Family Secrets (Brannon House Book 2) Page 5

  “I promise.”

  It’s even weirder having her go along with it.

  8

  Ember

  The shards of glass in the dustpan I’m holding sparkle in the beam from the flashlight of my aunt’s phone.

  Kenzi stands and turns it off. “I think that’s the last of the glass.”

  “Finally.” I also rise then dump the pieces of broken picture frame into the trash. “I never knew it was so hard to find all the tiny pieces.”

  She dusts off her knees and glances over at the desk. “What do you think she was looking for?”

  I shrug. “Something to help her remember anything.”

  “It seemed like she was after something in particular, which was weird because she almost never came in here when Dad was alive.”

  “Maybe there’s something in here about Jack.”

  My aunt holds my gaze for a moment. “Are you saying you think she knows more than she’s letting on?”

  “Or that she knows on some level. Maybe.”

  Kenzi lifts a brow. “And what was with her looking at that mirror by the back door?”

  “That was a little strange.” I don’t admit how odd it actually felt. When Grandma was looking at the mirror, a cold chill ran through me—just like the one now. It’s hard to explain. I mean, she was just looking at her reflection in a mirror, but it felt like so much more.

  Like she could see something we couldn’t.

  “Want to watch a movie?” Kenzi asks.

  I chew on my lower lip and ignore the chills running down my back. “I want to check out that mirror.”

  My aunt tilts her head. “You do?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “It’s just a mirror.”

  I frown. “I don’t think so. Not between her talking about Jack and going through Grandpa’s things. I’m not saying she’s faking her dementia, but at some level something is going on. I want to know what—especially since it has to do with our house.”

  She doesn’t look so sure. Or maybe she doesn’t want to believe what I’m saying is true.

  “We need to get to the bottom of this. The detective wouldn’t have told you about your brother if it wasn’t important, and what are the chances that Grandma is talking about another Jack?”

  Kenzi hesitates, but then nods. “Let’s go have a look at the mirror, but then we’ll just chill. I’m ready to relax.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  My aunt turns off the light before we head down the hallway, passing so many large rooms before we reach the tall mirror. It’s the same as it has always been. Floor to ceiling with an ornate frame. It fits in perfectly with everything else in the house.

  I scan every inch of the glass, looking for anything that stands out. There isn’t even a scratch. Then I study the frame, taking in every curve of the design.

  A cold air breezes by, ruffling my hair.

  I turn around, expecting to see that Kenzi has opened the door. But she’s standing exactly where she has been. The door is still closed.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “What?” She looks around.

  “You didn’t feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  Tiny hairs stick up on my back. “Never mind.”

  I turn my attention back to the frame.

  “I’m going to make some popcorn.”

  “No!” I whip around and send her a pleading look. But then I realize how stupid it sounds not to want to be left alone. “I mean, I’m almost done here. It’ll just take another minute.”

  She lifts a brow. “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  I turn back to the frame and continue to study the wavy designs. The same pattern continues all around it.

  “I’m going to the kitchen,” Kenzi says.

  Then I see it. A small square piece that doesn’t match the rest of the design. It fits, but doesn’t follow the pattern. And the difference is almost imperceptible. I never saw it in all my times here.

  “You coming?” asks my aunt.

  “Have you ever noticed this?” I point to the little piece.

  She leans closer. “What about it?”

  “The frame is enormous, and the pattern is never broken. Except here.”

  “Maybe a piece fell off and someone glued it back.” She shrugs. “It’s been here a long time.”

  “But it’s cut perfectly. It isn’t broken.”

  “It could be an imperfection to show its authenticity. You know, like how fancy paintings are numbered.”

  “Why would they do that? They could put a number on the back. But they didn’t. It doesn't make sense!” Sometimes my aunt’s refusal to admit this place has anything out of the ordinary drives me crazy.

  She puts her hand on my arm. “I think what we both need is to unwind. If you were older, I’d suggest a glass of wine, but that’s out. So, I’m going to make flavored popcorn and see if we have any ice cream left.”

  “Wait just a minute.” I turn back to the frame and run a fingertip lightly against the unusual part of the frame. It’s a little bumpy compared to the rest of the smooth wood around it.

  “See?” Kenzi says. “It’s nothing. Let’s figure out what to watch.”

  I’m about to argue again when I accidentally push on the flaw in the frame.

  It sinks in.

  My heart thunders. What did I just do?

  Creak!

  The mirror slowly moves toward me. It’s opening like a door.

  It is a door.

  I leap out of the way before it runs into me.

  Kenzi and I stare at each other, wide-eyed. My face has to be as pale as hers.

  She stumbles over her words. “What just happened?”

  “That square you thought was nothing—it’s something. A button!”

  Without a word, she steps past me and studies the doorway. It’s a dark entrance to … what?

