“She’s the type to believe she can get away with anything. And she’s usually right. I’ll go clean my stuff out of Rainbow’s house”—and look through the closets myself—“then let’s all keep an unofficial eye on Rainbow’s house and see if anything happens there in the way of unauthorized entry.”
Bergen contemplated Kateri. “I have a sister with a sense of entitlement … she’s a pain in the keister. But my grandma always said to remember this one piece of wisdom—there are no functional families.”
Kateri liked that. “Your grandmother sounds pretty smart.”
“Scary smart. That’s why my grandfather killed her.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Since that moment when Merida woke in the hospital to discover she no longer had a nose and all the bones in her face were broken … she had not slept well. She used to lay in the bed next to Nauplius and listen to him snuffle and snore, get up to pee and grumble about his prostate, watch the dawn arrive and wish that she were dead. Or he were.
He had finally obliged, toppling without warning into hell, and she was free, and although she was trying to regain the habit of slumber, she only achieved sleep in short bursts. In her periods of wakefulness the psychological cancers of the past gnawed at her, and so she had developed the habit of rising with the sun and going out for a run.
After Merida’s arrival in Washington, she had discovered that in June, the sun rose very early, and by Tuesday, she had settled into a routine. As the sun began to lighten the sky, she slipped out of bed, dressed in yoga pants and a ragged T-shirt and quietly (very quietly) made her way out of the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast. She ran along the sidewalk broken by tree roots, past tall hedges and along the shadowy street.
The years of living with Nauplius had changed her, kept her at all times on the lookout for treachery. Every day she varied her route … and yet somehow, she always found herself racing along toward the sea, where glorious eternity greeted her. With each step she felt as if she could fly into the wind. There on the shore, her restless fears blew away.
Today she returned to the B and B—she had so far managed to avoiding meeting anyone other than Phoebe—and went to work. In the afternoon, she explored Virtue Falls and its small cache of restaurants and take-outs. She kept herself fed, she advanced her revenge and she avoided the difficulties of socializing with Phoebe’s other guests.
Or, God forbid, the Cipres. She’d seen no sign of them, but then, she’d been careful not to. Still, her isolation gave her hope …
Today she determined she would try a different adventure, and a trip to the grocery store with her new insulated grocery bag netted her a frozen dinner. Surely frozen dinners had improved since her college years …
Merida parked in her spot beside the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast carriage house; through the windows, she caught a glimpse of someone moving around inside.
Phoebe’s newest guest must have arrived.
Grocery bag in hand, Merida hurried past. When she opened the side door, a blast of rich, vibrant, appetizing scents rushed out.
That’s right. It was Tuesday evening, that time when Phoebe served an international dinner with the intention of herding her guests toward conviviality.
Not just no. Hell no.
Intent on reaching her rooms unnoticed, Merida sneaked up the stairway to the second floor into the dim, empty corridor. She unlocked her bedroom door with both Phoebe’s old-fashioned key and her own electronic security code, then jumped when beside her, a timid voice said, “Miss Falcon?”
Alarmed, Merida turned to face a tall, skinny, slump-shouldered woman with a bruise on one cheek and her left wrist in a brace. How had she crept up on Merida so quickly and quietly?
Still in that small, timid voice, so out of place in a woman of her age and height, she said, “I’m Susie Robinson. I’m supposed to clean your room. I couldn’t get in.”
Merida gestured to the locks.
“I can clean it now while you’re at dinner.”
Merida reached into her bag and pulled out her tablet. She showed Susie the usual message, then typed, “I have to work.”
“I’m quick and quiet.” Susie wrung her bony, work-worn hands. “Please, Miss Falcon, Phoebe takes pride in caring for her guests and if I don’t…”
Merida remembered what Phoebe had said about Susie’s home situation, realized that she was inadvertently making the woman’s life harder, and held up one finger.
At once, Susie stopped talking.
Merida went inside, locked the door behind her, collected her computer from the wall safe, opened her door and gestured Susie in.
“Thank you, Miss Falcon, I promise I won’t disturb you.” She looked anxious again. “I have to fetch my cleaning supplies.”
Merida nodded and waited until Susie had lugged in her vacuum cleaner and cleaning bin, and shut the door behind her.
Susie’s worn face brightened. “Aren’t you going to Phoebe’s dinner, Miss Falcon? She’s a real good cook.”
Merida’s stomach growled; she hadn’t eaten since her breakfast at the Oceanview Café. Even up here, the scents of bacon, caramelized onions and freshly baked bread permeated the air. But Merida smiled and patted her computer.
“I know. Phoebe says you’re a real quiet guest and are here to work. Don’t worry, she’ll save you some leftovers. That’s what she does for me. I take ’em home, feed ’em to my kids. My husband, he don’t like that fancy stuff.”
Merida took a slow step backward. Please, no confidences. I don’t want to hear how your husband beats you. I don’t want to feel empathy.
“Sorry, miss. I’d love to chat, but you’re the last room and I have to get home soon as I can.” Susie headed into the bathroom.
Merida hurried down the maid’s back stairs to the dining room with its long table, its rows of knights standing guard—and the microwave.
She charred the frozen dinner. Apparently before you cooked it, you were supposed to read the directions. She tried to eat it and realized even if she hadn’t burned it, it would have tasted like cardboard and ketchup.
So frozen dinners hadn’t improved since she was in college.
No matter. When she had lived with Nauplius, she had learned to do without meals as necessary. When he tied her hands so she couldn’t speak … and when she wished to aggravate him by refusing the food he bought her. She hadn’t been able to do much to defy him. Just a few things.
Overhead, the vacuum cleaner started up.
Merida looked toward the door that led to the entry and from there to the large living room where every evening, Phoebe served appetizers and wines and ports in sparkling jeweled glasses. She was pretty sure the Cipres were gone from Virtue Falls. But she did really need to work. The program she had developed required daily tending, a sense of when to gamble, when to escalate the pressure and at the same time not call attention to her underlying purpose …