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“You need me to come out there?” Rafe asked Art.

“Nah,” Art said. “You stay here and make sure nobody steals my car.”

Art and my father, who was already in the boat, started a heated discussion about the fishing in this part of Deadwater Lake.

“Is he joking?” I asked. Art’s dock was the only one on this side of the lake. To get to it, we’d driven down a half-mile two-track road. There wasn’t another soul for miles.

“He’s half joking,” Rafe said. “He just doesn’t want me hovering.”

“He’s doing amazingly well,” I said. “Not just for his age.”

“He’s sharp as hell,” Rafe agreed. “Does the New York Times crossword puzzle every day. Times himself. He plays chess in the park. Walks five miles every day, even in the winter. He’s teaching a history class at the community college.”

I felt a pang of jealousy. My father was twelve years younger, running his car into road signs, then forgetting it even happened.

“That’s great.”

“He’s on thyroid meds. That’s it. And he’s outlived four wives. Even so, keep a close eye on him out there. There are some trick steps leading up to the house. I’ve been meaning to fix them but Gramps won’t hear of it. I’ve got to figure out a way to trick him into letting me.”

“Got it,” I said. “And thanks again for making time for us.”

Rafe looked across the lake. The morning fog hadn’t quite lifted, leaving a ghostly ring around the cabin on the far shore.

“It sure looks haunted, doesn’t it?” Rafe asked.

I’d heard rumors about it for years. Even before the Deadwater Lake murders. The petrified forest added to the lake’s mystique. They towered over the water on the north shore. We would pass by them on the way to the cabin, getting eerily close.

“It looks peaceful,” I said.

“After what happened, rentals dropped off,” Rafe said. “I’ve been on the old man to sell it for a couple of years now. He won’t hear of it. He lived there as a kid in the 1930s and ’40s. He only has happy memories of the place. I’m not saying those girls’ families didn’t suffer the worst, but Gramps lost something that weekend too.”

“You gonna gab all morning or get your ass in the boat?” Art yelled at me.

“Better go,” I said to Rafe. I climbed in behind my father. Art barely waited for me to sit before tearing off from shore, pushing me backward almost violently.

I felt a chill as we passed the trees. As the wind passed through them, it made a round, hollow sound, reminding me of organ pipes. I shivered, thinking how awful that might sound in the middle of the night.

Art beached the boat. Dad helped him tie it to a nearby tree anyway. The cabin loomed above us on a small hill.

It was bigger than it looked from a distance. Rafe had told me the place had been built on to multiple times as Art’s mother kept having children and grandchildren. It now boasted six bedrooms and four bathrooms, with a basement and attic. As such, there was over six thousand square feet of livable space. In its prime, before the murders, Art fetched up to ten thousand dollars a week in rentals during peak summer. At one time, as Geneva said, it had even been a wedding destination.

“When’s the last time you were out here?” Dad asked.

Art shrugged. “Been a while. Two years, maybe? I don’t have much cause anymore. If I had my way, I’d move out here permanently. It makes me sick thinking it never gets used.”

It was hard for me to see the property as it used to be. It just seemed dreary and ominous. I don’t know if I believed in ghosts, but the energy around us felt sinister.

“I’ll get the lights on for ya,” Art said. “Then you can look around at your own pace. You don’t need me over your shoulder.”

“It’s your house,” I said.

Art frowned but didn’t explain himself. If I had to guess, the energy was bothering him too. He unlocked the front door and hit the light switches on his immediate right.

We stood on a small landing. Three steps led up to a great room. The layout reminded me a little of Dad’s house, with the kitchen and living room area right out in the open. There was even a fieldstone fireplace with stairs leading up to a loft.

The foyer landing had steps going down as well. It made for a strange entryway. You had to make a choice right away. Up or down.

We went up.