The Follower by Kate Doughty (ebook reader with built in dictionary TXT) 📕

“We’re talking about the account, not her—” Rudy starts, but Amber cuts him off.

“It’s our new follower,” Amber says. She holds up her phone and shows them the latest comment:

You mess with that house, I mess with you.

CHAPTER 5

Rudy

Rudy is awake long before the rest of his family. He spends the early-morning hours talking to fans online. They’re all super enthusiastic about the ghost, and so is he. Spurred by their interest, he starts googling the Tremont house and Alex Grable. Now that he has a name, his searches yield results: a couple old newspaper articles about the murder-suicide and a small story about the dedication of a memorial bench in the local park. Since Alex Grable was a minor at the time—only seventeen—details are slim. Aside from discovering the exact year of the incident—1997—Rudy only manages to confirm what Cecily has already told them: that Alex Grable, a senior in high school, had snapped. They found her mother in the driveway with multiple stab wounds. Alex’s crumped body was discovered beneath the open window of the turret. From what he gathers, the case is considered closed. A murder-suicide.

There are pictures attached to the article: The first is a photo of the Tremont house. Their house, covered in crime-scene tape and surrounded by police. But the worst picture is the school photo of Alex. Teenaged gangly limbs, braces. She was seventeen. Exactly Rudy’s age. She looks so . . . normal. What could have made her want to kill her mom?

Mrs. Cole comes downstairs and Rudy snaps his computer shut. He knows that she won’t like him looking further into Alex Grable, even though she’d okayed some of the ghost content. Thankfully, his mom is almost instantly distracted by Amber’s arrival as she comes down to make coffee. She gives Rudy’s sister a once-over. “What are these bags under your eyes? Didn’t I tell you to moisturize? You might have to sit out the next shoot, honey.”

Amber’s face falls, and Rudy winces. It’s no secret that she’s been in fewer and fewer posts in recent years. Which isn’t fair, he thinks, since Amber’s old content—mostly fashion and thrifting hauls—didn’t exactly require her to be stick-thin, did it? Of course, he knows a lot of people wouldn’t see it that way. Maybe Mom is just trying to protect her.

But, that being said, Amber does look awful. “I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbles. “Bad dreams.”

“Nightmares?” Rudy asks before his mom can answer. He fixes himself his usual protein shake and shoots Amber a look. “About . . . ghosts?”

Amber shrugs, trying to act casual. “I thought I heard someone walking around upstairs,” she admits. “But it was probably just some dream.”

“Or a ghost,” Rudy says, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Amber giggles. On the bar, Speckles shuffles around in his cage. Rudy can’t believe that Mom let Cecily keep him there, but apparently it is okay since they’ll be installing new countertops anyway.

“Not funny.” Cecily cuts in, walking into the kitchen. She gives Speckles a pat before she opens the fridge and makes a face at its contents.

“Hey Amber, isn’t your room right underneath the—”

“I said it’s not funny,” Cecily says, interrupting her brother.

Before Rudy can reply, his dad walks into the room.

“I got up to go to the bathroom, hun. That’s probably what you heard,” he says. “Man, this house doesn’t keep secrets! Can hear anything anywhere.” He gives the family a shaky smile. “Hey, you kids notice anything different about the kitchen? I set it up yesterday.”

Rudy looks around and spots it. There, above the sink, is the small slate plaque that has followed them through every single renovation: The Cole Family: Est. July 6th, 1991. Underneath their parents’ wedding anniversary are the triplets’ names.

Usually, a gesture like that would have made his mom blush happily, or at least smile at his dad. Today, though, she gives no reaction.

Mr. Cole soldiers onward. “I thought that . . . now that the plaque is up, we’re officially home.” Crickets. “And, uh, Marie, speaking of the house. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Mrs. Cole shoots him a withering look. “Oh?” Rudy is impressed by how much disdain she can convey in a single word.

Mr. Cole continues. “The realtor recommended some local people for the construction; I’m having them over today. I’m going to hire a long-term handyman—and don’t worry, we’ll have him sign an NDA, stay off camera, the whole nine yards. I know how much you care about our image—”

“I care? You think I’m the only one that cares? What about our sponsors? Our fans? Do you think they care—”

Rudy exchanges a look with Amber and Cecily.

Slowly, Amber slips her plate off the table, like she’s trying her best to make minimal noise. The lip of the china clinks. Mrs. Cole’s head snaps toward the noise. She visibly tries to calm herself.

“Ah, kids—since there are no photo shoots on the schedule today, why don’t you three help clean out the upstairs rooms?”

“Why can’t you get your junk movers to do that?” Rudy huffs. He has better things to do—like discover more about Alex Grable’s death.

“Because they charge by the floor,” she says. “The attic and the turret room are on you three. Besides, the realtor said there is a lot of junk up there; maybe you can hunt around for valuables.” She lets out a frustrated breath. “Or, since it’s getting a lot of engagement, maybe something that can make the story about the ghost really pop. An old diary, or a music box . . .”

Cecily looks green. Rudy feels bad for her, even though he’s excited that Mom has finally gotten on team ghost. Not that she had any other choice, what with that kind of engagement and where their money comes from.

“Come on, Mom. She died twenty years ago, not in the eighteen hundreds,” Cecily says, but her voice sounds shaky.

Mrs. Cole gives her a look. “Don’t back-talk me, Cecily Jane. Besides, that should give