Page 96 of Speak No Claim

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I repeated.

My heart pounded out of my chest as we stepped inside. Their home still looked like a museum with columns, portraits, and antiques in every corner you walked through. There were so many rooms on our way to the main area. I usually entered through the back of the estate. We were going to the opposite side of the mansion where I hadn’t been to yet.

Every time I was there, I couldn’t believe they’d grown up in such an extravagant and decadent palace. It all mesmerized me. I tried to focus on one thing at a time, but there was too much to see. It was all new to me. Every room we passed had a vintage feel, as if the decorations hadn’t changed in decades.

The creepy portraits with their eyes following you all through the halls. I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Come to think of it, I was starting to feel that way about my uncle’s estate as well.

* * *

It was a Devereaux’s after all…

Chapter

Thirty

Hennessy: You don’t drown by falling in the water. You drown by staying there.

“This is crazy,” I muttered under my breath.

“Tell me about it,” Elizabeth replied. “This estate has been in my family for generations.”

“I can see that.”

“Don’t let it intimidate you, Hennessy. Your uncle never did.”

She was being overly nice to me, and I wondered if my uncle had something to do with that.

Or does Onyx?

I remembered how everyone kept warning me not to speak unless spoken to. I listened that time, not wanting to stir any more problems than I already had.

Especially with Onyx.

I stood in the background with my hands at my sides, taking it all in, desperately trying not to fidget. A bunch of guests filled what they called the banquet hall. The mahogany double doors led to a massive room with a three- to four-story ceiling. A huge fireplace was lit in the center of the room, but it was the portrait above it that got my attention the most.

It was their family portrait. Onyx and Deja were little, maybe four and five years old, dressed in matching outfits while their father stood behind them. This was the first time I was seeing their parents. She was beautiful, sitting in a chair in front of their dad, with the kids on her lap.

Mr. Devereaux was handsome, though he appeared stern and dark in the portrait. He wasn’t exuding the love their mother did.

Mrs. Devereaux was looking down at her children with nothing but love in her eyes. She looked like a happy, loving family. Their father not so much. From the other portraits, it seemed there was a theme among the men: moody, mysterious, and a bit sinister.

I truly wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. I couldn’t imagine a family not loving each other. It didn’t seem natural to me.

The room was packed with people, yet you couldn’t tell from the extravagant, wide-open space. The Thanksgiving decorations were lovely, filled to the brim with flowers and decadence.

Simple yet tasteful, what I imagined generational wealth would look like.

“Hennessy!” Deja greeted, coming up behind me. Her gaze trailed mine as she fondly revealed, “My mother loved to dress us in matching outfits. You should see our photo albums.”

I peered at the side of her face as her tone shifted to sadness. “I don’t remember much about her.”

“How old were you⁠—”

Glancing at me, she interrupted, “Five. Onyx was six.”

I swallowed hard, listening intently. I wanted to ask her what happened to her mother, but her voice was distant. I didn’t want to cause her more heartache. She wouldn’t tell me anyway.

She stared back at the portrait. “My mother was always so chic, so flawless… she was the light of this house until she wasn’t. Or that’s what everyone says anyway.” Standing there reminiscing right before my eyes, she recalled, “She used to sing to us. She loved to hum… sometimes I still hear her through the halls, her gentle lulling…” She nervously chuckled, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “That’s crazy, right? Why would I hear her?”