Page 53 of His Twisted Game

“Housing for how many men?” I asked.

“Over sixty,” Wilder said.

I let out a gasp, and Maisie quickly jumped in: “There’s a lot to do here.”

Were they doing absolutely everything by hand? They couldn’t be.

“Why so many?” I asked.

Wilder stiffened and Maisie put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said.

I fell silent. I respected when she wanted to keep things to herself, so we kept it at that.

We drove through the pastures. Some of the mama cows and baby calves were grazing together, one last bite before settling in for the night. One large barn, half painted, with streaks of red and white, loomed in the distance. The sliding front doors looked bigger than the other barn’s.

“What’s that?” I asked. “More room for calves?”

“Sort of,” she said. “It’s the Dairy Barn.”

“Dairy Barn?”

“My father wanted to switch to dairy cows once,” Wilder explained.

“And did you?”

I squinted my eyes. A lock was on the front doors. Apparently, whatever it was, was kept secret and separate from the rest.

“No,” he finally said.

Maybe the Dairy Barn would have the answers I was searching for. “Can we go in?” I asked.

“It’s just storage now. Nothing interesting.”

They were both being dismissive as if it was nothing. And that piqued my interest. They must have been hiding something. But I dropped it, letting it go again. There would be time to investigate on my own; I would make sure of it.

At dinner, I pressed the wine glass to my lips but didn’t take a sip—just enough to pretend like I was getting tipsy.

After bread pudding, I gave a deep sigh. “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked Maisie.

“You learn things,” she laughed. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Actually,” I paused, “Do you think I could spend the night here? I drank too much. I want to sleep it off.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “You gotta learn to pace yourself.”

“I know,” I groaned.

She motioned down the hallway. “We’ve got the room.”

Wilder’s eyes followed us as we moved through the house. She led me to an empty guest room downstairs.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she said. “Bathroom is attached.”

“Thanks,” I said. As she left the room, I pinched my cheeks until they were red, trying to look the part. When she returned, she handed me a bright white towel, then stopped in the doorway.

“There’s one thing I should tell you,” she said. “If something’s locked, then don’t go in.”