Signed Sealed Dead

1.

The house looked like it had been abandoned decades ago.

I pressed my forehead against the truck window as Dad maneuvered us onto the drive and flung open his door in excitement. “We’re home!” He yanked the back door so fast I almost took a dive onto our new front yard. “What do you think, Paige?”

What did I think? I thought I was exhausted after a long journey and a transatlantic flight. My brain was at capacity right now.

“It’s perfect, Jake,” Mum cooed, getting out of the car and walking around to join him. “I can’t believe it’s ours!”

I slipped off my glasses and slowly put them away, rubbing my dry eyes. I knew I didn’t have my contacts in, but were they even looking at the same building as me?

“It’s totally haunted,” I snorted, trying to joke. Truth was, the place was so run-­down I wouldn’t be surprised if a few ghosts were floating around in the rafters. I got out of the car, pushed my arms behind me, and stretched, a loud yawn escaping.

“Oh, stop it.” Dad grinned, flashing those perfect all-­American teeth of his. “Come on, let’s go in. Sarah, do you still have the keys?”

“Yep.” Mum handed him a brown envelope, and I watched my parents practically run up the path to the front door, giddy with excitement. I leaned back against the pickup, yawning again as I watched my dad do the cheesiest thing imaginable and carry Mum across the threshold. Yuck.

“Oh, please,” I grumbled, though a spark of excitement was kindling in my stomach. Despite my initial nerves at moving halfway around the world, seeing my parents so happy was kind of nice. Seemed I couldn’t help getting caught up in the move after all.

This house was huge compared to the one I grew up in, back in England. I’d memorized the listing after Dad had approached us about moving back to the US. I ran through the details in my head as I looked up at the peeling blue exterior. 407 Ocean View has five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a distant view of the Atlantic from the top floor (which I have already claimed) and a pool. A POOL. Back home we’d lived in a town house for as long as I could remember—­two bedrooms, one bathroom and a view of the train tracks.

This might be a cool place to live after all.

“Paige? You OK?” Mum stuck her blond head out of the front door. I touched my own hair, the once-­tight braid now coming apart at the nape of my neck. I hoped one of the four bathrooms had running water; I was in desperate need of a shower and my bed.

“Yeah, Mum. Coming.” I grabbed my small carry-­on case and headed up to the house, pausing only to test my weight on the porch steps, where the wood looked damp and spongy. “Are you sure this place is safe?”

“Of course it is!” Mum laughed, grabbing my hand and dragging me up the steps. “It’s just been empty for a while, that’s all. It’s a good thing your dad doesn’t start his new job for a few weeks; this place needs some serious TLC.”

“Yeah. It’s a shame you have to go back to work so soon.” We stood there for a second, still holding hands. She squeezed mine.

“I know, but we were lucky my company agreed to the move, so I have to jump through some hoops. You coming in, then?”

I looked at the tarnished numbers on the pillar next to the front door, my vision blurring slightly. It really had been a long trip. “Yeah,” I repeated, letting go of Mum’s hand and dragging the case over the threshold.

A shiver rolled over my shoulders. There was no going back now, not that there was much left at home anyway. Everyone had kind of drifted away from me over the last twelve months. I took a deep breath, trying to channel positive thoughts. A fresh start was always good, wasn’t it?

I parked my case and closed the door, gaping at the huge entrance hall. “Wow.”

“Right?” Mum grinned. “Go explore!”

“Sarah! In here!” Dad called from somewhere in the depths of the house. Mum gave me a nudge toward the stairs before following the sound of Dad’s voice. I walked farther into the hallway, my trainer-­clad feet tapping softly on the wooden floor. A staircase climbed the wall on the right and curved around, sweeping up to the next floor, where the thick wooden banister disappeared in a curve of dark oak.

I had an overwhelming urge to follow it.

“Paige!” I blinked, putting my foot down on the step. I was partway up but didn’t remember starting the climb. My eyes re­focused, taking in the darker patches on the ancient wallpaper. Someone else’s family photos had hung here once. Dad shouted again. “Come and see what you want to eat!”

