A man downstairs, p.1
A Man Downstairs, page 1
Advance Praise for Nicole Lundrigan’s
A MAN DOWNSTAIRS
“A gripping story of troubled relationships, mental illness and buried secrets with a murder at its heart—who really killed young mother Edie Wynters in the small town of Aymes almost forty years ago? Her now grown daughter is about to find out…. The Man Downstairs is a clever, twisty and chilling read.”—Shari Lapena, international bestselling author of Everyone Here is Lying
“A sharply observed, layered mystery about obsession, desperation, and the dark secrets small towns keep to protect their own.” —Robyn Harding, bestselling author of The Drowning Woman
“Combining sharp, assured prose with boundless humanity, this deftly plotted novel is a triumph. I stayed up all night racing toward a conclusion that provided more than just the deep satisfaction of a whodunit solved—it gave me chills, and made me think. Now all I want is another Nicole Lundrigan novel to become addicted to !” —Marissa Stapley, New York Times bestselling author of Lucky
“Lundrigan is that rare breed of thriller writer who can weave a cunning plot twist while mesmerizing us all with her language. A Man Downstairs is a taut psychological nightmare with a poet’s soul.”—Roz Nay, bestselling author of Our Little Secret and The Offing
Praise for Nicole Lundrigan’s
AN UNTHINKABLE THING
Shortlisted for the 2023 Crime Writers of Canada Award for Best Crime Novel
“From the enticing first pages to the shocking last lines (don’t peek! ), Nicole Lundrigan’s An Unthinkable Thing explores the trauma of loneliness and the power of belonging…. You’ll be deeply moved by this thoughtful and atmospheric page-turner.”—Ashley Audrain, #1 national bestselling author of The Whispers
“Gothic horror meets literary suspense…Flawlessly captivating, this is the book I’ve been waiting to read all year.” —Karma Brown, #1 national bestselling author of What Wild Women Do
“This twisted suspense story’s jaw-dropping events kept me glued to the pages until the ultimate satisfying surprise. A must read.” —Hannah Mary McKinnon, bestselling author of The Revenge List
“This slow burn mystery builds to an inferno that will keep readers riveted until the final, satisfying page. Five enthusiastic stars!” —Nicole Baart, bestselling author of Everything We Didn’t Say
“A magnificent example of all the elements of fine fiction—an engaging narrative voice, a profound evocation of time and place, a complex braiding of plot lines [and] a deeply compelling mystery that doesn’t wholly reveal itself until the final page…”—William Kent Krueger, New York Times bestselling author of This Tender Land
“A superb read about helplessness, power, wealth, honesty, and truth—nightmarishly compelling.”—Booklist (starred review)
Praise for Nicole Lundrigan’s HIDEAWAY
Shortlisted for the 2020 Arthur Ellis Award for Best Crime Novel
“Authentic, disturbing and unbearably tense, Hideaway will leave you reeling.”—Shari Lapena, #1 bestselling author of Everyone Here is Lying
“In elegant, stylish prose, Lundrigan captures the bewilderment of childhood when it’s set against the backdrop of how awful adults can be. If ever there was a book that will hook you with hatred and love, Hideaway is it. With a great, tense finish, you’ll be desperate for the right characters to win. I loved Maisy as much as I do Scout Finch, and that’s saying something.”—Roz Nay, bestselling author of Our Little Secret
“Haunting, harrowing, and beautifully written, Hideaway splendidly showcases the unique talents of Nicole Lundrigan. ”—Ian Hamilton, bestselling author of the Ava Lee series
“A terrific psychological suspense story hinging on the spellbinding character of Gloria, the mom from hell…. Just when you think you have it all figured out, Lundrigan’s plot swerves. This book has to be saved for a binge read.”—The Globe and Mail
“There are few better at writing familial claustrophobia than Nicole Lundrigan, and in Hideaway she uses it to drive the suspense in a thriller about the idea of home, its comforts and entrapments.” —Andrew Pyper, bestselling author of The Homecoming and The Demonologist
ALSO BY NICOLE LUNDRIGAN
An Unthinkable Thing
Hideaway
The Substitute
The Widow Tree
Glass Boys
The Seary Line
Thaw
Unraveling Arva
VIKING
an imprint of Penguin Canada, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited
Canada • USA • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
First published 2024
Copyright © 2024 by Nicole Lundrigan
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
www.penguinrandomhouse.ca
Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Title: A man downstairs : a novel / Nicole Lundrigan.
