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filling the house, and the crackle of logs in the fireplace.”
    I sigh, imagining it. “It sounds wonderful.”
    “Are you and Merrick talking about marriage and kids?”
    “No.” I take another sip from my water bottle. “I mean, it seems inevitable that we’ll end up getting married someday, but we’ve never talked about it. I don’t know if he wants kids.” I catch my mistake and add, “I mean, any more kids.”
    “I know what you meant.” She tilts her head and gives me this look that tells me she’s about to say something that she doesn’t know how I’ll respond to.
    “What?” I say.
    “I just… Don’t you think it’s almost impossible for a boy who was Merrick’s age to get a girl pregnant?”
    That is the thousand-dollar question that’s crossed my mind a million times. “Almost, yes, but not totally impossible. What are you thinking?”
    She bites her lip. “Don’t get mad. I haven’t told MJ about this, but I called a fertility specialist and asked a few questions. The doctor I spoke to believes the odds of a boy of twelve being able to ejaculate enough sperm to impregnate a female after one time aren’t high. Not impossible, not unheard of, but not high.”
    “So what are you telling me? He said it himself, Maddie, it’s not impossible or unheard of. Gina Montgomery says Merrick is MJ’s father, and look at the two of them. They look so much alike, it’s unreal.”
    Maddie grasps my arm. “I know. I’m not saying MJ isn’t Merrick’s son. I’m just wondering if it really did only happen one time. That’s all. Has Merrick ever said anything to you about it?”
    Enzo Rocha’s words filter through my mind, that your and Gina’s one-night stand might not have been consensual. It’s bullshit. “Yes, he’s mentioned it. It happened once while Gina was babysitting.”
    My phone rings, interrupting our conversation that is doing nothing to quell my anxiety. When I see the name on the screen—Joan Bennett—my blood pressure spikes. “Yes, Joan. Now isn’t really a great time. You know our guests are arriving in a few hours.”
    Maddie makes a gesture like she’s choking someone, laughs and walks out from behind the bar.
    “It’s true, Rachael,” Joan says, her voice a shaky whisper. “My God, it’s true. She’s here.”
    “Joan? Who’s there?” It hits me. Hard. “Ingrid? Ingrid! Did you see her?”
    “There are smudges on the attic window. Words. It says,
Take me back
.” Her voice is borderline hysterical. “I’m on my way to my car. I’m getting the fuck out of here and not coming back. MJ can find someone else to deal with his dilapidated haunted house.”
    My pulse races. My hands shake. This is it! Proof! “No! Stay there. I’m coming.”
    “No way. I’m calling MJ and getting the hell out of here. Have fun with your ghost.”
    She hangs up. I set my phone on the bar and try to keep my mind from spinning. Ingrid’s there. She’s communicating. She wants to come back.
    It’s true. The newspaper article is true. Not that I doubted it. I could feel her there.
    I have to get to her.
    *
    “Forget it. I’m not taking you.” Beck folds his arms and leans against the door of the boat house. “I told Merrick I’d be here when he got back with the guests. What do you think he’ll do if you’re not here? He’ll kill me, that’s what he’ll do.”
    “He won’t kill you. We’ll be back. Everything here is ready. It’ll take us two hours tops.” I lower my chin and gaze up into his eyes, pleading. I swear I’m going to learn to fly a helicopter or get my own boat. Begging isn’t my style. “Joan needs us. She’s alone and afraid.”
    His lips tighten. He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “I’m not kidding when I say he’ll kill me. I’m not just talking about getting fired. I’m talking about murder.” He groans. “Fine. We’re back here in two hours if I have to pick you up and shove you into the helicopter to get you to leave the