Page 8 of What Happens at Nightfall

“Well, he was there tonight.” Hunched up, terrified.

“Did he say anything to you about what he was doing out there?” Adam asked hopefully.

“He didn’t say much.” It felt cruel to disappoint him, but Jess didn’t have answers for anyone, not even herself. Especially herself. “He seemed kind of . . . upset. He’d had some friends with him, I think, but they ran off.”

“Friends?”

The girl at the stove turned. “They’re people to whom one is not related with whom one chooses to spend time.”

“Yes, thank you, Melinda. Ben’s just started a new school. I hadn’t thought he’d made any particular friends. He was supposed to be in his room, doing homework.” Adam gave his head a shake, like a dog in the rain. “Anyway. Sorry. Not your problem. How’s your phone doing?”

It was showing the red battery charger emblem that meant it had woken up enough to know it was hungry but wasn’t feeling interactive yet. Like Jess in the mornings.

“Sluggish.”

Melinda balanced the wooden spoon against the pot and wandered over to inspect. “That is a very antique phone.”

“It’s hardly a rotary,” said her father. “In my day—”

“I know. You strung tin cans together with a string to communicate and powered your clock with potatoes.”

“Only for a science experiment.” Adam smiled ruefully at Jess, the corners of his eyes crinkling. They weren’t the brown she’d expected, but a greenish hazel, like leaves seen through water. “When we weren’t rubbing sticks together to make fire.”

His smile invited her to join in the joke. Jess’s cheeks felt strangely warm. Probably windburn.

Melinda edged between them to examine Jess’s phone. “Is this an iPhone 6?”

It was whatever Jess had bought four years ago when her old one died. It hadn’t really mattered much. The office issued her technology. This was just for personal use, which meant it hadn’t gotten much use at all.

“It’s a plastic rectangle that lights up when I plug it in,” said Jess. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“It knows you feel that way about it,” said Melinda. “It’s dangerous to insult our electronic overlords.”

“I apologize for my children. Both of them.” The amusement faded from Adam’s eyes. “I don’t know how to make this up to you . . . If you wanted to go on another tour to make up for this one, I could book it for you.”

The last thing Jess wanted was another tour of the cemetery.

“It’s fine. Really.” Jess stuck her hands in her pockets. Her right hand hit something large and awkwardly shaped. That key. Jess pulled it out of her pocket. “I almost forgot. I also found this. Can I give this to you to deal with? Or should I bring it to a lost and found?”

Now that she could actually see it properly, it wasn’t quite the massive iron key she’d imagined. It was long but thin, with a loop at the top and two teeth at the bottom, made out of a dull gold metal that caught the light.

Hardly the stuff of horror films.

Adam took it from her, holding it with two fingers. “Where did you find this?”

“It was on the ground not far from the tree—er, rhododendron.”

“Ben.” Adam didn’t shout precisely, but his voice seemed to swell to fill the whole house. “BEN!”

A series of thumps could be heard on the back stairs, slow and dragging, like someone painfully pulling a corpse down a flight of stairs. Or an adolescent boy who knew he was in trouble.

“Did you call me?”

“Yes,” said Adam, with remarkable restraint. He held up the key. “Do you know anything about this?”

“That’s Mom’s mausoleum key,” said Melinda.

“I didn’t ask you. Ben. What was this doing on the ground?”