CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Iscream.

Nathaniel is there in an instant, his hand at the small of my back. “It’s alright. It’s just the storm. Power losses happen all the time.”

I take a deep breath, feeling more than a little silly for my reaction. Of course it’s the storm. I could hear the effects of it on my phone call with Detective Pierce.

“How long before the power normally returns?” I ask Nathaniel.

“It’s hard to tell. It could be back in a few hours; it could be days.”

“Wonderful.”

Marbrisa is creepy under the best of circumstances without adding power loss into the mix.

“It looks like both of us will be staying at the Biltmore tonight,” Nathaniel says.

“What if we can’t get out—or Detective Pierce can’t get to us? How do the roads typically fare in weather like this? Earlier, the conditions were bad.”

He doesn’t answer me, but then again, I suppose his silence is an answer itself. There’s a good chance we may be trapped here until the conditions improve.

I reach into my bag and grab the flashlight I took from Asher’s car, grateful I thought to bring it with me.

I turn it on, a small beam of light illuminating the library.

“What do we do now?” I ask Nathaniel.

“Why don’t you go up to your room and pack a bag for the hotel?”

I hesitate. “Will you come up with me? I don’t want to be alone when the house is like this.”

“Of course.”

I slip the knife back into my purse and sling it over my shoulder, the flashlight clutched in my other hand.

“Is Mrs. Morrison here?” I ask Nathaniel. “She was at the house when I left to go to the police station.”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her for a few hours.”

“We should find her. If she is here, I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“I agree.”

We move slowly through the house, calling out for Mrs. Morrison, raising our voices to be heard over the sound of the roaring storm. I feel a little braver now that there’s two of us. Even with the assistance of the flashlight, it’s too dark to see more than a few feet in front of us, the inky blackness surrounding us.

Nathaniel keeps a tight hold on my arm.

We stop at the base of the stairs.

There’s a creak, the sound of floorboards shifting above us.

“Let me go first,” Nathaniel whispers. He releases me, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a revolver. “Stay behind me.”

My heart pounds. It’s probably just Mrs. Morrison moving around upstairs, but given all that has happened, I can’t blame him for taking precautions. I certainly feel more comfortable knowing that he has a weapon.

We walk up the stairs slowly, with me at his back.

“If there’s someone else up there, you go to the nearest room and barricade yourself in there until help comes,” Nathaniel instructs.

“I will.”

I hold on to the railing, taking each step gently, remembering how I almost slipped and fell that last day with Carolina.

Lightning flashes in the sky once more, illuminating the staircase before the house goes pitch-black again.

The sound grows louder; then, there’s the unmistakable thud of footsteps.

We reach the top of the landing.

I notice Nathaniel isn’t calling out for Mrs. Morrison anymore.

Neither am I.

We’re both likely keenly aware that the storm has isolated us from the rest of the world.

The noise has stopped.

We walk down the hallway, and Nathaniel quietly motions for me to give him the flashlight. I hand it to him, my body shaking like a leaf.

Thunder rolls.

Then silence.

A moan fills the air.

“Did you hear that?” I hiss.

Nathaniel nods, the flashlight illuminating his profile. His jaw is clenched.

We walk down the hallway, the steps familiar to me. We’re nearing a set of guest bedrooms now, mine just two doors down.

I can barely see ahead of me, Nathaniel’s body blocking the flashlight’s beam, and I regret that I gave him the light, that I—

A curse escapes Nathaniel’s lips.

He crosses the threshold to my bedroom and crouches down.

Beyond him, I can just make out a figure, dark skirts crumpled on the ground.

The flashlight’s beam skates over the body, the hand holding its base no longer steady.

My breath catches as I recognize her.

Horror fills me.

Mrs. Morrison.

“Is she—?”

I can’t say the rest of the sentence aloud.

Nathaniel leans over her, pointing the flashlight at her body, at a nasty gash on her head. His fingers move to her neck, searching for a pulse.

“She’s alive,” he replies, relief flooding his voice. “Barely, but she’s alive.”

He reaches out, handing me the flashlight. “Take this. I’m going to see if I can lift her.”

I grab the flashlight from him with my free hand, my purse clutched tightly in my other one.

A flash of lightning explodes, illuminating the room, and then I see it—the dark, cavernous space yawning before me.

The door to the passageway in my room, the one I had kept barricaded since the night Asher walked through it—is wide open. The furniture I had used to block it is gone.

“Nathaniel—”

A figure steps out of the dark, a black boot crossing into the beam of the flashlight.

“Look out!” I scream at Nathaniel.

I’m a moment too late. He barely seems to register that I’ve spoken at all when the intruder reaches out, swinging, a large mallet in their hands.

Nathaniel crumples to the floor.

I shine the light up, up—

Until it rests on George’s face.

Confusion sets in for an instant, thoughts rapid firing inside me.

Did George think Nathaniel was trying to hurt me? Was George protecting me? Did he make a mistake?

Was George ever really my friend at all?

I glance down at where Nathaniel’s body lies prone near Mrs. Morrison’s. Nathaniel’s not moving, but he’s face down and I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not, if George killed him or he’s merely unconscious.

I can’t see Nathaniel’s gun. He must have lost control over it when George hit him.

