Page 36 of A Love Most Fatal

When they’re out of sight, I look down the hall at where Mary and my mom stand looking amused.

“Don’t even start,” I warn, and then head for my office.

13

NATE

I triedto stay awake to huff and puff around the room until someone got annoyed with my stomping and told Vanessa to come back, but the shock and adrenaline wore off in an hour leaving me exhausted. I told myself I’d only lie down for a little while, but woke hours later with a not-small amount of drool on the pillowcase beneath me and a new light coming through the thin curtains covering the balcony doors.

This really isn’t a room so much as it is a suite, one with its own bathroom, walk-in-closet, hardwood desk, ornate chair, and a settee.

When I’ve managed to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I peer out onto the balcony and see that it is a great wide one that extends on either side of the door, presumably connected to the other bedrooms on the floor. I am about to step out to investigate more when a gentle knock sounds. Ranger doesn’t bark, but does jump down from the bed to the settee to the floor and thumps his tail against the plush carpet.

I clear my throat before calling whoever it is to come in, and it takes a single glance to know that the woman who comes in must be Vanessa’s mother. She’s young, younger than my mom, and has the same black hair as Vanessa, only cut in a bob andpeppered with gray streaks. There is nothing homely about her, like there’s nothing homely about her daughters. But her mother has a softness about her where Vanessa is hard lines and sharp glances.

“I brought you some lunch,” she says and holds up a tray like an offering. “I hope you like sandwiches.”

“Thank you,” I say, and take the tray from her before setting it on the desk. The metal tray holds way more than just a sandwich; I spy what looks like a plate of fruits and veggies, a bottle of apple juice, and maybe even a slice of carrot cake?

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until right now.”

She searches my face, I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but she seems satisfied with what she finds and nods.

“Sorry about what happened to you,” she says. “Two boys in two months is a shame.”

I don’t correct her that it was in fact three, two the first time, one today, and it doesn’t really feel okay, so I don’t say it is. Ranger, ever polite, hasn’t barked but is positively shaking waiting for this woman’s attention. She notices him and a smile flits over her eyes.

“That’s Ranger,” I say, and she squats down to scratch his head, looking perfectly poised as she does.

“Well, you and Ranger come downstairs when you feel ready. This room is no cell.”

It’s another two hours before I take her up on that offer and venture downstairs with Ranger at my feet to find a backyard for him. I bring the tray full of empty plates down with me; it was maybe the best meal I’ve eaten in weeks, everything fresh and full of flavor. The sandwich had pesto and some melty cheese that makes my mouth water when I think about it now, and the cake. . . that carrot cake was on a different level of cakes, and if nobody is around, I may have to execute a heist of sorts to take the rest of it.

I walk slowly through the house, like someone might jump out at me and ask me what I’m doing down here, but there’s not a person to be seen sitting beneath the chandelier in the dining room, nobody cooking in the kitchen outfitted for a small team of chefs, no signs of life in a cozy living room other than an unfolded blanket on the gray couch. It doesn’t take long to find a door to the massive backyard. Ranger and I snoop around the perimeter, him giving everything a thorough sniffing inspection.

There are two additional buildings here, a guest house and a small greenhouse. I peer into the latter but don’t investigate. I stroll by some garden beds, and trellises of vines with little green grapes growing on the stems. Also, there’s a covered pool, and nearly as much outdoor furniture as I have indoor furniture in my entire apartment.

This kind of yard would’ve felt like magic to me when I was a kid. Even now, I’m not positive that there isn’t fantastical life hiding between the trees at the perimeter of the yard, but the events of the last ten hours sully the grandeur of the place.

I suppose this is what blood money can get you: a gorgeous house with a spectacular yard and comfortable beds. That’s why crime rates are so high. Somehow, the thought only serves to make me angrier, an indignant rage scorching between my bones.

I leave Ranger lying in a patch of sunshine and march back into the house. I’m looking for Vanessa, or the big bodyguard guy, or anyone who can explain to me what the fuck is going on, but again I find no one.

I do stumble upon an office, one with a thick rug, high ceilings, and a tidy fireplace. I decide immediately that it must be Vanessa’s. It’s sleek but well-used. Put together and tidy, but the photos on the wall and around the room give the personal touch of someone who loves their family.

Plus, it smells like her, which frustrates me further. Whatever perfume she wears is rich and floral and tingles in my nose.

It’s warm in here, the yellow afternoon light casting through the window onto plush carpet. It bounces beneath my feet, and I belatedly slip off my shoes and hold them by the backs in one hand. I can imagine her at the desk, shoulders just bent forward, lower lip between her teeth while she concentrates. The idea is almost too human for what I’ve worked her up to be in my head.

Larger than life. A villain.

Now would be a good time to poke around her desk, but I’ve never been so good at snooping. The thought alone of sneaking around and getting caught knocks up my heart rate and makes my palms sweat.

On her desk sits a little gold frame holding a family picture. Vanessa has a bright youth in her eyes, she was a teenager, maybe, and she is crowded next to who I recognize as Artie’s mom, Willa in a bright white gown. There’s another smaller sister, too—I guess Mary—and on either side of them are their parents. It’s a beautiful photo, not posed by a photographer as much as pulled together in a moment. Her dad has a glass of wine in his hand and is looking at his girls like he couldn’t be happier with them.

They look so alive, so full of love and joy. Her dad doesn’t look like an evil criminal—just like a man. A dad with graying hair and a mustache. He looks fancier thanmyfather, but my dad shops almost exclusively at Costco, so that isn’t difficult.

I stare at the photo for multiple minutes before I decidedly place it back on the desk, retrieve Ranger from outside, and retreat into the room to wait. I don’t need to be snooping around this place, finding things that make her look less like a monster; that’s in fact the opposite of what I need.