“So did I. Turns out it was bought by a trust, and the trustees are not revealed.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure Arthur Johnson and his wife will live there.”
“But you said he was so involved—haunting you, I believe, was the way you put it.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. That’s what irks me. Maybe I’m just spooking myself. Like I said, it’s not anything to talk about. As long as I’m paid, I guess.”
“It still matters to you, and there’s some reason for that.”
“I just don’t like mysteries involving something I’m doing. Especially on that property,” he muttered.
“What could it be? Who would want to keep the fact that they had bought and were building on Foxworth a secret?”
“I don’t know.”
“Someone from Charlottesville?”
“Maybe. Look, I’m tired, Kristin,” he said, getting up again. “It was a longer day than usual. We’ll talk about it some other time, maybe when I find out more. Okay?”
He did look tired. I didn’t want to keep nagging him and making it all worse. “You’re right to think it’s weird,” I said sharply, then turned and went upstairs.
How much of this should I tell Kane, or should I tell him anything about it at all? What could it possibly have to do with Christopher’s diary? I stood staring at my bed and thinking about the diary. Should I do what I had promised and not read it until Kane and I could read it together? Or should I read ahead and be more prepared for what happened? Would Kane realize it, as he claimed he would? Probably, I thought, and then he might be the one who felt betrayed, and who knew what would happen then?
No, despite the temptation, I would have to wait. Nevertheless, I went to sleep thinking that maybe including him in reading the diary would turn out to be a big mistake in the end for many reasons, some unforeseen.
My father looked surprised the following morning when I told him that Kane was picking me up again. He was thoughtful a moment, and then he smiled.
“Well, I guess we’ll save a lot on gas and tires,” he joked. He didn’t seem as bothered by what he had discovered yesterday, so I didn’t bring it up again. “Let me know when I should sell your car.”
“Like I would,” I said. “Ever.”
He laughed. “I’m going to get down to business about Thanksgiving,” he said, changing his tone. “It’s only days away. I reserved a fourteen-pound turkey.”
“Sounds bigger than last year.”
“Just in case we have another guest or two,” he replied, his eyebrows up in expectation.
“Not Kane,” I said quickly. “His family has a big Thanksgiving with lots of relatives. He has to be there.”
He nodded. I was sorry that the way I had said it made it sound like I was unhappy with our small group. “Your aunt Barbara might still come. She was invited to her boss’s home, but . . . she might still come.”
“Whatever. We’ll have the best dinner for miles around,” I told him.
It brought a weak smile to his face. “Did I ever tell you about your mother’s and my first Thanksgiving together?”
He had, but I shook my head.
“I was still at the diner, and I made a six-pound turkey just for the two of us. We ate late, after the crowd had gone. We ate in the kitchen. It was the best Thanksgiving we had until you were born and could sit at the table with us. She was the one who said, ‘No matter how good the food is, it’s better when you share it with people you love. Otherwise, it’s just good food.’ Sounds like it should be on a greeting card, huh?”
“Yes.”
He was thoughtful for a moment and then snapped back quickly. “She’d sure bawl me out for doing or saying anything to diminish ours.”