“One sec,” I called back. I craned my neck, but I couldn’t see all the way up the stairs from here. My stomach growled at the thought of food that hadn’t been cooked on an airplane, and I turned around. My room could wait for a bit.

“Here she is!” Dad beamed as I entered the huge open-­plan kitchen. I knew from the listing this was all new—­Mum had swooned hard over the white quartz worktops. Adults get excited over weird things. “Come and have a look at the takeaway menus the Realtor left. I don’t know about you, but I am starving.”

“Yep, me too.” My feet made a different noise this time, the white tiles more sterile, hollow compared to the wood in the entrance hall. “Jeez, this is like the whole downstairs of our old house. You could cook for an army in here!”

“Isn’t it great?” Dad smiled, pushing a pile of colorful leaflets across the island. I pulled a tall stool out and settled down, resting my elbows on the cool stone as I flicked through menus. “What do you feel like?”

“Chinese food.” Mum and I said it together, and Dad rolled his eyes.

“Why did I even ask? You are both so predictable. Come on, we’re in America! Look, this one used to make awesome burritos . . . or the burgers here were amazing . . . or Giuseppe’s Pizzeria! We used to go here every Friday when I was a senior!” He stopped as Mum and I burst into laughter.

“Dad, you order. Get whatever you want. We’ll have anything, right, Mum?”

“Anything,” she agreed, pecking him on the cheek. “You know this place the best. We trust you. Paige, shall we go and check out the top floor? Get you settled?”

“Yep.” I jumped off the stool as Dad tapped a number into his phone.

“Hello? Hey, Mr. Bonucci, you’re still there! It’s me, Jacob Carmichael!” He paused. “Yeah, I’m home!”

“Oh, bless him.” Mum sighed as we climbed the stairs. “He’s so happy.”

“What about you?” I asked, following her onto the landing.

It was dark up there, the doors all closed. Thick curtains covered a large picture window at the front of the house. Mum pulled them open in a puff of gray dust.

“Yuck,” she spluttered. “God, I hate curtains. They’ll be the first thing to go.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I’m fine, I promise, excited even. If there’s one thing us Carmichael women can do, it’s adapt. I’m just glad your dad is happy. He lived in the UK for so long, and now my mum and dad have gone. . . .”

“I know.” Silence fell between us. “I miss them too, but I’m glad he’s happy. And it will be nice to see Gran and Gramps a bit more often now we’re here.”

“It will be. Your dad has missed them.” Mum tried the doors until she found the right one. “Aha! Here you go, the third floor awaits.”

“You mean second floor,” I said, climbing the narrow steps.

“Nope. There’s no ground floor in the US, just the first floor.”

“What? Why? America’s weird,” I mumbled.

“At least Trump isn’t president anymore.”

“Fair comment.” I climbed the last step and emerged into the room, Mum behind me. “Oh, wow.”

“Oh, wow indeed.” Mum leaned over the rail. “Jake, get up here—­we picked the wrong bedroom!”

“Haha, very funny.” I walked over to the long window. It took up almost the whole wall, and Shorehaven reached out before us.

“That’s pretty amazing,” Mum said. “Makes it worth the move?”

“Almost.” I leaned on her. “We were ready for it, though, weren’t we? The last year was . . . Well, it was pretty awful.”

“Yeah.” She stroked my hair as we stared at the distant sea view of sparkling blue and white cresting waves. “It was. Did you hear from any of your friends? I thought the going-­away card they made you was sweet.”

“I haven’t turned my phone on yet,” I said. Yes, the card was sweet, but it was an empty gesture. This time last year they would have thrown me a party, but between helping look after my grandparents and their new social lives in sixth form, I’d become a ghost to them over the last twelve months. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a meaningful conversation with any of them.

“The food needs to be picked up!” Dad called up the stairs, breaking the spell. “Who wants to come? Paige?”

“No, but let me grab stuff out of the car before you go!” I shouted, jogging down the stairs. I barreled to the bottom of the second flight and met him at the front door.