobs and also a hushed voice, commanding someone to be quiet.
Getting down on my knees by the vent, I strained to hear more, but now there was nothing but silence. I sat there for several minutes, not knowing what to do.
Should I go downstairs? Try to find my grandmother? Tell her I heard a crash and then someone crying?
But I didn't even really know what I'd heard.
As my knees began to ache from the hard floor, I got up and returned to bed. But now I felt even more awake, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to go home.
I pulled out my phone and texted Tessa: Are you awake?
I waited for a long five minutes. No answer. Tessa was probably asleep. I couldn't just pound on her door and wake her up. Not just because I didn't want to interrupt her sleep, but because I was also too afraid to open the door and venture into the hall.
How on earth was I going to be an investigative journalist when my imagination was turning a quaint bed and breakfast into some sort of house of horrors? I should probably just be writing novels.
Telling myself over and over again that everything was fine, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing, but my mind kept drifting to Natalie Warren, to the woman who'd come here for wellness and then vanished.
I really hoped that wasn't going to happen to us. But alone in this room, I couldn't help wondering, if Tessa and I didn't come back, would anyone be able to figure out why?
Chapter Three
I woke up a little after six on Sunday, and after a long, tense night, morning felt like relief. I needed to get out of bed and get my imagination under control. I didn't know what I had really heard last night. Another guest might have been in pain or had gotten bad news. Maybe someone had knocked a lamp off the side table, causing a crash.
Rolling out of bed, I checked my phone. Tessa hadn't responded to my late-night text, which meant she'd been asleep while I'd been wide awake and terrified. That was Tessa—she could sleep through anything, her conscience clear, her mind unburdened by the what-ifs that constantly plagued me.
It was too early for breakfast and yoga, but I needed to move, to burn off my lingering anxiety. Running had always been my escape, the one thing that cleared my head when everything else felt chaotic, so I pulled on a pair of warm leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and a jacket. The temperature was in the low forties, so I also pulled out my running gloves and a beanie to cover my ears. Tucking my phone and room key into the zippered pocket of my jacket, I left the room.
The inn was very quiet as I made my way downstairs. No sign of Ellen or Ray or anyone else. I slipped out the front door as quietly as I could, pulling it shut behind me with barely a click.
Outside, the fog was just beginning to lift. My breath puffed out in white clouds as I started down the driveway, my muscles protesting the cold before gradually warming up. The rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement was soothing and meditative. Left, right, left, right. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. This I could control. This made sense.
I jogged down the path that ran along the road, past the lighthouse that stood sentinel on the bluff, its light still sweeping across the gray-blue water, past the large building with a sign that bore my last name, Clarke and Sons Boatworks.
I wondered if my father had worked there before he'd left town to start a new life far removed from here. But my father was the least of my concerns right now. Maybe at some point, I'd figure out why he'd left, but my primary focus had to be Natalie. We needed information for the podcast—something to keep listeners engaged so we could grow the audience and attract more sponsors.
Following the path into town, I ran past a quiet harbor with a few fishing boats heading out to sea. The shops were dark, the streets empty, and the eerie feeling crept back into my brain. I told myself it was just early. This wasn't a ghost town. It was a thriving small coastal town that I would come back to visit later in the day.
Turning around, I headed back up the hill. I was about a hundred yards away from the inn when I saw a sandy path leading down to the beach, and I decided to take a detour. The path was steep and rocky, winding between trees and scrubby vegetation. When I finally broke through onto the sand, I stopped, hands on my hips, catching my breath.
