Page 106 of The Bridesmaid

Fitzwilliam has made another fruitless attempt to open the door of the panic room, but it’s hopeless. He troops back down the stairs, dejected. I’ve stamped out what’s left of the flaming documents, and rake through the remains with my fingers. There’s nothing left of the police report but ash, and a rising column of pale white smoke.

‘Damn it!’ says Fitzwilliam, retreating from the door. ‘At least we know what was in that report,’ he adds thoughtfully. ‘It must have been Petra, right, who snatched Adrianna?’

I nod slowly. ‘Guess so,’ I say. ‘Now we just need to figure a way out so we can warn her.’

‘You think Petra is planning to do something bad to Adrianna on her wedding day?’

‘It would fit with why she trapped us down here and burned the documents,’ I say. ‘If Petra is having an affair with Leopold, maybe something about the wedding affects her in a way we haven’t realized.’ I’m thinking of Simone. The legal documents.

But why do I feel like an important piece of the puzzle is missing? My thoughts keep pinging back to the kidnap. Somehow Petra doesn’t altogether fit.

Something else is waving for my attention. About the way the smoke from the ashen remains of the documents is rising.

Slowly, I get to my feet. Fitzwilliam wears a hopeless expression on his usually stoic face.

‘Sealed shut,’ he says. ‘With the wedding, I don’t think anyone will think to check down here for at least a day.’

‘Airflow,’ I tell him, following where the last strands of smoke are curling white fingers toward the back of the panic room.

‘Holly,’ he sighs, ‘you’re doing the thinking out loud thing again.’

‘Look how the smoke from those burning documents is moving. It should be still.’

‘Maybe there’s ventilation of some kind in here.’

‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘But I’ve used vapor in forensics before, to identify airflow, and that smoke is flowing smoothly. Not jerky, like with AC. That suggests a natural current of air.’

I scan around the room. ‘It never made sense to me,’ I say, ‘why you would put a panic room on the ground floor. So far from the bedrooms.’

‘The wine cellar,’ says Fitzwilliam, ‘needs to be underground.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But we also have the mystery of how a masked kidnapper dragged Adrianna in here, through a party full of people. Put those two anomalies together …’ my eyes track the wisps of smoke. ‘The most obvious answer is there’s another way in. Or out.’

I follow the thin stream as it crosses the room and seems to pool around one particular spot. A large floor-to-ceiling mirror, with a gilt gold frame. I watch it, assessing for a moment how the smoke curls and vanishes around the back.

‘See that?’ I point triumphantly, but Fitzwilliam doesn’t seemto be keeping pace with my line of thought. ‘A secret behind a mirror,’ I murmur. ‘How very like the Kensington family.’ I stand back, considering, then reach out an experimental hand, and push the mirror.

Just as I hoped, the glass recedes before springing back against my touch, peeling away from the wall.

It’s a door.

‘Holly,’ says Fitzwilliam, moving toward me, ‘you found a way out!’

‘Makes up for my general weirdness, right?’

There’s a strangely loaded moment, where we’re both looking at one another. Fitzwilliam steps away first, looking awkward.

He looks to where a set of wooden steps is revealed behind the mirror.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

Chapter Eighty-six

HOLLY

We take the wooden stair up several flights, through a musty and cobwebbed stairwell, until we eventually arrive at a small door. It’s hotel room style. White-painted wood, with the kind of handle that fits a keycard. But when I push down on it, the door is unlocked.

Fitzwilliam sighs in relief.