  A musty odor comes from the opening. The air is warm and stuffy, the only sounds are of water dripping.

  “What is that?”

  She turns to me. “I have no idea.”

  My mouth dries. “We have to see.”

  “Not a chance.” My aunt steps between me and the darkened doorway.

  “What do you mean?” I exclaim. “We just found a secret room!”

  She looks back and forth between me and the smelly doorway. “We don’t know what we just found. It could be anything. Could be dangerous.”

  A thought makes my stomach tingle. “What if that’s where the science experiments were conducted on people?”

  Kenzi looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “There are rumors. And they must have some basis in reality! Look at what we just found!”

  She shakes her head. “This doesn’t prove anything. I’m closing this door—mirror—whatever it is, and I don’t want you opening it again. Not until I figure out what’s in there.”

  “How are you going to figure it out without going in?”

  “I’m going to find the blueprints.”

  “You think something like this will be in those?” I exclaim. “Shine your light inside. Then we’ll know what it is!”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then I will.” I turn on my flashlight app as I push past her, and I shine the light into the darkness.

  Stairs. Wooden. Narrow. Steep. They go down. To where, I can’t see. My phone only illuminates a few steps.

  My aunt forces herself in front of me. “We are not going down there! One wrong move, and that wood could give out. We could tumble down to our deaths!”

  I can’t argue with that logic, as much as I hate to agree. “What are we going to do, then?”

  “Like I said, I’m going to find the blueprints to this place.”

  “You think that’ll tell us if the stairs are safe?”

  “It’ll at least tell us what’s down there.”

  I sneeze from the stench.

  Kenzi closes the door. Mirror.
Mirror-door? Door-mirror?

  My mind races faster than I can keep up. How is it nobody knew about that? Which generation of Brannons kept it from the next? Did my grandpa know about it? His parents?

  And how did nobody ever suspect it was there? It’s an actual secret room!

  Kenzi opens the back door and steps outside.

  I join her and take in a deep breath of fresh air.

  She’s staring at the side of the house. “All that ivy has been hiding the fact that the wall here sticks out more than the rest of the house. I always just thought it was left there as decoration.”

  I take a few steps into the yard and take in the immensity of the house.

  What else is this old building hiding?

  9

  Ember

  Kenzi and I are eating popcorn, but neither of us is paying a bit of attention to the movie.

  “Where are you going to find the blueprints?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know anything about where those are kept. Maybe City Hall? Don’t they keep records like that?”

  I shrug. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m sure my mom would’ve known.”

  She nods, frowning. “But with a place this old, I have to wonder how accurate they would be—if they’re even on file officially. There wasn’t even a town when the house was built. For all we know, there were no original blueprints.”

  “Or they could be hidden inside the house somewhere.”

  “Maybe.” She takes a deep breath. “And there’s still the matter of finding out about Jack. If I have a fifty-year-old brother walking around somewhere, he might know some of this.”

  “He’d be that old?” I ask.

  She nods. “Ten years older than your mom.”

  “Wow. If he’s alive, he could have kids, even grandkids. That’s so weird. What if I have cousins?”

  My aunt frowns. “If he’s alive.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Would I have been looking in the family cemetery if I thought he was alive?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Your mom never mentioned him, right?”

  “Nope. Not once.”

  “That leads to another question.”

  I stare at Kenzi, waiting.

  It takes her a few moments to realize I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Which Jack did that locked room really belong to?”

  My stomach knots. “You think it was your brother’s, not your uncle’s?”

  “It makes sense.”

  I suddenly feel like puking. “And that’s the room where people say the light comes on when nobody’s home.”

  “What?”

  “I told you, this place has a lot of rumors.”

  “You never told me about that one.”

  “I also never said anything about the science experiments done on people.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment before opening them. “Our family is way more messed up than I imagined—even if only some of what we suspect is true.”

  I mull over everything I know about the house and our family history. My mind lands back on the old murder scene I found on the third floor, where the servants used to live. The police took the evidence, going as far as cutting into the ancient mattress to get all the blood possible to run DNA.

  I turn to my aunt. “How did you say the detective figured out you have a brother?”

  “I’m not sure I did.”

  “You didn’t. How did he figure it out?”

  She twists a strand of hair around her finger until the skin whitens. Her expression is conflicted.

  “What is it?” I demand. “I’m not some kid you have to hide the truth from. You should know that.”

  Kenzi grimaces. “You’re right, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “There’s a lot about my life I don’t like—starting with the fact that my mom was killed. I think if I can handle that, I can pretty much deal with anything else thrown at me.”

  “You’re right, but I can’t say this is much better.”

  “Now you have to tell me!” I clench my fists, my curiosity burning.

  She takes another deep breath. “Your grandma’s prints were all over the knife.”

  “You already told me about that.”

  “I did?” Kenzi rubs her temples. “I guess I did. We need to figure out what it means.”

