Page 93 of Secrets in the Deep

She tapped the flashlight on her phone and stepped inside.

And yep, the inside was just as creepy as the outside.

A huge wooden staircase dominated the hallway, with a thick coating of dust on the railing. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath their feet, and there was a massive chandelier above their heads. The only furniture was an old couch and a coffee table in the living room to their left.

“Who owns this place?” she asked, as she ran a finger across the staircase railing.

“Hell if I know,” Roscoe called from the living room.

Emily spun to face the director. “Then how did you get permission to be here?”

“I’m working on the mayor.”

Workingon the mayor? She dropped her hand from the railing. “So we’re breaking and entering?”

Roscoe crossed the room to stand in front of her, an angry glare in his eyes. “It’s an abandoned house, Emily. No one lives here. The back door was unlocked and the house is probably owned by the town.”

“Just because a back door is unlocked doesn’t mean you can enter. The studio could be sued for this.”

He huffed before shouting at the group, “Upstairs, everyone.Now.”

Everyone followed. Again, no one questioned Roscoe. Not a single one of them. Even though they’d all just heard that he didn’t have permission to be here.

Faye lifted a shoulder as she passed Emily.

“You too, Prior!” Roscoe called from the top of the stairs.

Emily eyed the front door, then the stairs. She didn’t have a car here, and she didn’t exactly want to stay down here alone.

Jesus.

She hurried up the stairs. As the group headed down the hall, into the last room, her gaze caught on a bedroom to the left. She stopped, the hint of pink bedspread making her pause.

Slowly, she pushed the door open. The room looked completely untouched. Like twenty or thirty years ago, someone had woken up, made their bed, left, and never returned.

A young girl, maybe?

She stepped into the room, staring at a pale pink pillow on the bed with yellow flowers. As if her hand had a mind of its own, she opened the bedside table. Empty. So she’d taken her stuff. Had she left in a rush? Why?

“Prior!”

She jumped at Roscoe’s shout from down the hall.

“Get your ass in here now,” he called.

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the door.

But something barely poking out from beneath the mattress caught her attention. It was between the bed and the bedside table, so easy to miss.

The corner of a book, maybe?

She reached down and pulled it out.

An ivory-colored diary.

She should leave it alone. It wasn’t her business.

But the place was abandoned. Maybe this would tell her who’d lived here.