Page 38 of The Vanished

“And I’ll bring fresh towels and toiletries,” Sam promised. “And if there’s anything you need, dial nine on the house phone.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said, but her mind was already on the practicalities.

The kitchen was actually a bonus. She’d pop out and get some groceries, and they would hole up at the boathouse until she heard from Sean.

“You can take out the rowboat if you like,” Reggie said as he showed them around the lovely old house that was located some distance down the shore and had its own parking spot. It was clearly a later addition to the property, probably Victorian, and resembled a gingerbread house with its weathervane-topped central tower, lacy white trim, and arched doorway and windows. “There are two sets of oars.”

“What’s that there?” Emma asked and pointed to a wooded island in the middle of the lake.

A badly charred Gothic ruin was just visible through the trees. Empty windows gaped in a crumbling stone wall, and the interior was open to the elements since all that remained of the roof were a few blackened beams.

“That used to be an abbey, but the nuns who survived the attack on their home during the Dissolution of the Monasteries were driven out. The building burned down centuries ago, and the property was abandoned by the new owner after his pregnant wife disappeared without a trace. We would ask that you don’t go out to the island,” Reggie said. “It’s not safe.”

He wore an expression of distaste and turned away from the window, clearly unwilling to say any more. Quinn had read Nicole’s book, The Devil’s Den, which was set on the island and based on real historical events, but she wasn’t about to tell Emma about the young bride who had vanished on the night of the fire. That might pique her curiosity, perhaps enough to prompt her to venture out to the island and investigate the ruin and the ancient crypt that had been sealed centuries before to conceal the remains of the women who had been murdered on the island.

“This place is so cool,” Alex said once Reggie left them to get settled in.

“Dad, can we take the boat out?” Emma asked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Gabe replied absentmindedly.

He was looking around, no doubt evaluating the security of their temporary home. There were a dozen windows but only one door, which faced the lake. The windows were equipped with black wooden shutters that could be latched from the inside. The boathouse had that faintly sterile, unlived-in scent common to new houses—or to a home fresh from an extensive renovation. The kitchen cupboards smelled woodsy, the walls and trim were newly painted a nondescript beige, and the bathroom tiles gleamed a pristine white. In a way, it was reassuring to know that no one had slept in the beds or used the amenities.

As with so many other people, the pandemic had made Quinn acutely aware of the cleanliness and safety of all the places she had once entered without a second thought. It reminded her of the countless strangers who had sat in the same chairs, touched the same buttons and door handles, and thumbed through menus that were usually handled with unwashed hands. And it made her wonder just how many people had slept in the same hotel beds and on sheets that were laundered in huge industrial washers that were rarely cleaned.

Quinn was distracted from her musings by Max, who, still clutching the teddy bear he had appropriated, walked over to the sofa, and huddled in the corner. He looked frightened and small, and his eyes filled with tears as he looked from Quinn to Gabe, clearly in need of reassurance.

“Come on, matey.” Gabe held out a hand to the little boy. “You and I are in charge of dinner. What should we get?”

“Pizza,” Max whispered.

“Pizza it is. With toppings of your choice.”

Max brightened a little. “Can we have sausage and green peppers?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want sausage,” Mia protested.

“I do,” Emma said.

“We will order two pies,” Gabe promised.

“Can you pick up something for breakfast?” Quinn asked. “The cupboards are empty.”

Gabe nodded, and he and Max went out to the car. As soon as they left, Sam arrived with a folding bed, a stack of towels, and a pretty basket filled with little bottles, soaps, and colorful bath salts, which would be of little use since they couldn’t use the tub. He also brought a bottle of red wine.

“On the house,” he said as he set the wine on the kitchen counter. “Do you have everything you need? Pillows, blankets, phone chargers? Wi-Fi password?”

“We’re not allowed on our phones,” Emma said bitterly.

“One of those weekends, eh?” Sam said and winked at her. “What have you done to deserve that, pet?”

“I don’t know,” Emma muttered under her breath and marched into the bedroom.

“Well, I see you have your hands full,” Sam said and backed towards the door. “Have a pleasant stay.”

TWENTY-FIVE