Page 55 of Tangled Past
Will scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine, but we do this right. Limited team. We move quietly. We assume whoever pulled that file knows this case isn’t as dead as it should be. I don’t want to light this place up like a Christmas tree and announce to half the island that we think Raymond left us something.”
Rachel nodded. “I’ll grab fresh flashlights and evidence bags.” She turned to her husband. “Meet you at the back lot in ten.”
While the others moved, Asa glanced at Maya. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“No, but I’m going anyway.”
He nodded once, a swell of something like pride tightening his throat.
The drive up the hill to his father’s old house felt different at night. The last time Asa had made this climb, the sun had been out, kids on bikes weaved around the cruiser, and a dog barked somewhere down the block. Today, the neighborhood lay under a wet, heavy quiet. Porch lights glowed here and there, halos in the mist. Some Christmas decorations were still up in yards. They blinked half-heartedly. Strings of lights, a leaning plastic snowman, and a wreath hanging a little crooked.
The house itself felt smaller in the headlights. As a child, he had always thought it was so big. White clapboard had gone a bit gray with age. The narrow porch his mother had once filled with potted plants stood empty now. The curtains were gone. A thin layer of condensation fogged the inside of the windows.
Will pulled his cruiser in behind them, headlights cutting briefly across the yard before he shut them off. JT killed the SUV’s engine, and he and Rachel got out, leaving them in a bubble of muffled quiet.
“You don’t have to go in,” Asa said to Maya, even as he opened his door.
“You’ve said that a lot today.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “You should know it’s not working.”
“Stubbornness is going in your file,” he murmured.
“I’m counting on it.”
They stepped out into the cold. The air smelled of wet leaves and old wood. Asa’s boots crunched softly on the gravel walk as they approached the porch.
Will met them there. “Last chance to call this a bad idea,” he said.
“Last chance to admit it’s a necessary one,” Asa countered.
Will’s mouth twitched. “Fine, but if we find a nest of spiders in that crawl space, I’m making you deal with it.”
“Reasonable division of labor,” Asa said.
The door swung open with a creak that shot straight through Asa’s chest. For a moment, he just stood there. Even though he’d been here before, coming back after all these years brought home the magnitude of losing his father all over again.
The entryway smelled faintly of dust and something else he couldn’t place, other than time. The echo of mornings when his father’s boots had thumped down this hall. Before his mother’s death, her laughter had filled the house. He remembered a particular night when he’d woken up and found them in the living room dancing to an old song.
His throat tightened unexpectedly at the image.
Maya’s hand brushed his sleeve. “You okay?” she whispered.
“I will be.” He hoped it was true.
They stepped inside.
Rachel clicked on her flashlight, the beam cutting clean paths through the dim. “Where to?” she asked.
“The crawl space,” Asa whispered. He led the way up the creaky stairs, his hand trailing along the banister. The hallway at the top was even narrower than his memory, the doors on either side opening into empty rooms—his childhood bedroom, now stripped bare. His parents’ room, the bed frame gone, but the indent on the carpet where it once sat still visible.
At the end of the hall, a small door stood half-hidden behind a bookcase. Asa moved it aside and crouched to tug at the knob. It resisted.
“Painted shut?” JT asked while Rachel shined her light over his shoulder.
“Maybe.” He braced his shoulder and pulled harder.
With a sudden crack, the seal gave way. The door swung open a few inches, a puff of cooler, dustier air brushing his face.
The crawl space yawned beyond—a low, cramped wedge of darkness under the eaves, smelling of insulation and dry wood.
