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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ava

Griffin leaves againafter dinner, so I snoop through the parlor. A massive wall-mounted television sits between two stuffed bookshelves and in the corner is a door with louver slats.

Curious, I peek inside and jump back.

“God.” I open the door wider. “What the hell?”

“Mr. Quinlan made me put all these away,” Bridget says from behind me.

My screeching must have bolted her out of the kitchen to see what mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Talk about a mess... This closet is filled with clown trinkets. Ceramic, wooden, plastic marionettes, and silky stuffedhideousclowns. “Who did these belong to?”

“My previous Mrs.,” Bridget says. “She collected clowns.”

“Griffin didn’t like them?” I don’t blame him for wanting them hidden in a closet.

Bridget tucks a loose strand of gray hair falling from her messy bun. “You can say that.”

My throat tightens, and I scan the closet again. Gasping, I ask, “Does Mr. Quinlan have a...a clown phobia?”

She purses her lips. “He didn’t put it that way. But...”

“I can’t think of any other way to put it.” I shrug as a delicious idea forms in my sick mind. “Um. Can you order something online for me?”

“Sure, Ma’am.” Bridget takes out her phone. “Anything you want.”

I chuckle and can’t believe my luck.