Names: Lundrigan, Nicole, author.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20230465846 | Canadiana (ebook) 20230465854 | ISBN 9780735242722 (softcover) | ISBN 9780735242739 (EPUB)
Subjects: LCGFT: Novels. | LCGFT: Thrillers (Fiction)
Classification: LCC PS8573.U5436 M36 2024 | DDC C813/.6—dc23
Book design by Emma Dolan, adapted for ebook
Cover design by Emma Dolan
Cover images: (staircase) © Светлана Евграфова, Adobe Stock Images
a_prh_6.3_146382206_c0_r0
CONTENTS
Cover
Also by Nicole Lundrigan
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
For Simon Archer
“Do not fear autumn, if it has come. Although the flower falls, the branch remains. The branch remains to make the nest.”
—LEOPOLDO LUGONES, “ETERNAL LOVE”
PROLOGUE
I’ve Come to realize there is nothing sweeter than a second chance.
Of course, I knew I’d never see her again. But you and I are together now, and that’s what counts. The first moment you smiled at me, all the missteps I’d made in the past were swept away. Forgiven and forgotten.
Most evenings, I am content to gaze at you through the window. My actions feel comfortably familiar, and each time I linger in the backyard, I automatically envision a dozen ways in. Cheap locks or forcible doors. That worthless plastic clip securing the bedroom window. But I won’t do that this time. With her, I played a different role for different reasons, and now I have other ideas.
Though tonight, as I stand on the grass beneath a milk-white moon, I feel worried. You are pacing about the kitchen, a phone pressed to your ear and concern on your face. I wonder if you are safe. If you are happy. As I follow your steps, my left leg buckles from pain. Glancing down, I catch the glint of metal. Fingers gripping the splintery shaft of an axe, its dull blade jabbing my calf. I can’t recall picking it up. And I take a moment to remind myself that I am like everyone else. Choking with apprehension. Prone to dark thoughts.
I rest the axe against the side of the house. I wil l remain measured this time, and not rush ahead. Second chances don’t come along very often.
NOW
•
CHAPTER ONE
Molly
“What if It’s a scam?”
“It’s not a scam.”
“But it could be, Mom. You don’t know everything.”
There was a sneer in Alex’s tone, and Molly realized her teenaged son was baiting her. Instead of responding, she gripped the steering wheel, focused on the curving road ahead. She still hated this stretch of the drive. These last few miles before they passed the mouth of that narrow dirt trail. When she was a child, someone had erected a white cross in the ditch beside it. A glaring reminder for her, her father, and the entire town of what happened there.
“If it’s real, this place better not be a total dump,” Alex mumbled as he unwrapped a hard candy, tossed it into his mouth.
This place was a cheap furnished rental that Molly had found online. Several overexposed snapshots suggested it was bright and clean. In no way luxurious, but choice was limited in a town this size. The owner was flexible with dates, mid-September to whenever, and the location was ideal, only about a twenty-minute walk from her childhood home.
“There’s a roof and running water. How bad can it be?”
“Are you serious?” He slumped down in his seat. “I should’ve stayed with Dad.”
A pain prickled through her chest. Since Leo left a year ago, Alex had seen him only a handful of times. At first calls were sporadic, unreliable, and before long they tapered off altogether. Then last spring, Leo purchased a one-bedroom condo with his latest girlfriend. Purposefully, Molly suspected, so there was zero room for a sweaty sullen teenager. Especially one who needed to monitor his food intake, his blood sugar, his insulin.
“I was joking,” she said. “If it’s awful, we’ll pack up and head over to your grandfather’s.”
“We should have done that anyway.”
She sighed. If they stayed with her father, she knew she’d be swallowed by the sadness of him. He’d had a massive stroke six weeks earlier. A passerby found him crumpled on the front step of his home and called for an ambulance. He was rushed to the hospital in the city, and when Molly arrived, doctors explained that the damage to his cerebellum was extensive. Even so, Molly had fully believed he’d recover. That he was simply hidden beneath some gauzy layers of confusion. But when he finally opened his watery eyes, there was no glimmer. No recognition. Just a blankness that broke her in two.
“I thought it was better,” she said. “For us to have our own space. You’ll hardly be around, anyway. What with school. And, well, your hours.” Two hundred of them, to be exact. Community service for a terrible error in judgment involving his cellphone camera and a girl.
Alex turned his head toward the window, folded his arms over his ribs. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Bring it up when I’m trapped. Not like I can get out.”
