Page 121 of Mayhem and Minnie

My chest rumbles with satisfaction. It appears she did like my surprise.

She holds herself perfectly still, her back straight, her shoulders square. She’s the picture of decorum, yet I have to wonder how much of that is true.

Yesterday, I saw her mask slip for the first time.

I have to take into account the fact that she knows about me, too. She was there two years ago. She saw me kill. Keeping her ignorant is no longer an option.

Pretending to work for another half an hour, I surreptitiously watch her from the corner of my eye. Her hair is freshly washed and full of volume. As I study her, however, I note she has some hint of eyeshadow on her lids, as well as some reddish color on her cheeks and lips.

I frown. I don’t remember buying her any cosmetics.

“Where did you get the makeup from?” I suddenly ask.

Her lashes flutter as she turns to look at me.

“This?” She motions to her face.

“Yes, that. We didn’t buy any makeup, did we?”

Did she buy it when I wasn’t looking? Did she get it so she can wear it to meet that mysterious man? My hands curl into fists, and I already feel rage burning inside of me.

I force myself to breathe. There was no one there last night—there couldn’t have been. But even as I tell myself that, there’s a part of me that still believes there was someone there last night—or something.

“No, we didn’t,” she murmurs and bashfully tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I made it.”

“You made it?”

“Yes.” She nods. Pride shines in her voice.

“How?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Well,” she starts as she wets her lips. “For the red, I used some of the vaseline you keep in the bathroom cupboard and I mixed it with some blood from the beef I cooked you for lunch.”

“You…” I swallow. “You’re wearing cow blood on your lips and cheeks?”

She nods exuberantly.

“Ingenious, no?”

I stare at her. I’m not sure ingenious is the word I’d use.

“And the eyeshadow?” I’m almost afraid to know the answer to this, but hopefully, it’s something innocuous.

“It’s ash,” she declares, her face brightening with joy.

Horror grips me.

“And where would you have gotten ash from?”

Please tell me you burned some paper and used that ash.

“I was cleaning the basement and there’s a fireplace there. There was still a lot of ash left behind and it was the perfect pigment for my eyes. Do you like it?” She gets up and comes toward me, batting her lashes and inviting me to check her makeup.

“Ash from the fireplace in the basement,” I repeat like a broken radio.

Shudders go down my body.

“Yes! Back in the day, ash was used for cosmetic purposes.”

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