Nightfall (Grim Gate 1)

James looks at me as if that’s a completely irrelevant question.

“It was her aunt,” I quickly explain. And at least Mom remembers meeting Aunt Estelle, unlike me. “Or my grandma? Estelle was her sister.”

“No, you are the only one I was told to inform.”

Neither of us say anything for a moment. The long silence is awkward.

“So where exactly is this house? I know she lived in Indiana, but that’s it,” I admit shyly.

James gets out a map. Man, he has everything in that briefcase. Up in the left top corner of Indiana is a star.

“Northwest Indiana.” He points at the star, as if I couldn’t figure out that is where I am supposed to look. “It’s a bit of a funny situation, really. The street your house is on is the divider from one town to another. The house is in Paradise Valley, but your mailbox is across the street in Thorne Hill.”

Your house. Your mailbox. This is all so weird.

“So the mailing address is Thorne Hill, but I believe you have Paradise Valley trash pickup due to the routes the trucks take. I’ll clarify on that when we’re back in Indiana.”

“Back in Indiana?”

“Yes, I was under the impression you’d want to finalize all the paperwork as well as see your house.”

“Oh, right. I, um, I do,” I say, eager to go into the old house and see if it jogs my memory.

“Let me know when and I will arrange transportation to the airport for you as well as book your flight.”

I stare at him, blinking. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “This is just…just a lot to take in.”

“I can imagine.” He forces a smile and pulls out a folder and a pen from his briefcase. “Now, shall we get the ball rolling?”

“Um, sure,” I say and pick up the pen. Aunt Estelle wrote that I can trust him. But since when do I trust Aunt Estelle?

Chapter Seven

“Hey, Mom.” I put my Prius in park in the hospital parking lot. “Do you have like five minutes?”

“I actually do. What’s wrong, honey?” she answers.

I turn the car off and switch the call from my car Bluetooth to my phone. “Why do you assume something is wrong?”

“You called to talk. You hardly ever call to talk.”

“I call you,” I counter. “And I was hoping I could see you. Dad said you were seeing patients and updating files today.”

“Now I’m worried.”

“Are you in your office?”

“What’s wrong, Anora?”

I get out of the car and close the door behind me. “I’m pregnant.”

“Hilarious,” Mom deadpans. “What’s really wrong?”

“Aunt Estelle died.”

“Oh,” Mom replies. “Well, she was quite old. How do you know?”

“A lawyer came to my house this morning and—I really need to show you something.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’m about to check on a patient in the PACU but will be back in my office shortly. I’ll meet you there. Bye, honey.” Mom ends the call and I shove my phone in my purse. With the papers from James tucked under my arm, I brush hay off my breeches and walk into the hospital.

I spent the morning at the barn and everything was normal. If it wasn’t so damn hot out, I would have brought Hunter to help calm my nerves. I blamed my jitters on too much coffee paired with the humidity of the morning. I’m not sure if anyone bought it, but no one was going to accuse me of being nervous because a monster spooked Mystery in the woods yesterday and the resident ghost went rogue.

I’m not sure what I expect Mom to tell me. She didn’t know Aunt Estelle very well, but I’m having a hard time believing little old Aunt Estelle was a closet millionaire to the entire Fowler family. Getting in an elevator to go up to Mom’s office, I look over the papers again, rereading the letter from Aunt Estelle for the hundredth time. I haven’t found a hidden message in it yet, but maybe—just maybe—if I read it again I will.

Still looking at the letter, I step out of the elevator and crash right into someone’s firm chest.

“Anora.” Ethan’s hands land on my shoulders, steadying me.

I look up, lips parting, but I’m unable to form a coherent sentence. Ethan takes a step back, and lets his hands fall from my shoulders, fingers running down my arms. “I…I’m not drunk,” I finally blurt and then mentally kick myself.

“I’d hope not,” he says with a laugh. “It’s only noon.”

I smile, eyes locking with his. A second passes before I realize there’s someone standing next to Ethan. The man has to be Ethan’s father, or a much older brother. They look alike, though Ethan is a bit taller. He has what appears to be claw marks on his face, and his arm is in a sling. I shift my gaze back at Ethan, noticing tiny scratches on his face, looking like he ran through low-hanging branches or something. His left bicep is a little bruised up too, though it’s hard to tell against his tattoos.