Page 24 of From the Darkness

“I don’t!” Bree answered instantly. “But . . . do you know what you did to make her mad?”

Silently Dinah looked down at the tips of her shoes. She heaved a little sigh. “She thinks I threw a dish over the stair railing.” Her voice went high and strained. “She thought I did it on purpose. Because I wanted to hurt her. But I didn’t drop it on purpose—honest. It slipped out of my fingers when I was leaning over to see who was there. And it crashed on the hall floor.”

“And she yelled at you?”

“Yes!” The answer quavered out on a muffled sob. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back, and Bree wondered what it must be like for a child to feel as if she had to hide her emotions.

“I’m here to help you,” she said softly. I’m not just your teacher. I’m your friend. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Dinah nodded.

“So, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“I . . . guess not,” the little girl answered, and Bree suspected there was more she could have said, but that everything wasn’t going to come out at once.

“Okay. Then maybe we should go back to the classroom and get a little more done. You can read to me out of your reading book.”

“Okay.”

They spent the rest of the morning at work. Then Mrs. Martindale came up to say that lunch was ready.

They all trooped down to the kitchen, where the housekeeper had set out chicken salad sandwiches and bowls of cut-up fruit.

As she ate her sandwich, Bree felt torn in two directions. She’d established a rapport with Dinah, and she wanted to keep up the momentum. On the other hand, she had an equally important job—finding out what had happened to the girl’s father.

So. after lunch, she declared an afternoon break, saying she was tired from the long drive up.

Back in her room, Bree pulled out her suitcase and stopped dead as she looked at the contents. Everything was approximately where she had put it, yet she couldn’t help thinking that somebody had searched her things—being careful not to be obvious.

Who had been in here?

Nola? Abner? Graves? Mrs. Martindale?

It would be dangerous to dismiss anyone in the house out of hand. Not even the housekeeper, who seemed nice. She couldn’t even omit Troy. One thing was sure—some sexy man was on the loose, either Troy or a man nobody was talking about. Another thought snuck up on her, and she went very still. Lord, could that have been the ghost who’d come to her bed last night, she wondered, suddenly unable to discount Nola’s story. No! Either that had been Troy or somebody pretending to be him.

She deliberately pulled her mind away from the ghost and back to the rifled suitcase. The only resident of Ravencrest she could eliminate as being in her room that morning was Dinah. The girl had been with her the whole time. Mentally stopping short, she revised that observation. The girl hadn’t been with her every minute. She’d asked to go to the bathroom, and she’d been gone for ten minutes.

Bree grimaced. She hated suspecting a child. But the thought wouldn’t go away.

She stared at the clothing for several moments, then removed shirts and pants so she could get at the bottom of the suitcase. The lining had a special compartment, where she’d slipped a few papers. Now she stared at the false lining, wondering if anyone had found the hiding place. Running her hand over the fabric, she couldn’t detect the papers below. So, she might as well assume they’d been kept safe.

Opening the Velcro seam, she pulled out a flat envelope, then extracted the map that Helen had sent her. It showed the floor plan of the house—with various rooms marked. The schoolroom was on it. So was Troy’s room—a master suite with a bedroom, sitting room, palatial bath, and enough closet space for an Archduke.

First, she studied the map, then folded it and tucked it into her pocket, before getting out something else she might need—the little tool kit she’d brought along. It was disguised as a set of manicure tools.

Equipped for prowling, she left her room and headed for the backstairs that Dinah had shown her. She had almost reached them, when Graves stepped around a corner—and she stopped short, her heart leaping into her throat.

He gave her a considering look. “Where are you going?”

“Um, to my classroom,” she improvised.

“You’re going the wrong way. It’s back there.” He gestured with his hand.

“Yes thanks. This house is so confusing.”

She felt his eyes on her as she retraced her steps down the hall. That had been close. Maybe she’d better save her snooping expedition for another day. And maybe she’d better retrieve her gun.

After waiting several minutes, she retraced her steps to the kitchen and found Mrs. Martindale washing dishes. She hesitated, wondering if it was safe to ask some questions. About Troy. About Dinah. About the Sterlings. The housekeeper might be a good source of information. Obviously, she liked Dinah. But could she be trusted not to repeat any questions to the Sterlings?

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