Page 32 of One Last Lie

When I turn back around, she presses a folded piece of paper into my hand. “I found this in Dad’s room.” She rushes off before I can ask what it is. I open it and it has a date on it. Thirty years ago almost. It’s an important date but why? She’s not missing anymore. She just handed me this paper.

I look at it again.Elena attempt four imminent. She may go farther this time.

I close my hand and look questioningly up at Anne. “I don’t want to talk about Elena,” she says, “she’s a bitch.” She turns and runs away. I open my hand and then unfold the paper again…

Wait… this note isn’t something my father wrote. Anne didn’t hand it to me. This came from Isabella. This isn’t from Anne at all and…

***

I wake with a start, and my breathing is ragged. It's been years since I've dreamed of Anne, but now I've dreamed of her two nights in a row. This dream shouldn't terrify me as much as the dream the night before, but my body shakes, and I am coated in sweat as though it was.

I try to calm down, counting my inhalations and exhalations to regulate them. Slowly, my body calms and my mind adjusts to being awake. My heartbeat slows down, and after a moment, the tension in my shoulders softens.

I take a few more breaths and then sit up and reach for my phone. I’m a little frustrated to see that it’s only half past two. I’m too awake to sleep again. Perhaps I’m just afraid to risk another dream.

I slide out of bed. The room is cool, and it helps clear my mind a bit. That’s good. I can’t let myself get confused about this. I can’t. I’m going to find out the truth. Annie needs me to, and I can’t let it go like…

Isabella needs me to. Isabella, damn it.

I walk to the desk and sit. It seems my thinking is still muddled. For me, the best clarity always comes when I concentrate on something challenging.

The problem is that the only challenging thing available for me to concentrate on right now is Johnathan’s murder.

Well, that’s good, right? Isabella needs me to concentrate on that. So does Elijah. So do Samuel and Cecilia, even if they’re not aware that I’m working on this.

I stand and put my slippers on but pause before I leave the room. Theresa is aware of my snooping. She wouldn’t be aware of that if she wasn’t watching me. She’ll almost certainly be watching now.

My hand rests on the handle as I consider the risk. On one hand, Theresa’s threat is hardly empty. Whether there’s any legitimacy to the claim of my hospitalization or my conflict (assault) with my mother and sister, simply raising that rumor could be enough to cost me my position.

On the other hand, my threat isn’t empty either. Certainly, Theresa has moved the jewelry and the dresses by now, but if Cecilia looked, it wouldn’t be hard to find evidence of Theresa’s behavior. Whether Cecilia misses the jewelry or not, she won’t tolerate a maidservant who steals from her.

And I have a skillset outside of service. I have two and a half decades of experience as a schoolteacher. I have a bachelor's degree in psychology, and while I’m far too old to consider a career as a therapist, I have enough put away that I could return to school for a few years and find work as a school counselor or social worker. Losing my job would be difficult for me but devastating to Theresa.

I dare you, Theresa.

I push the handle down and step into the hallway. There’s no sign of anyone else awake, but then, there never was, and Theresa is still aware of my nightly wanderings.

Well, let her follow me. I welcome that confrontation.

I head to the first floor and cross to the north wing. The air is considerably colder downstairs, and I wish that I had thought to bring my coat. It’s too late to go back, though.

I head into the library and cross to the study beyond. A fine layer of dust lays over everything, unbroken by footprints other than my own from my first night here. No one else has disturbed anything.

That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll find anything in the study, but so far the only real evidence I’ve obtained comes from Johnathan’s private thoughts. This is the best place to discover more of those thoughts if there are more to be found.

When I enter the room, my eyes move to the small gallery beyond the desk and the personal library. Part of me hopes to see the paintings and sculptures I come across in the mysteriously vanishing art room the night before, but there is only the modest collection of contemporary pieces I find the first time I explore the room.

Most of me is grateful for that. I’d rather believe I simply dreamt the whole thing, even if it calls my sanity slightly into question.

I walk behind the desk and open the drawers one by one. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find, but I’ll know it when I see it.

The final drawer reveals a crossword puzzle. This one is hand drawn and the clues are written in Johnathan’s own handwriting. It appears his interest in crosswords extended beyond simply solving them.

I take the crossword out and realize I don’t have a pen. A quick glance reveals a fountain pen and inkwell on one corner of the desk. It is at what I imagine the limits of Johnathan’s reach were, but I am a solid foot shorter than he was and have to lean precariously over the desk to reach it.

The crossword is a simple one. There are eight horizontal lines and five vertical. The title Johnathan gives the puzzle is a rather depressing tongue-in-cheek. WHODUNIT?

I start with the first clue across. Thinks she’s better than everyone.

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