“Why don’t you go and I’ll take over.”

“This is my problem.”

“How is this your problem?”

“Just leave and why did you get rid of Mrs. Greer?”

“Because her and her husband allowed the door to be messed up and turned the cameras off.”

“So what?”

“Someone died last night, or did you forget?”

Grandma hit my chest with a book. “Don’t talk to me like that and just because the door was damaged doesn’t mean people should get fired.”

“I’m not going over this with you.”

“I don’t like that you fired that nice couple.”

“You knew they were married?”

“Of course. I made them a nice little anniversary charm last year. Reece and I gave them a big cake.”

“I don’t remember this.”

“You only remember money and business mumbo jumbo. Now go and have fun at your brother’s party. They’re all having such a nice time down there. I’ll make sure Dayanara doesn’t get out.”

“But—”

“Oh, be quiet. I’m staying here. I have a new book.” She displayed a cover draped with two half-naked men in leather pants, cowboy hats, and layers of muscle that impressed even me. The title read, The Cowboy’s Trail.

I frowned. “I don’t think cowboys wrangle in leather pants.”

“I don’t read these novels for their authenticity.”

That response served as enough motivation to get me racing away from the room. I didn’t even want to let my mind wonder why Grandma devoured male-male erotic romances. “Call me if you need—”

“I’m not calling you. I’ll call my gods. You’re busier than them.” The door slammed behind me. My newly hired guard nodded at me as I left the high level and made my way downstairs to my room. We kept the top levels dark at night. Although the cameras throughout the house had night vision, I planned on having the lights on from now on. The tension in my shoulders built until my muscles knotted in pain.

I paused for a minute.

Why did Grandma say she would make sure Dayanara doesn’t get out? Did she say that? I turned to head back up to the attic, but stopped when I realized that asking Grandma would be a waste of time. If she wanted me to know something she would simply say it. If she didn’t, then I would have to figure it out on my own.

Did Dayanara get out last night? No. There’s no way. Why would Dayanara come back to the house, if she had gotten free?

That didn’t make any sense. If she’d snuck by everyone and found her freedom, she would have continued out the gates and to wherever she had hoped to go. Where would a deranged woman want to run to? She’d asked me to let her die. Her guilt rode her mind every day. All those deaths she’d stood by and allowed in the past, and now the very thought of her living safe in a grand castle messed with her mind. I couldn’t just sit there and watch her die. It wasn’t in my make-up to stand by as her blood streamed to the floor.

Not that life wouldn’t have been easier if she was gone.

I hated to admit it. My own guilt gnawed at my soul. To let her free would be to release a menace onto society. To let her die would be to rip the foundation of our family’s sanity apart.

Feminine laughter flowed from further downstairs. It tickled my senses and woke up my body.

“Stop it. You’re cracking me up.” That amused womanly sound soared up to me, again.

I’d heard the other artists, writers, and models around this property from time to time. None of the women in that group giggled like that, as if this was the first time they’d laughed in many years. Elle. It had to be her downstairs, laughing in front of whoever entertained her at the moment.

Who was it?

No one who deserved her attention or had earned her time. I doubted it was even Hex making those beautiful noises rush out of her lips. My brother possessed many talents, but entertaining others ranked low on the list. Hex was the type to sit back and demand others to perform.

“No. No more jokes,” Elle pleaded. “I can barely stop giggling.”

Before I realized it, I’d passed my bedroom and stood on the last step, leaning my head to the side and straining to catch the male voice near her.

“Let’s go outside so I can show you.” The man’s voice echoed in the hallway between the dining area and main sitting room.

“There’s no such thing as gold lightning bugs and orange glittering pixies that hide under mushroom tops from garden trolls.” She’d stopped laughing, yet amusement still adorned each word. “You have an overactive imagination.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

I crept closer.

“I hope not, sweet Elle,” the buffoon said.

Sweet Elle? Who was this corny bastard? Had he stumbled out of a bad romance movie, those ones where the males wore tights and the women dressed in those gowns that pushed their breasts up just right, but hid their hips and legs? Sweet Elle? How did he already know she was so sweet?

Tags: Kenya Wright Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net