Page 50 of Hollow

“Liam was here, at your party.” Viktor leans forward slightly.

“I invited a lot of people. I honestly don’t remember everyone who came.” I take a sip of tea to hide my face. “The party got bigger than expected. Word spread.”

“As you keep saying. That happens with parties.” His statement is too calm. “People you don’t know showing up. Causing trouble sometimes.”

I’m saved from answering by the sound of the front door opening and bags dropping in the hall.

“Miss Briar? I’m back early. The ferry schedule was—” Mrs. Fletcher stops in the kitchen doorway, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Viktor. “What’s going on here?”

“Mrs. Fletcher.” I try to mask my relief. “This is Viktor Bastian. He’s looking for his brother, who unfortunately turned up missing the other night.”

Mrs. Fletcher takes in the scene—three strangers in her kitchen, me looking uncomfortable, the men by the door. Her expression hardens.

“In Miss Waters’s kitchen? Without calling ahead?” She moves into the room like she owns it, which in many ways, she does. “I wasn’t aware we were entertaining visitors today.”

“We’re not staying long.” Viktor’s tone remainspleasant but his eyes are cold. “Just asking a few questions about Ms. Waters’s party.”

“And that requires three men?” Mrs. Fletcher sniffs. She turns to me. “Have you offered these gentlemen tea, Miss Briar? Or were they just leaving?”

Her meaning is clear. I hide a smile behind my cup.

“Actually, Mrs. Fletcher, they were wondering if they could search the grounds.”

“Search for what?” She raises an eyebrow. “You think he’s here?”

“Last seen at Ms. Waters’s party,” Viktor says. “We’re checking everywhere he might have been.”

Mrs. Fletcher sighs like this is all a terrible inconvenience. “Well, you can look around outside, I suppose, but I’ll need to accompany anyone entering the house proper. The Waters family values their privacy, as I’m sure you understand.”

Viktor stands, nodding slightly. “We’ll continue our search of the grounds, then. With your permission, Ms. Waters?”

Like he’s giving me a choice.

“That’s fine,” I say.

After they leave, Mrs. Fletcher immediately starts making a fresh pot of tea, the clink of china more aggressive than necessary.

“The nerve of those men,” she mutters. “Your father would have a fit if he knew.”

“Thank you for stepping in.” I wrap my sweatertighter around me, suddenly cold despite the kitchen’s warmth. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could answer questions.”

“Vultures, the lot of them.” She sets a steaming cup in front of me. “Now, tell me about this party. I leave for one weekend and come back to search parties and interrogations.”

I recite the story again, this version slightly more candid since she wasn’t here. The party, the crowd getting out of hand, me going to bed early—all technically true, just minus the part about killing someone.

Through the kitchen window, I can see men with dogs moving methodically across the lawn toward the garden. Toward the maze. My heart rate picks up.

“Don’t worry about them trampling the flowers,” Mrs. Fletcher says, mistaking my concern. “That Ricci boy will fix whatever they destroy. Though heaven knows that maze is more trouble than it’s worth.”

I turn to her, grateful for the distraction. “What do you mean?”

“That maze has been nothing but a headache for years. Your grandmother’s pride and joy, but the upkeep is ridiculous.” She starts unpacking groceries with sharp movements. “And during certain... events, it becomes a nuisance.”

“Events?”

“The Hunt.” She practically spits the word. “Every year, all those strangers and heathensrunning through the property like animals. No respect for privacy or decent behavior.”

I sit up straighter.

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