Page 194 of Poor Little Rich Girl

Claudia

A chill settles in my veins that has nothing to do with the biting cold slamming into the castle.

Brentwood was right – rich bitch valley girl Mackenzie Malloy is a murderess. It would be hypocritical of me to judge, but I feel I now know the true measure of our enemy. I won’t underestimate her again.

While Antony and Noah bury the body, we explore the rest of the tower, picking through Mackenzie’s things for clues and taking any incriminating documents with us. She’s made quite a home for herself, patching the open windows with wooden boards and bits of glass, adding IKEA furniture and layers of warm blankets. The old fireplace in the tower has clearly been in recent use. I pick through boxes and ratty suitcases spilling over with designer clothing, while George examines the articles taped to the walls.

“This is fucked.” Antony returns from body disposal and stalks around the room, his fingers resting on the knife he wore concealed on his belt. He’d wanted to buy a gun before we came out here, but I said it was a stupid idea. Now I’m not so sure. There’s an unsettling presence here – he feels it too.

I touch my wrist to feel the reassuring weight of my blade. I shift my foot forward to the other one in my boot. I didn’t bring my own knives with me on the flight. I’m not stupid. We borrowed these from Mackenzie’s lair. She won’t miss them. They’re chef blades, but they’d gut someone in a pinch.

Eli stands back from the bookshelf, his brow furrowed. “These are all paperbacks. No hidden compartments. No diary.”

His shoulders sag. I drop the Gucci dress in my hands and fly to him. I know this must be a lot for him to take in. I’m surprised when his lips crush mine. The kiss knocks the wind out of me, but I return it with enthusiasm. Eli’s whole body trembles – he can’t breathe in this room, and kissing me gives him oxygen.

I don’t want to pull away, but I need to know he’s okay. “Is seeing me in this room making it worse?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t see her in your eyes any longer. You don’t look the same to me. But seeing her living like this, with the body downstairs… it’s hard to reconcile that with the angry, spoiled princess I used to know. I don’t understand any of it.”

“She’s been following us for some time.” Noah appears at my side, holding a stack of black passports. We’ve found at least twenty so far, all different aliases, different nationalities, but all bearing an image of my face and ice eyes. “She probably has a laptop she’s taken with her, but I’ve found a stack of printouts of social media posts about Mackenzie’s return, class schedules for all of us. There are articles about your father and the Triumvirate, too. And… photographs of you.”

“What kind of photographs?”

“Ones taken through the windows of Malloy Manor.”

She can’t have taken those photos from Germany. “Who’s been sending intel to her?”

“Brutus?” Eli raises an eyebrow. I nod. It’s the most logical explanation.

“Look.” George holds up some printed pages from an internet chatroom. “These are all reported sightings of the Malloy Manor ghost.”

I grab the pages from her and scan through the entries, which date right back to around the time I first moved into Malloy Manor. These are the people who hung around outside the gates. One of the neighbors even wrote about the noise complaints.

Mackenzie’s been following it all.

She wants her house back.

So why not come and take it? Why not go to the press and expose herself? Why go after Brutus? Why break his legs? What did he have to do with any of this?

I’ve lived in Mackenzie’s skin for four years. I’m dating a guy who’s been in love with her for far longer. We’re both happy to spill blood to obtain our ends. Yet I still can’t get a read on her. It takes one psychopath to recognize another, but Mackenzie is next level.

“One thing we know for sure – she was living here alone.” Noah’s dark eyes sweep the room. “I can’t find any trace of Howard or Ainsley Malloy. If they’re still alive, they’re not with her.”

We trudge back down the hill and pile into the car. No one speaks as the van winds through lush forests and rolling farmland dotted with picturesque storybook houses. We park the van on a narrow lane and walk up the hill to pass through the defensive wall of the old Imperial Free City of Rothenburg.

I gasp as my feet touch cobbled streets and we slip back in time – half-timbered dwellings with turrets and gothic carvings lean down on us from above the narrow streets. We come to a stop in the middle of a bustling square, surrounded by patrician houses and an ornately-carved town hall. Even though it’s the middle of winter and snow gathers in the corners and dots the roofs, people crowd the Christmas market, their faces lit by twinkling Christmas lights as they look at the sheepskin slippers, wooden tree ornaments, and delicious-smelling cookies and hot drinks on offer.

It’s magical. It’s perfect. It… makes no sense.

“This is the absolute last place I’d expect a spoiled Valley-Girl princess to end up.” Antony rubs his bare arms.

Eli frowns at the bright lights and cheerful people. “He’s right. I can’t see Mackenzie here.”

“Maybe that’s why she chose it. Because no one would think to look for her here.” I’m trying to convince myself. Nothing about Mackenzie makes sense. I remember what Brentwood said about her being a murderer. We haven’t even figured out what it means yet. I turn to George, who’s scrolling through her phone. “Where should we start?”

George points to a bar in the corner of the square. “The latest sighting of Mackenzie was in that pub.”

Gabriel wipes grime from the front of his jacket. “Good. All this sleuthing has me parched.”

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