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CHAPTER24
Isprang from my chair so fast I had to catch it to stop it from tipping over. Yanking off the stupid tiara, I jammed it in the cake next to the clown candle. Then I slipped off my heels and headed for the window. I knew the drop to the backyard below had to be twenty feet—an ankle-breaker, but my options weren’t plentiful at the moment.
The curtains reeked of lighter fluid. I pinched the edge of the thick cloth, trying to keep my skin fuel-free. When I peeled back the fabric, my stomach plummeted. Boards covered most of the window, leaving peepholes here and there. I peeked out through one gap. Stars twinkled overhead. An orange glow off to the right pinpointed downtown Deadwood, but darkness shrouded the yard below.
I let go of the curtain and wrung my hands.What now?
The door beckoned, escape just a staircase away.
I scurried past the tea party, my eyes on the doorknob, my brain already outside on the front lawn, and my foot connected with one of the chair legs. I grabbed the dresser as I fell to keep from thudding onto my ass and alerting Wolfgang.
Pulling myself upright, my forearm bumped one of the lit candles. I lunged to catch it … and missed.
The candle clunked as it hit the floor. I cringed. In an instant, the lit wick found the fuel-coated floorboards, igniting a whoosh of fire that sent me back-pedaling toward the door. I twisted the knob and wrenched open the door just as the flames licked Emma Cranson’s ankles. A fireball shot to the ceiling with a roar. I shielded my face with my arms, my skin roasting. The stench of burning hair and flesh made me retch.
Coughing from the billowing smoke, I stumbled toward the staircase and saw Wolfgang running from the dining room. He halted at the bottom, his eyes wide as he stared up at me, my every muscle stiff with panic.
The fire crackled as it spread. With another whoosh, heat spilled into the hall.
“You’re out of your chair,” he accused.
The sound of his voice spurred me to life and I sprinted down the hall to the bathroom. The pounding of his shoes up the stairs chased me along. At the last moment I veered and skidded into the green bedroom, the one I’d been locked out of last week—his mother’s room.
I slammed the door, turning the skeleton key in the lock just as the knob twisted in my blood-slick palm. I held my breath and stared down at the key. A loud thump on the door sent me screaming backwards onto the queen-sized bed.
“Violet,” Wolfgang’s muffled voice crooned through the wood. “Open the door, darling.”
Searching the room, I hunted for something … anything … to use as a weapon.
The knob rattled. “Come on, Violet. The fire’s getting hotter.”
I grabbed the picture of his mother off the dresser, the glass still broken, and hefted the brass frame in my hands.
A volley of bangs rumbled as Wolfgang hammered on the wood. My heart mirrored the tempo.
“Open the goddamned door!”
“Fuck you!” I yelled back, my voice rusty, but steady.
“Fine. We’ll play it your way.”
Silence followed. I ran to the door and pressed my ear to the wood, cool against my face. A door slammed, followed by the retreating stomp of Wolfgang’s shoes on the stairs.
Where was he going? Then I remembered the drawer full of keys in the kitchen.Oh, God!
My wrists stinging, I wiped my blood-covered palms on my dress and leaned against the door. I had to think, think, think.
My gaze landed on the window across the room. I ran over and tore open the curtains. Boards covered most of the glass, just like in the violet room. I tugged on the boards, none budged.
“Damn it!”
Maybe there was something in the closet. I yanked open the door. The smell of bay rum was strong in the small space. Drab-colored dresses swayed on their hangers, shoes my grandma would’ve loved lined the floor. The purses stacked on the upper shelf were my only weapon choices.
I needed more time.
Racing across the floor, I tapped the knob with my fingertips—the metal was still cool. I squashed my ear once more against the wood and heard only muted crackles and pops. After a peek under the door for Wolfgang’s feet, I turned the key and inched it open.
The hall was empty, except for the roasted chicken that the psycho had abandoned on the hallway floor.
