Page 21 of Scarred By Sin

“I’ll do my best, Miss Ellingham.”

Gwenyth turned and nearly collided with Bit, who had come around the corner from the kitchen hallway with an energy drink in one hand and a bag of Skittles in the other. He pulled up short, his eyes widening at the sight of their host, and the energy drink tilted dangerously before he managed to steady it against his chest. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the bag of candy. A few Skittles escaped the open top and bounced across the hardwood floor like marbles, their bright colors scattering against the dark wood in every direction.

Gwenyth tilted her head and stared at Bit the way a person might regard an unfamiliar species. Bit’s eyes widened in dread as she leaned forward.

“Did Owen send you?” Gwenyth asked guardedly. “Do you have my medicine?”

Bit slowly shook his head, rendered temporarily speechless.

One of the Skittles rolled to a stop against Gwenyth’s bare foot, and she slowly lowered her head before staring down at it, before gradually returning her attention to him. She held his gaze for a brief moment, then turned without another word and ascended the staircase. Her bare feet padded softly on the wood, and within seconds, she had disappeared down the second-floor corridor toward her suite.

Bit finally let the air out of his lungs.

He ignored the Skittles on the floor as he made his way into the dining room with exaggerated caution, craning his neck to keep track of Gwenyth’s departure. He eventually lowered himself into the nearest chair and set the energy drink and the surviving Skittles on the table. Brook contemplated what had just taken place, realizing they had inadvertently been given a lead.

“Bit, find out who Owen is and why he would be in possession of Gwenyth’s medication. Something doesn’t add up here.”

9

Sylvie Deering

July 2026

Wednesday — 7:17 pm

The forensics team was packing up for the evening as Sylvie crossed the rear grounds of the estate. Two technicians in Tyvek suits emerged from the greenhouse carrying equipment cases, and a third was coiling extension cords near the portable generator. The work lights inside had been switched off, leaving the glass structure dark against the stone wall, its iron frame silhouetted in the fading light like the ribs of something long dead.

The Bureau had arranged for the team members to stay at a motel in town, which meant they’d want to grab a late dinner before settling in for the night. Early mornings and long hours in the July heat made for short evenings. Sylvie, for one, was grateful they didn’t have to continually make daily trips to and from a random motel.

The air had cooled slightly since the afternoon, but the humidity remained, clinging to Sylvie’s skin and carrying with it the heavy, green scent of the overgrown grounds. Lightning bugs had begun to drift above the hedgerow in slow, blinking arcs, and the sky to the west had softened into bands of amber and violet above the tree line beyond the property.

Sylvie paused on the gravel path and turned, walking backward for a few steps as she studied the rear face of the mansion. She studied the sightlines, specifically which windows had a direct view of the greenhouse. The ground floor was partially blocked by the shrubbery, but the second story was a different matter altogether.

The windows along the left side of the house were Gwenyth’s wing, and those windows offered a clear, unobstructed view of the greenhouse and the grounds surrounding it. If Gwenyth had ever stood at one of those windows at night when she was younger, she would have been able to observe anyone approaching the structure, particularly if they were carrying a light.

Sylvie filed that detail away and turned back around, mindful of her footing on the uneven gravel. As she rounded the hedges, she passed Bit, who was balanced on a small stepladder near the corner of a toolshed, holding a compact wireless camera in one hand and a roll of electrical tape in the other. He’d spent the better part of the last hour mounting cameras at strategic points around the property, covering the greenhouse entrance, the main drive, and the path between the house and the rear grounds. Bit had received permission from Porter, who had apparently consulted with Gwenyth.

“How many is that?” Sylvie asked as she came to a stop beside the ladder.

“Four active, two more to go.” Bit tilted the camera into position before checking the angle on his phone. “I’ll have full coverage of the greenhouse, both access roads, and the front drive by the time I’m done. Anything larger than a raccoon comes onto this property tonight, I’ll know about it.”

“What about the raccoons themselves?”

“I’ll know about those, too.”

Sylvie left him to his work and continued along the path, which curved past the weathered toolshed and a large woodpile before arriving at a small guesthouse set back against the rear wall of the property.

It was a modest structure, single story, with a stone foundation that matched the main house. A covered porch ran the width of the front, and a pair of work boots sat beside the door next to a folded tarp. A moth circled the bare bulb next to the front entrance in slow, erratic loops, and the yellow light gave the immediate area a warm, isolated quality.

She climbed the two steps and knocked. Once she stepped back, she waited patiently.

The door finally opened, and Porter Voss stood in the frame, one hand on the knob and the other resting against the doorjamb. He was still wearing the same flannel shirt and canvas pants from earlier, and the faint smell of coffee and tobacco drifted out from behind him.

“Mr. Voss, I’m Sylvie Deering. We didn’t get the chance to be formally introduced. I work with S&E Investigations.” She offered her hand, and he eventually dropped his to take it. “I understand you spoke with my colleague earlier today. Now that the investigation is formally underway, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions.”

Porter studied her. Long enough that she thought he might deny her request. Given that his expression hadn’t changed in the least, it was difficult for her to get a read on him.

“Come on in. Can I get you some water?”