AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What other kind of pole is there? Of course a stripper pole!” She wiggles her hips in her recliner. “I may not be able to run around these days, but I can certainly spread my legs and twirl around a pole.”
The mental image of that tries to creep in–Edith in her muumuu, stuck upside-down on the pole–but I smack it away like an NBA All-Star dunking a ball.
“I’ll put that on the list.” I head to the stairs. “Today, I’m going to find the clock in your wall.”
“You sure about that?” She pins me with her gaze.
“What do you mean?”
She looks away, the batty expression back on her face. “Oh, nothing.”
I stand at the bottom of the stairs for a while, just watching her. She picks up some embroidery and starts humming WAP to herself as she moves the needle through the fabric.
Sometimes–not often–but sometimes, I think Edith may not be crazy at all. Or if she is, she’s crazy like a fox.
I climb the stairs and trudge to her bedroom. Her windows look out on the side yard, so I can’t get a view of Charlie from here, but I can hear the screechy sounds of Joanna’s voice. She’s been talking for at least five minutes straight by this point. It doesn’t matter. I know Charlie’s made up her mind. She may not know what she wants to do, but she knows it isn’t going back to that school. I can’t help but smile as I think of her working here as my helper. But the smile fades when I remember why I’m really here. It’s not to help Edith fix up this old place. It’s to rob her. Charlie was worried about coming here under false pretenses, but really I’m the one with dark motives and a repertoire of lies I’ve used again and again.
Sighing, I realize I have to come clean with her. Sooner rather than later. But I want her to know that I’ll give up the search for the diadem if that means she can forgive me. That bauble is nothing compared to her. That thought warms me a little as I walk around Edith’s room and peer at her walls.
I’ve searched this room several times, never finding anything that even suggests a safe or a secret hiding spot. Then again, I never heard a ticking in the walls either–and that’s the thing with Edith: I don’t know if she really hears it.
I start with the wall beside her window, knocking up and down it. It’s empty, the studs placed at the correct intervals. I continue on the wall behind her headboard. Same situation. Then I knock along the wall where the entry door is, taking care to inspect from floor to ceiling by standing on a chair as I make my way around.
“Nothing here, Edith,” I grumble as I move to the final wall and knock along the bottom between the closet and the bathroom. Then I climb on the chair and knock the middle section before moving to the top.
I keep going, my knuckles getting a little sore from the repeated tapping on the old plaster, but then I stop.
“Was that…” I peer at the wall above the closet door. It sounded different. Could be a misplaced stud.
I drop from the chair and walk into the closet to look up. There’s a shelf along that part of the wall on this side, hat boxes and dusty old clothes stacked in piles. Reaching up, I push it all aside and fucking stare.
Where the wall should be smooth, it isn’t. There’s an outline of a narrow rectangle, one that protrudes slightly from the wall. Beneath the boxes and the clothes, it was impossible to see. And when I checked the rooms earlier, I may have used the studfinder just a fraction of an inch to the left or right, and I would’ve missed it.
My hands go cold, my heart pounding. Is this it? And why the fuck does it tick at midnight?
I step out of the closet and look up at the wall again. It’s smooth on this side, nothing to give the hidden compartment away. Something else niggles at the back of my mind. Something important. But what?
I’m all out of fucking sorts, my mind racing at the discovery.
Then it hits me.
It’s quiet.
Too fucking quiet.
I don’t hear Joanna anymore.
“Charlie?” I yell as I bolt from the room and down the stairs. By the time I reach the porch, Joanna’s car is tearing away down the lane.
20
CHARLIE
My stomach rolls. The urge to throw up is overwhelming. My brain is foggy. Everything feels as though it’s in slow motion. Slowly I try to push myself up, needing to find a bathroom before I vomit, but my hands aren't cooperating. I wiggle my fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them.
