“Nothing. Someone’s just at the door.”
She hurried from her room, keeping the phone pressed to her ear as she headed down the stairs. “Hugh just got to sleep. I don’t want anyone to wake him up.” She rushed past the kitchen. From the corner of her eye, she saw the detective, standing just inside her pantry. “I have to get the door,” Ivy told Bennett. “Give me just a second…”
She peeked through her curtains, trying to get a glimpse of her porch. She couldn’t see anyone though and— The doorbell rang again.
“Get Detective Trout to check outside.” Bennett’s voice sounded angry. “Don’t open the door.”
She took a step away from the window. “Okay. Just settle down, all right? You’re making me nervous.” She cleared her throat. And I’m already plenty nervous enough. He didn’t have to help the situation any.
“Ivy!” The doorbell rang again, right after that loud cry, and she jumped. “It’s Cameron!”
Her breath expelled in a quick rush. “It’s okay, Bennett,” she told him quickly. “I know who’s at the door.”
The floor creaked behind her. She didn’t look back. Detective Trout must be heading her way.
“Cameron’s at the door,” Ivy said to Bennett, “I’ll call you right back—”
“No!” Now his voice sounded desperate.
Ivy had just started to reach for the doorknob with her left hand. Her fingers stilled.
“Don’t let him in. Don’t open the door. I think he’s a killer, Ivy.”
What?
The floor squeaked behind her once more.
“I think he killed—”
The door shook beneath what had to be Cameron’s pounding fists. “Ivy!” He bellowed. “Let me in!”
She spun around, thinking the detective must have been behind her—she’d heard his footsteps, right? Or at least, the creak of the floor beneath him.
But…no one was there.
“Who do you think he killed?” Ivy asked Bennett. Then she laughed because this was crazy. Cameron was her friend, not a killer. “Not Shelly. And he…he doesn’t even have the right hair color, Bennett. I told you, that night at the Order of Pharaohs ball, the man in the mask had dark hair. Cameron has blond hair.”
The door had stopped shaking beneath Cameron’s fists.
“Ivy, get Detective Trout,” Bennett said grimly.
That was what she was trying to do! She hurried to the kitchen. The pantry door was still slightly ajar. “Who do you think Cameron killed?” Ivy demanded again.
“Your father.”
She almost dropped the phone. That was just…just crazy. No way had Cameron killed her father. Her father had committed suicide. Her fingers—quivering just a bit—reached for the pantry door. She opened it.
It was dark inside.
Ivy flipped the light switch.
And saw the body on the floor.
“Ivy, Ivy talk to me…”
She rushed inside and nearly slipped in the blood. So much blood. “Bennett…” She put her hand to the detective’s throat. “He’s dead, Bennett. Detective Trout is dead.”
“Cameron is in the house!”
“No.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “He’s at the front door. Detective Trout is dead inside. The killer is inside.” A killer that wasn’t Cameron.
Then, up above her, she heard a creak. Ivy’s head tipped back as she stared at the ceiling. Her guest room was directly above the pantry. Hugh was up there. Asleep.
Helpless.
And I don’t think he is alone.
“Hurry, Bennett. Hurry.” She shot out of the pantry. “Because I can’t let him kill my brother!”
“Ivy, Ivy, baby, no, whatever—”
“I love you,” she whispered. Then Ivy shoved the phone into her back pocket because she couldn’t keep the phone in her grasp when she was fighting that jerk upstairs. She spun around in her kitchen, looking for a weapon.
She had a block of knives on her counter, and she grabbed the butcher knife.
Then she ran for the stairs.
***
“Ivy? Ivy!” Bennett yelled.
But there was no answer.
Shit, shit, shit! He floored the gas even as he put in a frantic call to the PD. He gave the dispatcher Ivy’s address and told her, “An officer is down and the suspected perp is in the house.” In the house—Dear God, with Ivy. “Get units there, now!”
But he would get there before they arrived. He was just a few miles away.
Just a few…
But Ivy had never seemed farther from him.
I love you. Her last words whispered through his mind, driving him right to the edge of sanity. If he got there and Ivy was hurt…if she was lying dead in a pool of blood, like Shelly…
No, baby, no.
He raced right through a red light, honking his horn to alert the other drivers. Fear was an acid, burning in his gut. Ivy—she was all he could think about. Ivy was the only thing that mattered.
Ivy. He prayed that he wouldn’t get to her…too late.
***