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Fern reread the message. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. She hit Send.
As for Cat, once she was well away from the house, she would call someone to unlock the wine cellar. If Cat went to the police and she was detained, she would feign ignorance. She would claim she had no idea that Cat accidentally got stuck in the cellar, that she only noticed it once she was at the airport and checked all the security cameras from her phone. Cat was notorious for hiding away in her office for long hours and it was no secret that she wanted to stay behind the scenes during the production of One Lucky Winner, that she didn’t want her involvement to be a distraction from the show.
Then Fern needed to leave, to disappear.
She would get in her car and head straight to the airport. Portugal sounded nice.
Fern washed bits of dried blood from her skin from where the shattered glass left tiny cuts. She changed and threw some clothes in her suitcase. It was time to go. She looked down at her bed where she had tossed Cat’s phone.
Money. She needed money. She picked up the phone and toggled to Cat’s bank app. How much to transfer? Too much and Cat would notice. Too little and she’d only get as far as Chicago. She typed in $12,000. It wasn’t enough and was too much all at once. She couldn’t do it. It was stealing and Fern may be a lot of things, but she wasn’t a thief.
Then there was Cat’s phone. She couldn’t leave it in her room, and she couldn’t take it with her. She’d have to drop it off somewhere it wouldn’t be easily found. Beneath a sofa, behind a shelf, maybe.
She slowly opened her bedroom door and peeked up and down the corridor. It was empty. Pulling her suitcase behind her, Fern headed toward the back staircase, the scent of dead flowers in the air. In the hecticness of the game she had neglected to put fresh flowers in the vases. Both phones suddenly started vibrating. Probably Alfonso again.
Fern opened the narrow door that led to the back staircase. She flipped the light switch and paused atop the iron spiral staircase that would take her downward in a tight corkscrew. Here. This is where she would leave Cat’s phone. It would take her forever to find it. Fern shut down the phone and used her shirt to wipe any prints, then set it on the top step.
Her head pounded. It was all so surreal. She carefully navigated the winding staircase, her feet echoing on the iron steps, certain that everyone in the house could hear. At the bottom, a door opened to the laundry room that was adjacent to the kitchen. She gathered a breath. Think, Fern told herself. Did she have everything she needed? She would never be coming back here again. Ever.
Her passport was back at her apartment. She would have to make a stop there and grab a few other items as well—the necklace that once belonged to her mother, a few photos. She didn’t have much. Then she thought of Cat’s laptop sitting on her desk in the office. That laptop held Cat’s entire life. Her emails, her files, her secrets. And maybe it would hold the answers to One Lucky Winner and how it had gone entirely off the rails. Fern wanted that laptop.
Fern left her suitcase by the back door and quietly made her way through the kitchen to the corridor. She searched for any evidence that Alfonso had already turned the cameras back on but found none. The house was hushed and dark, the remaining crew gathered on the veranda, cleaning up the mess. She had just about twenty minutes until they were back online. All she needed to do was get to Cat’s office, grab the laptop, get in her car, and then be on her way.
Where were the others? Back in their rooms? Lurking around a corner? Maybe they had left already, scaling the wall and flagging down rides. She couldn’t blame them. Moonlight shone through the windows, casting distorted shadows across the floor as she crept slowly down the hallway. She could hear the drip, drip, drip of water coming from somewhere.
Just turn around, she told herself. Go back to the kitchen, go out the back door, and don’t look back. But she wanted that laptop. If anything, it would be insurance. If Cat threatened to have her arrested, Fern could pull up a few documents, and reveal that she had found a few of Cat’s own dirty little secrets that were worth staying buried.
Just a little farther to go. Up ahead was a corridor of closed doors, except for one. It was Cat’s husband’s old office. The door was ajar. Hadn’t she locked it? She must have forgotten. Another task she had neglected. At least there was nothing of real value in there. She patted her pocket. She didn’t have the old skeleton key with her. With a gentle push, she shut the heavy door.
Get it over with, Fern told herself. You’re just wasting precious seconds. She forced herself to move down the hallway, ignoring the feeling that someone was in the shadows watching, waiting.
Holding her breath, she hurried around the final corner until she was standing in front of Cat’s office door. She shoved her hand into her pocket, fumbling around for her key card. It wasn’t there. Fern slid her bag from her shoulder and began digging through the contents. Her phone was still inside, her wallet that held some cash and some credit cards, ChapStick, some loose change, but no key card. Panic filled Fern’s body. She must have dropped it. She needed that key. The laptop and its contents were her only leverage against Cat.
Fern stopped worrying about making noise and rushed down the corridor, her footsteps a desperate beat against the floor. She stopped short when she once again came to the old office. The door was open again. She had closed it. She was sure she had.
Her hand went to the knob to close the door, but she couldn’t help peeking inside. The room was pitch-black. Unable to stand the dark any longer, Fern pulled out her phone and enabled the flashlight. She swept the light across the room. Everything looked the same as it did the last time she was in here—a mess of sawdust, old paint cans, and abandoned tools. Only one thing was out of place—a large black iron grate that covered a floor vent had been removed and was leaning against a wall.
Strange, Fern thought, wondering where the vent led to. Suddenly, the plastic sheeting that hung from the ceiling rustled and a figure stepped into view. Fear, thick and oily, slid through her. She turned to run but a hand closed around her wrist and pulled her more deeply into the room.
Her phone tumbled across the floor, landing face up and extinguishing the beam of light. Fern opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clapped across her lips, muffling the cry. She couldn’t see who grabbed her but knew who it was. His smell, his touch would be ones she would never forget. Ned Bennett. He’d always wanted to get her alone. And this time, Cat was nowhere around to save her.
THIRTY-SIX
THE BEST FRIEND
“You stole Fern’s ID?” Maire asked, eyeing the hard plastic card printed with Fern’s full name and photo that Camille held tightly. Fernanda Espa. Camille was right about Fern’s name. Could Fern really be this Nan she told them about?
“Which door does it open?” Maire asked, reaching for the card.
Camille pulled her hand away before Maire could grab the key. “I saw Fern going in and out of a few locked rooms. I figure one of them is her bedroom and the other might be an office. Her files or laptop have to be in one of them. If we get them, maybe we can reason with her.”
Maire bit her lip, considering. It was risky, dangerous. What if they were caught? What if they were wrong and blew any chance at getting the money?
“No,” Samuel said firmly. “No. I draw the line at breaking and entering. We can try talking to Fern or simply just leave, but I’m not breaking the law.”
Camille laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Really, Samuel? After nearly getting your head shot off, you’re worried about stealing a laptop?”
“It’s not just that,” Samuel said, his voice rough with emotion. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I would have never have... We would never have...”
