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I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Because you can’t imagine him being violent? Are you—you, brother—surprised to learn how far people are willing to go to protect themselves and those they love?”
“I’m well aware but it’s not him. I know because he’d never have left his sister out there. Besides, he’s not capable of murder.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“I’m getting a fucking headache.” I inhale a deep breath in. “Between that footage coming to light, Thiago, finding Madelena passed out up there, and what Camilla said today, it just got to me.”
“You really considered I was the stranger your wife was sure she saw up at the lighthouse?” I look at him for a beat too long because he shakes his head and smiles a disappointed smile. He swallows more whiskey.
“No, I don’t think that, brother,” I finally say. “But I believe there was someone there. And I don’t think Camilla was lying about Thiago’s call. He’d have no other reason to go up there. Madelena couldn’t have pushed him. She’s just not strong enough.”
“If he was off balance and she was scared…”
“No. It doesn’t fit. I know it, know it in my gut.”
“But you thought I could do it,” he asks, sounding hurt. I scrub my face. “Why did you ask me to roll up my sleeves?”
I look at him, consider, then reach into my pocket and set the stone on the table between us.
He looks at it and I look at him. I can’t believe there was a moment I gave credit to Camilla. That I believed he may have been with her sexually. That I believed he murdered Thiago.
“I’m sorry, brother. I was wrong,” I say.
Caius drags his gaze from that stone to me. One of the staff puts another log on the fire. It hisses and swells casting a shadow that obscures my brother’s features momentarily, but I see the set of his jaw well enough. “Let’s just agree to trust each other going forward.”
I nod, feeling ashamed. Without another word, I get up and leave.
10
MADELENA
Ican’t stop thinking about what Caius said, can’t stop hearing his threat like it’s on repeat in my head. The way he looked at me when he spoke those words, the way his eyes went flat, I have no doubt that he would hurt me if Santos didn’t stand between us. That bullshit about him liking me, I don’t believe it, not for a second. He must think I’m completely gullible and I am, often, but not on this. Although, I also think I understand him.
The relationship between the brothers must be difficult. Santos was favored by his father. Caius was set aside once Santos came along even though Brutus Augustine had officially adopted Caius as his son. I think the brothers do love each other but there has to be jealousy too, on Caius’s part, and with Santos, guilt maybe?
The story about Santos finding the girl he loved murdered that way, though, that’s the vision I keep seeing. Why did Caius tell me that in so much detail? To pique my curiosity about that box? He has. But he also put space between Santos and I because he knows I’m not going to ask Santos about the murdered girl.
Once I’m sure Caius is gone and the only people in the house are a handful of soldiers and staff, I make my way out of Santos’s bedroom and down the stairs, taking in the dark paneled walls and the stained-glass windows of the foyer that span the full three floors of the house. They filter in the quickly fading sunlight, shining beams of light that look almost otherworldly.
I take a minute to look down from the top of the stairs into the grand entrance of the house. It was restored to look like it had at the height of the Valerian family’s standing in Avarice, back when they had the means and the desire to maintain it. There had been an article in a local architecture magazine about it along with an interview with Brutus Augustine. I remember how annoyed my father was about that.
As I descend the stairs, I hear the kitchen staff working. The large fireplace in the grand living room that usually has a roaring fire is still dark, though. They won’t light that until just before dinner. Mrs. Augustine usually likes to have a cocktail in there beforehand. Although now that she and Caius have moved out, I’m not sure if they’ll be back for cocktails or dinner or how formal Santos will be if it’s just the two of us.
I pass the living room on my way to Santos’s study, which used to belong to his father. I make a point of taking the long way just to make sure the coast is clear, and once I know I won’t run into anyone, I push the door open. I’m glad to find it unlocked, but at the same time, I’m looking over my shoulder as I hurry in. I feel like a criminal for it.
Once inside, I stand with my back against the door and take it in. The lamp on the desk is on. It casts a soft yellow light, and although it’s not bright, it’s enough for me to get a look around.
Boxes waiting to be unpacked are set against the walls and at the foot of the leather sofa against the wall opposite the desk. The bookshelves are only half full. I assume the books that are here belonged to Brutus Augustine because I don’t think Santos has been home to unpack.
At the thought of Brutus, I look up at the portrait hanging over the mantle of the fireplace. It’s about half the size of the one in the living room but in no way small. Brutus Augustine stands staring down at me from his place high above, his gaze no less penetrating than in life, no less threatening. It sends a chill down my spine, and I turn away because I need to get to work.
I assumed Caius would have laid the box he carried down on top of the desk or on a bookshelf, but he hasn’t. I have to pull back the tops of the moving boxes to search for it. I find the lockbox in one of those and carry it over to the desk, looking underneath to see if Santos might have taped the key onto it. That would be too easy though, and he’s smarter than that.
I reach into my pocket for the hairpins I carried down. I’m not bad at unlocking simple locks. It’s how I got in and out of my locked room at college. The girl who had the second room in my building, the only two rooms in the original mansion, was also locked in at night—but she’d had a cell phone. So I’d get out myself, then unlock her door in exchange for the use of her phone.
I never learned the reason for her confinement, but I know she hated her family and in those two years, she only had visitors a handful of times. It’s not like she and I became friends though. Neither of us wanted the other in our business. We had an arrangement. I let her out. She let me use her phone. Once I was finished calling my brother, she’d leave the building. I don’t know where she went, if she managed to get off the property or what, but I didn’t care. It had nothing to do with me.
