Page 91 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“Or,” I say, “it could be your father.”
“He has a key.”
“It could be the investigators.”
“It could be Caldwell.” She picks up her wine glass, draining it. “And you would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“No.” My stomach sinks. The word is barely audible. “Why would you say that?”
“It would be something to itch your curiosity. A little danger to get yourself in. That’s what you live for, isn’t it? That’s what youalwayslived for.”
“Stop. That isn’t funny.”
Caldwell is the last person I want to see. I want to know that he’s been taken care of—so I can finally rest. Why doesn’t Margaux understand that?
“You were so offended to find out my secret, but I think you knew all along,” she says. “You were five years old, walking up to the strangest person you could find. Why? Because you needed answers, and you knew I had them.”
My mouth opens, but I can’t find a response.
Margaux rises to her feet, fingers snapping as she waltzes from the room.
“Come on, then,” she says.
“Sit down!” My voice cracks.
“You’re the same as ever. You still wantanswers, so let’s see who it is. I would like to see Caldwell. If the others are having such trouble taking care of him, I’ll do it myself.”
I finally find my voice. “Margaux!”
She ignores me, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and makes her way through the maze of a house as if she built the floorplan herself. I have no choice but to follow, trailing behind her, sparks of fear and anticipation shooting through my body.
Without another word, she leans in, her eye pressed to the peephole. The doorbell rings again, and Margaux huffs, her eyes rolling.
“Your boyfriend is impatient,” she says.
“What? No.”
In an instant, my world has turned upside down. We threw around the idea of it being Caldwell, but I’m not expecting to see him.
He cannot bethisstupid. How did he get away with so many murders if he’s this reckless? My heart races, hands clammy and shaking.
“And he is oh-so-predictable.” She steps back, undoing the bolts and locks from the door.
“What are you?—?”
Before I can get the question out, Margaux flings the door open. Her smile is all fangs, baring larger teeth than I have ever seen. Her eyes flash red in the dim light.
As promised, Caldwell is the one on the other side. His hair is messier than ever, his clothes are wrinkled rather than pristine, and his glasses are splattered with rain—or tears. I don’t allow myself to care about which it is.
Behind him, rain pours. I’m speechless, my throat tight with nerves.
But Margaux is not.
“Benjamin, darling!” She takes his hand in hers,pulling him into the house with enough force that he stumbles in.
Caldwell falls, his back pressed against the floor, and Margaux stands above him with hunger in her eyes.
“I haven’t had a fresh meal in days,” she croons.
