13

“You’re going to catch cold in those clothes. Come on upstairs and grab something dry.” Belinda, their new hostess, led Violet and Khloe through a spacious foyer with furniture that belonged in a museum. Red velvet–upholstered chairs with wooden feet, carved like the paws of some big cat. A dark wooden table. Someone had spent hours whittling leaves and flowers and vines down each table leg. A wide burgundy-carpeted staircase wound a spiral on the far side of the room. Halfway up, Khloe stretched out her arm and bumped Violet’s bracelet with her own. Violet nodded at the soft clink. They were still together.

And nobody was going to harm Khloe or brainwash her. Not that this bottle-blonde grandmother seemed inclined to brainwash anyone, but personality and appearance couldn’t override the Christian ideas in a person’s head.

Their chauffeur had stayed only minutes after delivering them, which was just as well. Violet stayed at least three arms’ lengths from his hulking frame and broiling gaze. Belinda sent him on his way with a travel mug of coffee and hugged him before he left, as if he were more teddy bear than grizzly.

Subconsciously, Violet must have expected some sort of military bunker or mobster penthouse, because her first step into this house had caused a ripple of surprise and relief. And Belinda didn’t need a name to become a person. Her compassionate smile and Southern twang loosened the knot of fear inside. Violet could think more clearly now. Observe. Gather evidence.

The hallway Belinda led them down was narrow and ridiculously long, with rooms on either side. This house must have more than a dozen guestrooms.

“You’ll sleep in here.” Belinda motioned them ahead of her, into a room with ivory walls, two twin beds, and two old oak dressers. All the furniture looked to be about a hundred years old.

Someone had stenciled blue and red flowers over one wall, as well as a border around the whole room. Khloe reached out to trace the petals. Even when hiding from the Constabulary, she couldn’t lose her artistic self for long. She stepped closer to a floral painting on the far wall, probably analyzing its use of light or color or something.

“You’ll want to sleep soon, but first things first.” Belinda opened a walk-in closet and turned on the light. “Pretty sure this room’s got both your sizes.”

Someone had installed shelves on two of the closet’s paneled walls, and stacks of clothing filled most of them. Violet picked up the nearest pair of jeans and unfolded them. Size five.

“Where did all this stuff come from?” Khloe’s voice drifted over Violet’s shoulder. She stepped around Violet to paw through a pile of bright T-shirts.

“Resale stores, clearance racks,” Belinda said. “There’s been a collection going for a few months now.”

“You take money from people?”

Belinda’s laugh was too loud for the small closet. “My heavens, no. My husband and I pick up things when we can. Marcus does, too. But most of it’s from someone else.”

“A resistance fighter like you?” Was that admiration in Khloe’s voice? Surely she couldn’t be won over with a closetful of hand-me-downs. But she browsed as if she were at the mall, slow steps from one shelf to another, touching every piece of fabric in sight.

Khloe, these people are not all as safe as your dad.

“Don’t know that I count as a fighter. I’m just a hostess. But yes, from someone like me. She’s well-off and wanted to use that somehow, toward the cause. Most of my closets are stocked like this one.”

Khloe held up a hot pink shirt and tilted her head at the graphic, a blue tree with branches spreading up to the neck.

“Once you’re changed, you looking for bed or breakfast?”

“Bed,” Khloe said.

Yes. They needed to talk, and not in this woman’s hearing. “Bed sounds good.”

“One last thing.” Belinda hefted about half a pile of sheets and quilts and moved them to the other side of the closet. She shoved the rest of the pile aside as well with a soft grunt. “Now where is it …?”

Her fingers ran along the paneling. She pushed with the heel of her hand, then sat back a moment on her heels, lightly panting.

“Darn that man and his precautions, I can’t even find it myself.”

“Find what?” Khloe crouched beside her.

“It’s right here. Used to have a little knob to pull, but Marcus took it off and reset the door so it opens to the inside and … well, shoot, where …?”

Her fingernail lodged in a seam between two panels, and a low door swung into the wall. Khloe gasped.

“Now, girls, we’ve never had a Constabulary agent search this house. Never even seen a squad car on our road. But if something ever happens, you hide here until someone tells you the coast’s clear. Flashlights in there, water and snacks, not much elbow room, but you’d both fit easy.”

Khloe brushed her hand along the paneling. “This is the coolest house in the world.”

Violet folded her arms to keep from shaking some sense into Khloe while this Christian lady watched. Once Belinda was out of the room, though …

Amusement gathered in the creases around Belinda’s smile. “About half the upstairs closets have rooms like this.”

“Why?”

“It was built in the early nineteen-hundreds. We’re guessing these are servants’ quarters. My husband didn’t want the walls paneled at first, but there’s no other way to hide the doors.”

Belinda chatted a few more minutes about the history of the house and a tunnel in the basement that stretched several hundred feet to surface in the woods, which must have been used during Prohibition. She might have talked for hours, if Khloe hadn’t yawned.

“Enough history lesson for now. Y’all get some sleep, and I’ll make breakfast whenever you wake up.”

Halfway out the door, she pivoted back to face them.

“I promise, this is the last thing. My husband, Chuck, he’s off in some cabin with his fishing buddies right now. He’ll be back tomorrow, and if you’re still here, he might ask about … well, your faith. Please don’t take it personal.”

“What do you mean, our faith?” Khloe said.

Good question.

“Well, he believes there’s a God out there somewhere, sure. I do too, most days. Used to be enough for us, but around the winter time I noticed a slow change, and now he questions pretty much everyone we harbor.”

“But you’re Christians. You’re in the Christian resistance.”

Confusion crinkled Belinda’s face, then smoothed out. “Sugar, the resistance fighters, or whatever you want to call us—only about half believe in Christianity. The other half of us just believe in freedom.”

Violet took a step back. Something here didn’t add up.

“You’re tired.” Belinda retreated a step too. “We’ll have a chat in a few hours.”

Violet nodded, Khloe shrugged, and Belinda disappeared down the hallway.

Khloe shut the door after her. “I’m definitely wearing this tree shirt in the morning. Let’s see if they have any pajama pants short enough for me.”

Violet grabbed some size-medium sleep shorts and a random shirt in her size, V-neck, salsa red. She turned toward the wall and stripped off her wet top and jeans. Khloe’s voice rattled in the background of her brain.

If they weren’t Christians, why did Belinda and her husband and half of these resisters do what they did? Either something else made Belinda as illogical and dangerous as a Christian, or she wasn’t illogical and dangerous. But if Belinda was a logical, safe person, she wouldn’t harbor dangerous people. Or work with dangerous people.

The shorts slipped from Violet’s hand. She plopped down beside them on the bed. Her brain was turning into one of Khloe’s smoothies. She had to sleep. In the morning, all of this would make sense.

In the morning. Friday morning. Austin would be texting her like crazy. Her fish would be hungry. She was scheduled to work a cashier shift, and tomorrow was payday. Good grief, what was she doing? She had a good, normal, everyday life. What would happen to all of it? She tugged on the cotton shorts and crawled under the covers.

“I think we’re okay here,” Khloe said. “Belinda’s not even a Christian. And that Marcus guy knows my dad, so when it’s safe again … My plan’s going to work, Vi. I won’t have to go to re-ed.”

Everyday life had become, well, dispensable. Small. “You heard what he said about the con-cops. They don’t give up.”

“I’ll be the one that got away.”

Until her best friend turned in the people hiding her.