Chapter 9
The interior of the cottage smelled of old paper, cedar, and sea salt. Elena flicked the wall switch near the entryway, but the electric grid was dead; the local utility company must have cut power to the vacant property months ago. Fortunately, Clara had kept a collection of heavy brass oil lamps and a box of matches on the sideboard in the small parlor. Elena guided Lily to an old velvet sofa that felt dusty under her touch, wrapping her in the fleece blanket. "Wait here just a second, darling. I'll get some light going," Elena murmured, keeping her voice calm and steady. She struck a wooden match, the sulfurous scent flaring in the dark room before catching the wick of the nearest lamp. A warm, golden glow bloomed across the paneled walls, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched toward the high beamed ceiling. As her eyes adjusted to the flickering light, Elena surveyed the room. Everything was exactly as Clara had left it: framed black-and-white photographs of ancestors on the mantelpiece, stacks of old National Geographic magazines on the coffee table, and a heavy iron poker resting beside the stone fireplace. It felt frozen in time, an alternate reality far removed from the high-society wedding and the tailored black suit she had left behind. Yet, as she walked toward the kitchen to check the back door, a sudden chill ran down her spine. The dust on the kitchen windowsill was disturbed. Not by a natural draft, but by the clean sweep of a finger wiping away grime. Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat. She slowly turned around, shining the dim light of the oil lamp toward the pantry door. The latch was unlatched, swinging slightly with the draft coming from the loose floorboards. Someone had been here recently. Or someone had arrived before them. Before she could process the thought, a heavy footstep creaked on the wooden porch outside the front door.
