Page 68 of The Locked Ward

I walk up the steps of the Cartwrights’ grand front porch and ring the bell, waiting for David the butler to answer.

When the door opens, I can’t help gasping.

A different man is standing there, staring at me with his bulging blue eyes. It’s Reece DuPont.

His expression hardens as he takes me in.

“How can I help you?” he asks in a tone that’s anything but solicitous.

“Hi, Reece.” He blinks, and I feel a stab of satisfaction that I caught him by surprise by addressing him by name. “I need to see Honey.”

“Come in.” He stands back, opening the door to the cavernous hallway.

For a split second, I’m seized with the urge to turn and run. But if everything Georgia says is true, they’ll find me.

I walk inside and Reece closes the door behind me.

The house is utterly silent other than the echo of our footsteps as he leads me down the hallway and opens the door to the library.

It’s filled with dark paneled wall-to-ceiling bookshelves, making the space feel smaller than it really is.

One thing I register right away: There’s a skylight overhead, but no windows.

No one on the outside can see what might unfold in here.

A bouquet of lilies on the coffee table fills the air with a powdery, sickly-sweet aroma.

There’s also only one door to the room.

Reece gestures for me to sit. I choose the chair that puts me closest to the door, just like I always do in the locked ward.

“Coffee?” he offers.

“This isn’t a social call.” There’s no way I’m drinking anything this man gives me. Honey must’ve told him about my text. He had to have scrambled to get here before me. Either that or he’s been ahead of me all along.

He assesses the remaining seats, then closes the heavy wooden door and takes the chair directly across from me.

“Would you like to tell me what this is all about?”

I want to shift away from him. But he’d probably view that as a victory. So I lean forward, matching his stare.

“The only person I’m talking to is Honey.”

“You do realize she is a mother in mourning.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll want to hear this. If she doesn’t, I can find someone else who will.”

In a quick, fluid motion Reece stands up and I suppress a flinch.

“A friend is coming to pick me up in thirty minutes,” I lie. “If I don’t walk out of here to meet her, she’s going to the police.”

He smirks, and I remember something else. The Cartwrights are close friends with the chief of police. They can probably make arrests happen with a snap of their fingers, just like Senator Dawson can.

I brace myself for what Reece might do next, but he simply opens the library door and walks out.

I stand, waiting for whatever comes. But nothing happens for several minutes.

He’s probably sweating me, like a cop does to a suspect. He doesn’t know how much I know.

I think back to how he opened the door and stood there, almost like it was his house. Honey’s husband travels a lot. Could Reece have been here even before I texted? And if so, what exactly is Honey’s relationship with Reece?

After another few minutes that feel like an eternity, the door opens and Honey stands there, her hair swept back and her face stony.

She doesn’t look like a mourning parent. She looks livid. Reece is behind her, his expression so calm it’s more unsettling than her rage.

“Did you send me that text?” she demands.

I nod. My text read: I have some important information about Annabelle and Senator Dawson’s relationship. I’ll be at your house within the hour to discuss it.

Maybe she’s wondering how I got her private cell number, the one Georgia gave me at the end of our last phone call. Or maybe she already knows.

“There’s something I need to show you,” I tell her.

“Who are you?” she demands.

Confusion floods me. I was here only days ago, with her in the garden.

“You don’t know who this is?” Reece asks. “She was at Annabelle’s memorial service.”

“I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

When I was here, I looked a little different—my hair was down, I had on makeup, and I was dressed in the image I wanted to project. But that was just window dressing. Does she truly not recognize me?

I feel myself gaping, caught off guard. Then Honey steps closer, squinting. “Wait a minute. You’re Annabelle’s sorority sister.”

Maybe she needs glasses and is too vain to wear them.

I press on. “I need to show you something.” I reach into the bag strapped across me. My hand moves past the reassuringly cold metal of my gun, then closes around my cell phone. I pull it out.

I have to look down to navigate to the video Tony Wagner sent, which makes me uneasy. I quickly press play and hold it up.

Honey moves even closer, just out of arm’s reach. I can smell her strong perfume and something else: the sour echo of wine on her breath. My heart pounds as the video begins to play.

“That’s Annabelle’s apartment,” she says.

“Keep watching.”

I see her eyes widen as she takes in Senator Dawson.

“He left Annabelle’s apartment late on the night of his last wedding anniversary. Other people know about this. They were having an affair. It was going on for a long time right under your nose.”

I wait for the shock to dawn in Honey’s eyes, for her to start shrieking and turn on Reece, demanding that he summon the senator and Stephen. Annabelle’s father will be apoplectic upon learning his best friend was sleeping with his young daughter. Everything is about to explode.

But Honey does the last thing I expect. She throws back her head and laughs.

“You stupid girl.”