I don’t want to risk moving the flashlight to see if I can find it, don’t want to draw attention to it while George is standing before me, while I’m still sorting everything out in my mind.

I swallow, stalling for time. George doesn’t know that we called Detective Pierce. It’s been nearly thirty minutes. Detective Pierce should be here soon if the roads were passable.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t intend to come out and ask him in such a forthright manner, but I suppose Nathaniel was right all along. Maybe I am too direct.

I keep thinking about what Detective Pierce said to me, about how the murderer is likely the person who has the most to gain.

What am I missing?

What did Carolina figure out that I haven’t yet?

George doesn’t answer me.

“Why?” I ask again, taking his silence as an admission. “Why did you kill my sister? Why the animals? Why all of it?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? Carolina did.”

My heart pounds. How could I have so misjudged him?

“What did Carolina figure out?” I ask.

“That Marbrisa should be mine, not Asher’s.”

“What are you talking about?”

Thunder booms through the night sky.

I jump, the flashlight’s beam wobbling with the motion.

Out of the corner of my eye, past Nathaniel’s body, I spy the gun resting on the ground near my bed.

I jerk my gaze back up to George’s face, praying he didn’t notice my lapse in attention, that he doesn’t turn his attention to the gun’s location.

“Robert Barnes was my father,” George announces.

It takes a moment for me to place the name, to tie the past to the present. I was so focused on Anna and Lenora, that truthfully I thought little of Robert himself.

I remember what Detective Pierce told me in his office earlier—his suspicions about Robert Barnes’s involvement in Lenora Watson’s death, his hunch that Robert was the one who gave Lenora the snake necklace. Mrs. Morrison told me there were other women. Now I see. Now I understand.

“Lenora Watson was your mother.”

It’s the piece of the puzzle I never had, the one that tied everything together, past and present. When I spoke with Mrs. Morrison days ago, I got the sense that she was holding something back from me. Was this the secret she kept?

“They had an affair,” I say.

Something flashes in George’s eyes. “They did. And Robert Barnes killed her, used his wealth and power to cover it all up. All of this was meant to be mine. Instead, I was raised by my grandmother in a house not much bigger than this bedroom. For most of my life, she lied to people. Said that my father died in the war. That he was married to my mother. She was afraid of the scandal, ashamed that her daughter had carried on with a married man. Right before my grandmother died a year ago, she told me who my father really was, and I came here to see my birthright in person.

“Asher hired me. Can you imagine that? This house should by birth be mine, but instead he wanted me tending his gardens, toiling in the muck and dirt for him. I grew up in a shack compared to this place, miles away, and I never knew who I really was.”

“How did Carolina find out?”

“Once she learned about my mother’s death, she became convinced that her death was tied to Anna’s. She started asking questions of everyone who was involved back then. When she reached out to my mother’s family and learned she had a son, well, I think she started putting the pieces together. In the end, I don’t know what she knew, just that she suspected enough to be a threat.”

“So you killed her. And then you framed Asher by placing the knife in the glove box of his convertible.”

“It didn’t have to end like this. I had a plan. I knew Asher’s finances were tight—there were rumors that he had extended himself buying this place. The more problems I caused for him, the greater the chance that he would have to give up this place. You can’t maintain a home of this magnitude if no one will work here.”

“How did you get my sister to meet you in the maze that night?”

“She wasn’t meeting me. She had been up north earlier in the day talking to my family. One of my cousins works at Marbrisa. He let me know some rich lady was asking about me. I kept an eye out, watching the house, waiting for an opportunity. I learned about the passageways from my cousin when he was involved in the remodeling. I was planning on sneaking into the house that way, but then it wasn’t necessary—she was just there, heading toward the maze. So I improvised. She was looking for Asher, probably to tell him her suspicions about me. I just got there first.”

He advances toward me, and something flashes in my mind, and I see him not as he is now, but standing outside the maze, looming over my sister. I can feel Carolina with me, as surely as if she stood beside me, linking her fingers with mine, giving me strength.

This was the face she saw right before she died.

It’s the last one I’ll see, too.

It can’t end like this.

I won’t let it.

I glance over at where the gun is once more, stalling for time, trying to figure out how to get past him.

“And the necklace? Your mother’s necklace? Did you place that in my room, too?”

His gaze darts toward my dresser and back to me, surprise in his eyes—

“What necklace?”

For an instant, he’s confused, distracted, and it’s all I need.

I lunge forward, scrambling to the floor and reaching for the gun. My fingers graze the handle—

George’s hand clamps down on my ankle, yanking me away.

The gun skitters out of my grasp.

At once, he’s on top of me, knocking the flashlight out of my hand. It drops to the floor with a crash.

Lightning skates across the night sky.

George’s hands wrap around my throat.

I kick my legs, struggling to push him off, screaming for help.

His fingers press into my skin, cutting off my air.

It’s too dark to see anything, and I feel as though I am drowning, the weight of George on top of me, the pressure of his fingers on my throat dragging me under.

I’m going to die.

Just like my parents. Just like my sister. It ends here.

Not like this.

There’s a voice in my head now, insistent, pulling me back.

My purse is still in my hands.

The knife.

I shove my fingers inside, brushing up against my wallet, makeup bag.

Relief surges through me. My hand closes around the hilt.

I pull the knife out and plunge it into his heart.