She glanced at the silver handle inches from his fist. Her mind spat out a scene. One fluid movement, unsnapping his seatbelt, shoving open the door, and rolling sideways. The dullest thud as his slender body hit blacktop.
“Fair point, darling. I’ll try to speak only when you have a viable means of escape.”
He didn’t laugh, just unwrapped a second candy. The hard edges clinking against his teeth. She wondered if his blood sugar might be low. She wondered if she should ask. Nothing about their interactions seemed straightforward anymore.
Just ahead, a faded wooden sign said “Welcome to Aymes!” Beside the words was a ghost of a corncob with a bandana knotted around its kernel neck. Even though she tried to control her reaction, the sight still made her palms grow slick. They were nearly there.
Around the next bend, the yellowing fields gave way to a dense belt of trees. It was jarring, the sudden shift from vast openness to towering branches, rising up, pressing in, covering the road in leafy shadow. On the north side, the ground began to angle steeply, climbing higher and higher.
As though on cue, Alex bolted upright, pointed out the window. “And that’s where it all went down.”
The white cross had long ago decayed, and the once obvious road was now nothing more than an overgrown path, its entrance blocked by a red metal barricade. Years ago, men would drive through the brush to a drop-off point called the overhang. They’d lower their tailgates, toss trash into the deepest part of Rabey Lake. Bottomless, locals used to say. Things simply disappeared.
“I guess so,” she said.
“Nobody really knows the whole story, but that dude still went to jail?”
Molly sighed again. They’d had this conversation innumerable times. “Yes, Alex, he went to jail. Until his conviction was reversed.”
He was right, though, about no one knowing the entire story. A clear determination was never made about the location of her mother’s death. It was possible she’d died in the garage at their home. Or was killed on the overhang. She could have been dumped over the side while still alive, drowning in the lake. And her skeleton remained there, bare bones tangled up with stained mattresses, pieces of scrap, torn chairs with wild rusted springs. Nearly forty years had passed, and Molly still thought of her mother every day.
“How’s that fair?” he said. “All because you ‘guessed so.’ ”
Her spine stiffened. He was being cruel now. Itching for a fight. He knew she’d witnessed her mother’s death when she was a child. And that the following year she’d testified during the trial. Though proceedings were a blur, there was one moment she recalled with absolute clarity. The entire jury leaning forward as she’d whispered, “There was a man downstairs.”
Later, of course, she understood that the individual who’d entered their home was not a man at all but a skinny boy. A year or two older than her own son was now. She could still picture Terry Kage, seated beside his attorney, shaggy hair and acne-scarred cheeks. His gangly form floating inside a beige suit with massive lapels. He might have worn that outfit to his high school prom. If he had gone.
When Alex was younger, he’d often peppered her with questions about his grandmother, the boy, the murder, but it was out of concern for Molly’s well-being. Lately, though, his interest had intensified. He’d been snooping in her home office and found the one box she’d kept hidden. Her legs weakened when she discovered him sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by pages of the police report, crime scene photos, trial transcripts. “Some of this is bullshit,” he’d said. “You know that, right?”
As they rounded another turn, Molly slammed the car brakes. Alex lurched, smacking his palm on the dashboard.
“What the hell, Mom?”
“Oh, honey, look.”
On the road in front of them, two deer had stopped. One larger, and one slightly smaller. Heads lifted to stare at them, the undersides of their tails white and flickering. Perhaps mother and son.
The doe stood her ground until her fawn had trotted down the shallow embankment on the other side. Then she darted behind him, the pair vanishing into the woods.
“Now you don’t see that in the city, right?”
“Whatever,” he growled. “Can we get going?”
“Doesn’t hurt to pause and appre—”
“I told you a million times already. Quit trying your shrink garbage on me.”
Annoyance bubbled inside her. How could this be the same boy she’d birthed, wore on her chest, played with for hours? Even slept on the floor of his bedroom when he was afraid of monsters. She’d desperately wanted to give him the intense dedication her own mother had once given her. Her father had often described it in detail when she was young, so Molly knew exactly how much she was loved. But instead of a similar bond, she could barely talk to her son.
Alex lay his cheek against his seatbelt. Hard crunch then, like crystal shattering, as his molars pulverized the sugar down to dust.
CHAPTER TWO
When Molly Pulled into the driveway of the rental, a man was standing in the middle of the lawn. He was tall and gangly, the buttons of his plaid shirt misaligned. Behind him was the tiny bungalow she’d seen on the rental website. The wood siding had a deep chestnut stain, and the front was shaded by a steep roof.
