As we continued up the road, I got a good look at the three lovely old houses that sat perched over the Hudson River. The first still seemed to be closed up for the winter. The second belonged to Maisie and her mother. Its lights were blazing and the front door stood wide open. That meant the third house was Nolan’s. He pulled up in the drive and clicked an app on his phone, and the porch lit up.
“Impressive,” I said, admiring the stately building. They were probably only built a few decades apart, but his house and my uncle’s belonged to different centuries.
On the way to the door, I noticed cameras tucked under the eaves. The three that I could see were positioned to cover the front lawn and the road that ran along the river. I assumed there were more hidden elsewhere around the house.
“What’s up with all the security? I thought the country was supposed to be safe,” I said.
“Nora used to wander over and pass out on our porch. My dad was worried we’d wake up one morning and find her frozen to death,” Nolan explained. “Now whenever the cameras catch her heading our way, he just phones the police.”
“The police?” I asked. “Isn’t that overkill?”
Nolan stopped at the door and took out his keys. “You obviously haven’t spent much time with Nora. Tonight you saw a damsel in distress. A few more drinks, and she turns into a demon. Last week she threw a vodka tonic at my father’s head. Glass, ice cubes, and all.”
He held the door open for me, so I went in. Inside, Nolan’s house was beautiful and reeked of old money. I could smell the soup on the stove, but other than that, there was no sign of anyone else in the house.
“Where’s your housekeeper?” I asked.
Nolan picked up a note that had been left on a table near the door.
“I guess she finished up and went home. She says that the soup should be ready whenever we want it.”
I knew in my bones that I should ask him to take me back to the manor. His father might have been my uncle’s business partner, but I didn’t really know Nolan, and I didn’t want to be alone with him in his house. The truth was, though, I was tired and hungry. So I let Nolan help me out of my coat.
The house was freezing. I felt myself shiver and wondered why no one had turned up the heat. Instinctively I kept my bag—and the weapons inside it—close.
“Sorry. It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” Nolan observed. “My dad likes it to feel like a meat locker. Why don’t we go into the library and I’ll start a fire? It should get toasty in there pretty quickly.”
I followed Nolan to the wood-paneled library, which felt less formal than the rest of the house. Book-filled shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, and a sofa upholstered in a dark-colored tartan waited in front of the fireplace. It was the perfect place for rich old men to sip scotch and scheme. I stopped in front of a collection of photos in silver frames and scanned the faces in the pictures. At least four generations of privileged Manhattanites looked back at me, the women sharp-eyed and stylish, their brothers and husbands rakishly handsome. I traced Nolan’s Roman nose back through the decades to a barrel-chested, mustachioed man standing on the prow of a boat.
“That’s my great-grandfather August.” Nolan was looking over my shoulder. “He’s the one who sailed up the Hudson and brought us all to Louth. He spent every minute he could on that boat.” He pointed to another photo of a very old man with his arm around a teenage boy wearing a tuxedo. They appeared to be at a formal party. “That’s him as well. He lived to be a hundred and three.”
“Are you the kid in the picture?” I asked, though I knew he couldn’t be. Everything about the photo screamed 1980s.
“It’s my dad,” Nolan said. “Before he lost his hair. And yes, I pray every day that the same fate doesn’t await me.”
I sat on the edge of one of the sofa cushions and watched Nolan stack wood in the fireplace and light the tinder that he’d wedged beneath. His strong, agile hands knew just what to do, and his dark hair fell forward as he worked. A distant part of me recognized how attractive he was, which made another part of me want to run.
Headlights swept along the library walls as a car pulled into the driveway next door. When the lights went out, I walked up to the window and watched Maisie help her mother into the house. Maisie walked slowly with her arm wrapped lovingly around her mother’s waist. Their bodies leaned together like two grief-stricken guests at a funeral. One wasn’t sure she could make it. The other wouldn’t let her give in.
“What happened to Maisie’s mom?” I wondered out loud. I didn’t really expect an answer.
“I’m sure Nora’s had a rough life,” Nolan said. “Growing up in Louth isn’t easy. Apparently, she tried to get out at one point, but the town dragged her back. This place is like a black hole. It’s hard for people here to escape.”
“She must have been young when she had Maisie,” I said.
Nolan shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “But that’s pretty common around here.”
“Who’s Maisie’s father?”
“They say it was someone she met in the city. I guess she went down there to be a model or actress and ended up back in Louth with a baby. I’ve heard lots of rumors, but the only thing anyone knows is that the father had loads of money.”
“Who do people think the father might be?” I dug.
“Ask around, and you’ll hear people claim it’s everyone from the Rock to Derek Jeter. But I try not to listen to the gossip,” Nolan said. “Too much of it is all about me.”
The clam chowder was delicious, though I was so famished, I would have eaten just about anything. I sipped my soup, trying to swallow my anxiety, as Nolan chatted away. All I wanted to do was eat and leave, even if it meant going home to the mysterious girl in white. But I couldn’t waste an opportunity to pick his brain about Lark.
“The other day on our walk, you mentioned that Lark drove my uncle James crazy,” I finally ventured. “What exactly was she doing? Do you know?”
Nolan nodded as he swallowed. “She told me she heard things at night in the manor. That’s what got her interested in the legends. She used to stay up all night investigating the noises. I guess that’s when Lark’s mom got fed up and sent her to live with Ruben.”
“So, it really was her mother’s idea?” I asked. I remembered the sound of Ruben’s shotgun cocking. What kind of mother would send her daughter to live with a man like that?
“That’s what Lark told me. May I ask you a question now?”