Read Online Close to Home by Lisa Jackson - Free Book Online

and you know when it started, don’t you? The “incident” on the rooftop in the rain? You remember?
    â€œNo,” she whispered aloud and realized her fists were clenched, the muscles in the back of her neck so tight they ached.
    Mom can’t see you now, Sarah, and just because Gracie thought she saw something in this room is no reason to buy into the idea of a ghost,
    â€œStop it,” she warned herself. She wouldn’t let all her fears and insecurities as a child creep back into her consciousness. Setting her jaw, she pushed on the door to Theresa’s bedroom.
    It didn’t budge.
    â€œOh, come on.” Again she tried, but the door was swollen and stuck. She rattled the doorknob, then threw her shoulder against the panels. With a groan, the door opened suddenly, and she nearly lost her balance as she half fell into the room.
    The cold room.
    Colder by at least five degrees.
    An icy spot in the house.
    Don’t go there,
    She saw the window on the north wall near the fireplace and noticed it wasn’t quite shut. Naturally the room was cooler. Also, the damper could have been left open or rusted out in the flue. Though the marble face surrounding the firebox was intact, the wooden surround and mantel were cracked, the white paint wearing thin, a layer of dust covering the narrow shelf. On one knee, she reached into the blackened firebox, felt for the handle on the damper, and pulled. It screeched shut.
    The room seemed more lifeless than the rest of the house, but Sarah shrugged off the feeling as she walked to the window facing the front of the old building and looked through the glass panes to stand where Gracie had been certain she had seen someone. There was no evidence anyone had recently been on this spot. The dingy, gauzy curtains were covered in spiderwebs, complete with dead, trapped insects, and looked as if they hadn’t been disturbed in a quarter of a century. The sill on the window was dusty, as was the floor, and there were no footprints visible, no handprints on the grimy panes.
    She tried to close the window, but it too was stuck, the casing swollen.
    â€œNo big mystery,” she told herself, examining her older sister’s room with an adult eye. It was older and time-worn. The faded, floral rug, mildewed and tattered, lay over the dark wooden floors. Dusty sheets were draped over a four-poster bed and a small night table. In the alcove a vanity was exposed, its sheet having slid halfway off the fly-specked mirror to pool on the floor near the small closet.
    Theresa’s retreat.
    Arlene’s memorial.
    â€œMom!” Gracie’s voice rose to the rafters. “Mom! Your phone’s ringing!”
    Along with her daughter’s voice, Sarah heard the faint sound of her cell’s default ringtone. “On my way,” she yelled, hurrying out of the room. Flying down two flights of stairs, she found her youngest daughter on the first floor, Sarah’s cell in her outstretched hand.
    â€œEvan.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œI didn’t answer.”
    â€œGood thinking.” She snapped up the phone, then shoved it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Hungry?” she asked, steering Gracie toward the kitchen.
    Gracie shrugged.
    â€œSleep okay?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œNo more bad dreams?” Sarah asked.
    â€œIt wasn’t a . . . ,” Gracie sighed. “No.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œWhat were you doing up there?” Gracie hooked a thumb toward the ceiling.
    â€œInventory, I guess you’d say. Maybe reconnaissance.”
    Sarah searched through a couple of sacks she’d brought in last night. “Thought I’d just take a quick look to see what needs to be done before we get started with construction.”
    â€œJade up?”
    Gracie looked at Sarah as if she were as dense as concrete. “No way.”
    Sarah nodded. Good, At least the battles won’t start for a few hours, For once,