"I'm sure," I said, not feeling sure at all.
"All right, then. I'll be back before you know it. And don't worry. Calista will take good care of you."
Since when did he call her Calista? I glanced at Paige and Daniel's mother. Yesterday, this morning even, I had been certain her children were trying to off me. But it wasn't Paige and Daniel. It was Poppy. Upton and his crack team of investigators were convinced it was Poppy.
"Comeon," Mrs. Ryan said, flicking her fingers at me. "You'llfeel so much better once you get in that bath."
I took a deep breath. If Upton trusted her, I supposed I should, too. Besides, like he said, Noelle would be here soon. And Kiran, Taylor, Tiffany, and the rest. If I could survive six days on a deserted island, I could survive six minutes with Mrs. Ryan.
"Okay."
Upton kissed me on the forehead and I was on my way. Mrs. Ryan kept one arm around my back, supporting me as I slowly climbed the wide, red-tile stairs. The second floor was carpeted, and the warm fibers were like heaven for my cold feet. She led me down the hallway to the very end, where an open room awaited us.
"This is my dressing room," she said, flicking on the light.
The chamber was actually one huge closet lined with shelves and drawers and racks of clothing built into the walls. At one end was a huge vanity table with curled legs and marble detailing. The mirror
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was so tremendous I could see my entire body reflected in its surface. It was not a pretty sight. My face was such a dark red it seemed unnatural, and my lips were cracked and crusted with blood. My hair was a tangled, matted mess and hung limply over my shoulders. The skin on my legs and arms had peeled in several places, leaving streaks of mottled white against the bright red. Flecks of dead skin were peppered everywhere.
If Upton still loved me after seeing me like this, it would be a miracle.
"Have a seat and I'll draw the bath," Mrs. Ryan said, depositing me on the soft velvet bench in front of the mirror. She opened a set of double doors to my right, revealing a huge white bathroom. From my angle I could see only a wide sink, but she disappeared to the right side of the door and I heard her rummaging around. Heard the water start to gurgle.
A bath was going to feel so good. Just sitting there in that clean, airy room, I was starting to smell myself, and it was not a nice scent. I wondered if Upton had noticed it on our way back from my island. If he had, he'd been too polite to so much as wrinkle his nose.
Unable to stare at my horrifying reflection any longer, I turned my attention to the myriad products on the table. There were bottles and tubs and tubes and glosses. Moisturizers and toners and bronzers and plumpers. I ran my trembling fingers along the beveled edge of the table, unable to believe I was here. Back in civilization.
"Reed, I'm going to go check on the food," Mrs. Ryan called out. "I'll be right back."
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A door closed. An outside door to the hallway from the bathroom no doubt. I glanced over my shoulder at the open door, then reached for a bottle of perfume near the center of the table. I removed the glass top, intending to giv
e myself a little spritz to mask my stench, when the scent of the perfume filled my senses and the room began to spin.
It was the scent I had smelled just before I was shoved off the stern of the Ryans' boat. Unmistakable. It brought me right back to that terrifying moment as if it were happening all over again.
The bottle fell from my quaking fingers and hit the table top with a crash. I was on my shaky feet like a flash, the adrenaline that had kept me alive on the island returning full force. Desperately, my eyes scanned the shelves and racks on the walls all around me, taking in flowered dresses and pressed pants and silky blouses. I took a deep breath and told myself to concentrate. If it was here somewhere, I could find it. I just had to concentrate.
I breathed in and slowly scanned the room. Right next to the two floor-to-ceiling racks of shoes was a small section of workout gear. Yoga pants were folded neatly on shelves. Tank tops hung on silver hangers. Right next to a half dozen hooded sweatshirts. My legs quaking, I stepped ever so slowly toward the rack. I saw the white trim before I was even halfway there, but I kept moving. I needed to be sure. My arm was so weak as I reached for the garment, I could barely lift the hanger off the high rod. But I managed. I drew the sweatshirt toward me and lifted the hood. The white trim traveled up the sleeve, along the shoulder, and all the way around the hood. It was the sweatshirt my attacker had worn.
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But Mrs. Ryan? Why?
I heard a creak and whirled around. Mrs. Ryan was standing, framed by the doorway, with a heaping tray of food in her hands. Bread and cheese and grapes and apples.
Little green manchineel apples.
"Reed?" she said, glancing at the sweatshirt in my hands. "What are you--oh, are you cold?"
Why? Why was she trying to kill me?
She placed the tray on a small table near the door and as she did, her huge necklace shifted. My vision zoned in on it like heat-seeking radar. A gold necklace. A big, ornate gold necklace with thousands of tiny, sharp, gold leaves.
A bubble of disgusted realization welled up in my throat. Upton's first. Mrs. Ryan was Upton's first. No wonder he had called her Calista. They had been .. . intimate.