“That’s about where I hit, which is a full step up from Sonya. I can make a pasta thing.”
“I could eat a pasta thing.”
“All right then. I’m going to see what we’ve got around here.”
“I am going to cook—for the Doyles.” Decision made, Sonya thought. “How about next Friday night? Or Saturday?”
Trey took out his phone, studied his calendar. “Friday looks clear. Anna and Seth have a thing Saturday.”
“You have everyone’s schedule on there?”
“He’s an organizer.” Owen took a counter stool. “Whether you want him to be or not.”
“Just avoids scheduling conflicts. I’ll pass the word.”
“Let me know if that works for everyone. I think seven’s good. Owen, you’re more than welcome.”
“I’ll let you have this Doyle thing, but thanks.”
“There’s a chair at the table, and possibly an edible meal if you change your mind. Now.” She picked up her wine, turned to Trey. “Can we talk about the invisible elephant in the room?”
“Why don’t you tell us what’s been going on? Besides the song list.”
“Okay.” Sonya paced along the island as Cleo hunted up what she wanted. “Doors open, doors close, boards creak. I can—could—dismiss that. Old house.”
“And solid as the rock it’s built on,” Owen pointed out. “The floors—ruler level. Sure it’s settled, but you’re not going to have doors open and close on their own.”
“I get that. I’m not pulling a Scully. Not anymore. The day you moved my printer for me, Trey? I’d watched a movie the night before upstairs in the library. I woke up, and I had a throw over me, the TV was shut off, the remote back in its drawer. And when we went up with the printer? The throw was folded again.”
She paused, sipped. “I need to start documenting. I use the fireplace in the library every day, and every day it’s cleaned out and set. I’ll come down and make coffee in the morning, and when I get back, my bed’s made. And at night, turned down like a hotel maid service.”
“I could use one of those,” Owen commented. “Who wouldn’t go for one of those?”
Taking a moment from her search, Cleo glanced back at him. “I know, right?”
“I thought I was just losing it, forgetting things. Oh, the things on my dresser, they’re in different places than where I put them.”
“Piano music,” Cleo reminded her as she began to mince garlic.
“Middle of the night. I thought I dreamed it, or imagined it. But we both heard it last night, and went down. There was light—like candles make—in the music room. Until we got there, and no light, no music.”
“I can’t place the song.” Closing her eyes to bring it back, Cleo waved a finger. “Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da.”
“‘There was a young maid dwelling’，” Trey sang in a clear, easy tenor. “‘And every youth cried well-a-day. Her name was Barbara Allen.’”
“That’s it! Plus, he sings.”
“An old folk song. The lyrics change depending, but the tune’s the same.”
“I’ve heard it,” Sonya murmured. “It’s sad.”
“He’s dying, but she turns away. He dies brokenhearted, she dies out of guilt and sorrow. So yeah,” Trey agreed. “Pretty damn sad.”
“I think it’s Astrid.” Cleo added the garlic to the pan where she’d melted butter. “Murdered on her wedding day. Doesn’t get much sadder.”
“I’ve come in here, and all the cabinet doors are open, and one day—maybe it was stuck—but I went out for a walk, unlocked the door, but I couldn’t get back in. Not at first.”
“You didn’t tell me about that one.”
“I forgot. And the night before Cleo came, I heard someone pounding on the front door. It woke me up. When I got up, there was a blizzard. I could hear the wind just howling, and see the snow flying. I thought, someone’s had an accident or needs help. But when I went down, opened the door, no one, and it was a clear night. No howling wind, no flying snow.
“I nearly stepped outside, then I remembered getting stuck out there. So I didn’t.”
“That’s not playful. That’s on the mean side.” Trey exchanged a look with Owen. “That’s something I haven’t heard before.”