  “It doesn’t mean she killed anyone.” I try to imagine my grandma—who used to spend hours playing with me and teaching me about her garden—hurting anyone. It just isn’t possible. “Like you said, somebody wearing gloves could’ve taken it upstairs after she used it to make a meal. Or she could’ve found it up there. Maybe that’s why she and Grandpa decided to lock up that part of the house.”

  She gives me a sympathetic glance. “I think we might need to consider the possibility that she could be a viable suspect.”

  I give her a double-take. “Are you serious?”

  “She—”

  “Wait! If they found out those were Grandma’s prints, did they find out whose blood was on the blade? On the bed?”

  Kenzi hesitates.

  “Whose is it?”

  “An unknown male relative of ours.”

  I’m seriously going to puke. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “Jack’s?”

  “Luckily not. It doesn’t belong to a close relative of mine—no siblings or parents.”

  “The other Jack?”

  She shakes her head. “He died before Mom would’ve met him.”

  “Which brings us back to her finding the knife and touching it after the fact! Nobody currently living knows how Grandpa’s brother died.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “You don’t think it’s likely though. Do you?”

  My aunt holds my gaze a moment. “I don’t know what to think.”

  The room suddenly goes quiet as the movie ends.

  We sit in silence, and I try to make sense of the news. Grandma might have killed someone in this house. Maybe not, but maybe so.

  I turn to Kenzi. “Why wouldn’t she have wiped the knife to get rid of prints if she was guilty?”

  “That’s what makes me think she didn’t do it. That, and I don’t believe her to be a killer.”

  “Can the investigators tell how old the blood is?”

  “I’m not sure. It wasn’t something the detective mentioned, and I didn’t think to ask. I was focused on the other information he gave me.”

  “We need to find out about your brother.” I tap the armrest. “It’s time we go through those boxes upstairs.”

  “Right now?” she exclaims.

  “The answers have to be in there. Why else would they be locked up?”

  Kenzi picks up her phone. “It’s almost eleven. I don’t want to go up there this late.” She shivers. “Let’s get to bed. We can decide what to do in the morning.”

  “But I have the art camp all day.”

  “Good. That’ll give us even more time to think about it.”

  “Don’t you work tomorrow night?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I have a lunch date scheduled. We can have an early dinner, then decide what to do. I’ll look into the blueprints while you’re working at the camp.”

  “Do you promise? You aren’t just saying that?”

  “You have my word. Pinky promise.” She holds up her pinky.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not doing a pinky promise.”

  “Come on.” She shoves her hand toward me.

  “You’re a dork, you know that?”

  “I’ve been called worse. Do it, or you can’t hold me to it.”

  I feel like an idiot, but I link my smallest finger around hers. “Happy?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow we’ll either explore the mystery room or the third floor.”

  “What do you think is down there?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe a creepy old science lab?”

  I shudder at the thought. “Well, if there isn’t one in th
e basement, that could be. Do you think our ancestors were actually capable of that? Experimenting on people?”

  “I’m beginning to think anything is possible at this point.”

  I was hoping she wouldn’t say that.

  A giggle sounds.

  Kenzi sits up straighter.

  “Who was that?” I look around.

  “You heard that?” Her eyes look like they could pop out of her head.

  “Yeah. Nobody else is here.”

  “Maybe it was the TV. Sometimes this streaming service starts a new movie on its own.”

  I turn to the television. Just a screensaver advertising another show. “Nope.”

  “Probably the house settling. You know how it is.”

  “Seriously?” I narrow my eyes. “You’re trying to tell me the house settling sounds like a little girl giggling? The creaks and groans, I could believe. Not this.”

  My aunt rises and pulls her hair into a ponytail. “I’m sure it’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  “You still going to try and convince me this place isn't haunted? That it’s just ‘lonely.’” I make air quotes.

  “I can’t explain all the noises. This house has history, and some events do seem to linger in a place. Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

  “In other words, ghosts.”

  “Or negative energy, or something else scientists haven’t discovered yet.”

  “Like ghosts.” I fold my arms. “I was right about this place being a murder house.”

  “We know of one person who died upstairs. It might have even been an accidental death. It’s not a murder house.”

  “You’re trying to tell me somebody died a bloody death accidentally with a knife hidden underneath clothes stuffed in an armoire—on a floor of the house that’s been locked up for decades?”

  “All I’m saying is we don’t know the details yet. We may never know without a body.”

  “Oh my gosh.”

  “What?” She steps closer to me.

  “You’re not trying to convince me this place isn’t haunted. You’re trying to convince yourself!”

  “It isn’t haunted! This isn’t a murder house.”

  “That’s what you want to believe! Maybe even what you feel like you have to tell yourself. You grew up here. You’ve probably been telling yourself this stuff your whole life!”