“More afraid she’ll tell you about the time I convinced Wesley and Tina that our treehouse was haunted.” Her heart tightened at the memory of simpler days when their biggest worry was staying out past dark.
“You had a treehouse?”
“Have. It still stands there.” She smiled despite herself. “My dad built it before he died.”
Mason checked his watch. “We have time to kill before dinner. Want to show me?”
“I’ll show it to you after dinner.” Savanah hesitated. Going home meant facing more than just her mother's cooking. It meant confronting all the reasons she had left in the first place.
“Come on,” Mason said softly. His eyes met hers with genuine interest. “I promise to protect you from any treehouse ghosts.”
“My hero.” The sarcasm in her voice couldn't quite hide her smile. “Okay. But if my mom starts talking about my awkward phase, I’m leaving the room and you’re on your own.”
They climbed into the car. She was ready for a break from all the death and the investigation. The tension in her shoulders eased as they drove toward the memories Savanah had tried so hard to leave behind.
16
The gravel crunched under their tires as Mason pulled up to Savanah's childhood home. The two-story farmhouse looked exactly as she remembered. White paint weathered to gray covered the exterior. The wraparound porch featured her mother's collection of mismatched rocking chairs and burst with colors from potted flowers.
“This is nice,” Mason said as he turned off the engine.
“Just wait until you try Mom'scooking.” Savanah grimaced. “Hope you like takeout.”
But the smell of pot roast greeted them at the door. Her mother had actually cooked. That never signaled anything good.
“You arrived early,” Catherine called from the kitchen. “Perfect timing to set the table.”
Mason followed Savanah through the living room, past walls covered in family photos. He paused at one of a younger Savanah in a treehouse, beaming at the camera with a gap-toothed grin.
“Cute kid,” he said, his voice softening.
“I was missing a front tooth. Not exactly my finest moment.” She tugged at his sleeve, urging him forward before he discovered more embarrassing childhood memories.
The kitchen radiated with warmth and fragrance. Her mother had gone all out with the meal. Pot roast, potatoes, and fresh rolls filled the counter. A dessert cooled nearby, completing the suspiciously perfect domestic scene.
Savanah exchanged a glance with Mason. Something about this welcome felt too perfect, too rehearsed. Her mother never cooked like this unless she was emotionally working through something.
“When did you have time for all this? We just saw you an hour ago,” Savanah asked.
“I was being optimistic.” Her mom grinned. “I heard you arrived in town yesterday. I planned to call and offer you and Agent Spencer dinner.”
“Mason, please.”
“Mason.” She smiled warmly. “I hope you brought your appetite.”
They settled around the old oak table that still bore the initials Savanah had carved when she was twelve.
“So,” Catherine said as she passed the potatoes, “how long will you be in town?”
“Until we solve the case,” Mason answered.
“Both cases,” Savanah corrected. “The barn bodies and Beverly.”
Catherine's hand trembled slightly as she set down her glass. “I heard about Beverly. Such a horrible thing.” She hesitated, her eyes flicking briefly to Savanah. “Richard asked about you.”
Savanah stiffened at her stepfather's name. “You’ve seen him recently?”
“He comes by sometimes to check on things.” Catherine's eyes darted to the window. “He’s changed since he left, Savanah.I should have known better than to believe the rumors about an affair.”
