Page 7 of Down Knot Out
I pause on the threshold, turning back to the yard and the woods beyond. The sunlight dapples through the trees, creating patterns of light and shadow on the ground.
Beautiful, but tarnished with blood.
I shiver, my arms wrapping around myself. It’s over. Louie is dead. But the fear lingers, a shadow that falls across even the brightest moments.
Simon is still out there.
The thought sends ice through my veins. His look of betrayal when I refused to go with him is burned into my memory.
He escaped that night into the woods, slipping away before the police could find him. Sometimes, I wake up certain that I’ve caught a whiff of the artificial vanilla-and-pine cologne he wears, only to realize it’s my imagination playing tricks.
“Chloe?” Nathaniel’s voice brings me back around. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Fine.” I straighten and force cheerfulness into my tone. “Just plotting on how to get my hands on one of those chocolate-chip mouse pancakes.”
“Never!” Quinn shrieks, yanking a platter piled with more pancakes than she could ever eat in front of herself.
The antic distracts everyone, and I shut the door, locking it.
Chapter Three
Nathaniel
Ishould have stayed at the Homestead. It would have guaranteed that I stayed in a good mood for my lunch date with Chloe.
Instead, I had gone down to the job site with Blake to check on things.
The grim expression on our superintendent’s face tells us that we aren’t going to like what she has to report. Sweat streaks the dirt on her cheek, a raw edge to the line of her jaw. She smells like steel and work gloves. Old leather and sawdust.
She holds a folded paper, creased and smudged where her thumb presses in too hard. She extends it without a word.
I take the paper, fingers stiff, and unfold it to read the short list it contains.
“Finish nail guns,” I read aloud, voice flat. “Both.”
Blake shifts beside me, arms crossing over his chest.
“Laser level.” My hand tightens on the list. “Orbital sander.” I fold the paper again, and it crumples into my fist. “And the spare charger packs.”
Stillness settles between us, filled with frustration. Blake’s breathing shifts, and his teeth click together once, sharp, but he doesn’t say anything.
I draw in a breath and blow it out through my nose. These things happen on job sites. Workers forget to put things back where they belong, or company tools end up in workers’ bags by accident. But this isn’t the first time things have gone missing in the last week.
“When?” I ask, my voice even.
This is not Emily’s fault. I hadhopedthat Louie was the culprit, and with his death, the project site would be peaceful again.
“Noticed first thing this morning.” She shoves her hands into her back pockets. “Thought maybe someone moved them for the drywall crew.”
“They didn’t.”
“No.”
My thumb spins the silver ring on my finger that was left to me by my grandpa to maintain my calm. “Tool crates locked up?”
“Same as every night.” Emily shifts her weight, the gloves clipped to her belt—stiff with yesterday’s grime—swaying. “No signs of a break.”
Blake paces away a few steps, then comes back. “Who was last on site?”
