Page 64 of Collateral Claim

There’s no ghost (or a doll) stalking me, staring down at me from the top of the stairs.

I sigh and head for the kitchen.

I’ve never been here before. I got the impression that Mary and Philip run a tight ship and don’t like to have their spaces invaded. Just a feeling, is all.

Dim floor lights and a light under the oven illuminate the space. The single right slipper makes it more difficult to walk, so I leave it by the entrance and pad barefoot toward the fridge.

I actually could use a midnight snack.

I’d love a scotch, but Endo’s cigar lounge on this side of the house offers the best selection of liquors in the house, and I’m not going in there. A dessert will have to do.

Inside the refrigerator, I find a round container holding what I believe is cake. I open it and uncover a selection of desserts. Of course there are. Endo employs a pastry chef.

I close the fridge and set the container on the counter. As I examine the desserts, I recall Charlotte’s wedding preparations. I would be in the middle of my mycology class when she would send me pictures of various wedding cakes, asking me for input on the aesthetics. Charlotte did the tasting. I helped her finalize the decision.

Come to think of it now, I’m not a stranger to wedding preparations. Charlotte asked me to give my opinion during hers.

I miss my sister.

I call her every day from the office, but the call never goes through. Shamefully, I admit I’m relieved. I never thought of myself as a coward, and I hope that’s not what I’ve become since Endo took me, but I also wonder how I would explain any of this to my sister. Or rather, how much I should say. What would I say?

Protecting her from knowing about Endo’s business seems like a wise thing to do. Yet, I wish I had someone I could trust with everything I’m going through.

I feel terribly alone.

Stuffing my face with a double chocolate pie will make me feel better.

Using my fingers, I pick off the thin piece of chocolate decorating the top of the slice of cake. Oh, that’s yummy. Dark chocolate tastes the best. Sweet and bitter at the same time.

I look around for a fork and find a metal tray holding a large steak knife and what appears to be a map.

“No, he didn’t,” I say in disbelief.

I doubt that Endo has modernized the house, so I don’t use a voice command to turn on the lights; instead, I seek out the light switch, which I find by the door above my discarded slipper.

It’s one of those twist lights I can regulate, so I turn it up slightly, not too bright. I don’t want the kitchen to become a beacon for Endo’s guards outside.

A few days ago, when I threatened Endo with murder, Endo said he’d leave a knife and a map of how to get to his bedroom on the kitchen counter. Since I joked about the murder (I might’ve changed my mind since, but that’s not important now), I assumed he followed up with a joke too.

I was wrong.

He meant it.

There’s a gleaming, sharp steak knife and a piece of paper that appears to be a map of the house next to it.

Did he draw this? I prop my elbows on the counter to get a closer look. Someone drew it with a charcoal pencil. There’s a clear path with arrows and little redTHIS WAYsign that leads up the stairs and into a room on the east side of the house above the morning room. It’s a large bedroom marked with a letterX.

I can’t hold back a smile.

This guy. This damn guy drew me a map to his bedroom and left a steak knife beside it, daring me to come in and try to end him.

Tempting, but no. I wouldn’t hurt him. Not even if he gave me the tools to do so. But I memorize the map while I eat my cake, too scared to go back upstairs and sleep next to the nursery tonight.

Chapter 27

The wicked don’t rest

Scarlett