Page 54 of Giving Up The Ghost
“I dunno. Like an old lady,” they sniped. “Fuck off with your questions!”
“Hang up, Ro,” someone hissed on the other end. “God, you’re so dumb!”
The line clattered, then went dead.
“Fuck,” I sighed. That gave me a few answers, but some was more than none. I shot off a text to Ezra, letting him know I’d got in touch withsomeone.I didn’t expect a reply from him any time soon, but hoped he’d have a suggestion or could, I don’t knowdosomething to find out where the phone was.Maybe we can find the little brat who has it. Put the fear of Fake CIA agents into ‘em.I sighed and checked the time. One minute till our ten minutes was up.
I heaved myself to my feet and worked out the kink in my neck, stretching as best I could while balancing with the cane. Getting away from the house, getting some peace and quiet, would help, I decided. I’d at least stop being so tense.
Quiet…
The quiet buzzed in my skull, an out-of-tune radio searching for a signal.
An older woman handed off Nadine’s phone to someone. Fact.
Nadine was missing. Also fact.
Charlotte was a liar. Undeniable.
Charlotte was… quiet.
Her tantrum upstairs had stopped at some point while I’d been on the phone, and I hadn’t noticed.
The house was silent. I turned on my heel, drawing up short when I saw the door to the study was closed. “Shit.”
Not only closed but, as I found out just a moment later, locked.
“Shit!”
I fumbled for my phone again, dialing Oscar’s number. It went straight to voicemail, and I tried to reason with myself it was because he was in the basement and not because his phone was shut off or dead.
Ezra was next. His rang a few times before his message kicked in.
“Why the fuck do we have phones if no one freaking answers them?” I shouted into the quiet room.
A dull thump, the shrill tones of someone screaming, reached up through the floor.
She was in the cellar. She was in the cellar with Oscar.Fuck.
I tried the knob, knowing it was futile before I even gave it a shake. Throwing my weight against the door only bruised my shoulder, and short of my cane having hidden lockpicking tools, there was no way I was getting the door open from the inside.
Movement caught my eye out of the corner—the willow tree in the front garden was swaying in the breeze, just on the other side of the old window.
“Oh my god,” I muttered to myself. “Seriously?” I made my way over, checking the windows for latches I knew they didn’t have—houses this old, windows like this, they were leaded into place.
And expensive as hell to fix.
Shit.
Bracing my weight on my uninjured leg, I closed my eyes and turned my face, swinging my cane like a baseball bat into the glass. It cracked on the first blow. Two more had it shattered, thick glass jagged and sparkling in the afternoon light. There was no way I wasn’t going to get hurt climbing out, I knew, but Oscar…
I awkwardly slung my injured leg over the sill, hissing in pain when part of the glass jabbed my thigh. Moving slowly, I lurched onto my bad leg, gritting my teeth as it took my weight so I could drag the other leg out behind me. My cane clattered to the porch boards as I slipped and spilled out onto my side, my cry of shock and pain swallowed by the sound of my body hitting the wood.
I pulled myself up with the porch rail, grabbing my cane with shaking fingers. If the front door was locked too… Well. There was always the cellar window.
“CeCe is so going to be pissed when our insurance premiums go up,” I muttered. “Property damage, personal injury… Is there attempted murder insurance?” I hobbled to the door, nearly sobbing in relief when it opened on the first try.
Another scream, Charlotte shouting at Oscar from the sound of things, and I was moving as fast as I could. “Oscar!” I shouted. “Oscar!”
