Page 59 of Dig Your Grave

“Captain Edenvane!Over here,” called a voice from near the entrance.My chest clenched at the sight of Sophie, radiant in a midnight-blue cocktail dress.Diamond studs glittered at her ears, and her hair was swept into an elegant twist.Beside her stood the Dean, Mrs.Mence, a powerful presence in a tailored pants suit.Her scary black dog was with her, looking completely out of place.

Anubis guided me toward them, expression carefully schooled.I recognized the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, he loathed Sophie’s public displays of affection or authority.

The Dean’s gaze flicked between us, a tight smile curving his mouth.“Captain, Miss…Divore, is it?”Her voice boomed in that authoritative tone that commanded the entire campus.

“Yes, ma’am,” I managed, nerves spiking.This woman hated me, hated I was poor, and she had sealed the official story about Toccara’s death.

Sophie’s lips curved.“How lovely you both look.”She rested a hand on Anubis’ arm in a gesture of easy familiarity that made my stomach tighten.“We’ll be inside shortly, giving our welcomes to the guests.Please mingle.Enjoy yourselves.”Her tone dripped with that false warmth I’d come to despise.

Anubis forced a polite nod.“Of course.”

The Dean snapped her fingers at a staff member passing with a tray of champagne flutes.She pressed one flute into Anubis’ hand and another into mine.“To Edenvane’s bright future,” she declared.

I raised the flute.“To Edenvane,” I echoed, though my mind seethed with contradictions.

“Miss Divore.You are playing your part well.Keeping Anubis warm, preparing his path for finer things.”She shot a look between Sophie and Anubis.“No hotdogs on the menu tonight.”She spoke to Anubis.“See she doesn’t embarrass us.”

With that, mother and daughter moved on to greet more VIPs.

“What was that about,” he leaned in and asked when we were out of earshot.

“Isn’t it obvious?I have my part to play until you choose her daughter.”

“I mean the hotdogs.”

“Mrs.Mence hates me because I won the lottery.She used that line before, thinks I must only eat hotdogs because I’m poor.”

Anubis sputtered a laugh.“I love hotdogs.”

I wiped the Dean’s words from my mind.I exhaled, scanning the crowd.Even outside, waiters circulated with trays of tiny food.There was an undercurrent of anticipation in the air, big announcements, big money.The Skulls thrived on these illusions of power.

Anubis angled his body toward me, voice low.“Think we can slip inside discreetly?We should see what’s going on with those crates Kate mentioned.”

“Agreed.”

We downed our champagne, just enough to appear social, and made our way through the double doors.Inside, the mansion’s grand foyer was decked in gold-and-white drapery, with a small stage set up at the far end.Attendees browsed art displays, old Edenvane family portraits, and architectural plans on easels.

Through a side corridor, I glimpsed staff pushing a large cart topped with equipment cases.My pulse kicked.Might be the crates Kate saw.I nudged Anubis, and we maneuvered through the throng, trying to stay inconspicuous.

We slipped down a less-crowded hallway adorned with paintings of past Edenvane patriarchs, all sporting stern gazes and regal poses.The hum of conversation faded, replaced by the hush of thick carpeting underfoot.

Anubis stopped in front of an old portrait of a woman.Rubbing his chin, he said, “She looks familiar.”

“What?”I stopped to look.

He went on, nudging me.“Looks like you.Maybe she’s your great great great great grandmother.”

I elbowed him.“Not funny.”

A single staff member paused by a set of double doors, marked “Authorized Personnel Only.”She typed a code into a keypad, then pushed a wheeled crate inside.A glimpse of black metal cases caught my eye before the door clicked shut.

Anubis and I exchanged looks.We needed to see what was in there.

Checking over my shoulder to ensure no one else was watching, I stepped forward, faking confidence.The keypad glowed red, awaiting a code.Anubis gently touched my arm.“Let me try,” he whispered.

He tapped a few numbers, maybe gleaned from memory or his father’s frequent passcodes.The lock beeped in protest.Another try.Another beep.My nerves spiked.A third attempt, beep.Then a final press, and it clicked green.

“You remember your father’s birthday?”I asked, half-bemused.

---