Philip might be a bit of an asshole and probably does think he’s God’s gift to the world, but he can be nice too. That’s why I picked him as my partner. And he’ll cover for me as much as he humanly can. I know he will.
He promises to text me the lawyer’s information as I walk to the door, and he gives me a little salute as he leaves which makes me smile just a tiny bit. I watch him get into his Tesla and disappear practically in a puff of smoke. He loves that car, that’s for sure.
Now that he’s gone, I turn around and face my empty house. Where on earth did the cat go? My eyes drift to the stairwell to the second floor. Did she go upstairs? Is she currently in my closet, pissing in all of my shoes? Because that would just be the perfect ending to this day.
But then I see the door to the basement is slightly ajar. Bingo.
I walk over to the basement door and nudge it the rest of the way open. The light switch is just inside, and I flick it on. Nothing. Great—the bulb must haveblown out. I reach in my pocket and pull out my cell phone, then turn on the flashlight function. Just like in any dungeon, I don’t get any cell phone reception down here, but at least the flashlight works.
The light is just bright enough to illuminate the stairs, so I don’t tumble down and break a hip. When I get about halfway down the steps, I hear shuffling of tiny feet and a little meow sound. I was right. The cat came down here.
I shine my flashlight around the room, searching for black fur. I finally locate her in the far end of the basement, in the corner, lapping at a puddle of water.
“Come on, cat,” I say softly. “You don’t want to live here with me.”
The cat looks up at me thoughtfully, then goes back to the puddle.
“I’m not much fun,” I tell her. “I’m always working. And I’m not very nice. I used to do some terrible things when I was younger. I don’t anymore though. At least, I don’t think I do. But you never know. You’re probably safer being somewhere else—anywhere else.”
The cat completely ignores me. Which isn’t surprising, because she’s a freakingcatwho can’t understand a word I’m saying.
I come a little closer to her, making cat noises. I hold the flashlight steady, thinking maybe she’ll follow it. Don’t cats like to follow lights?
It’s only when I’m a few feet away that I notice it.
When I walked into the basement, I assumed she was lapping at a puddle of water. Now that I’m closer, I realize that it’s not water. The puddle is dark red.
I glance above me at the lightbulb. God, I wish it were brighter in here—how could I let it blow out like that? I shine my light directly on the puddle. It’s definitely red. It’s not dirt or something like that.
I crouch down to get a closer look. With shaking hands, I run my index finger along the red liquid. I’ll bring my finger closer to my face to take a better look.
Oh my God, I think it’s blood.
For a moment, I’m certain I’m going to be sick. I hunch over, swallowing the bile that rises in my throat. If I had anything for dinner, I almost certainly would be watching it come up in reverse right now.
After a couple of minutes of dizziness, I manage to compose myself. I stare down at my fingers, still stained with crimson. Blood. I’m so sure of it now. I’ve seen enough blood to recognize it.
But why is it in my basement?
A horrible thought occurs to me. If I had caved and let Detective Barber look around my house, he would have discovered this blood. And I would probably be in jail right now. Thank God Brady knew enough to stop him.
Is that why the blood is here? Did somebody plant it in my basement to frame me? Is this the blood of Amber Swanson or Shelby Gillis?
Or did something horrible happen in this basement since the last time I’ve been here?
If something did happen down here, it happened recently. The blood hasn’t had a chance to dry.
I look up at the cat, who is still lapping at the puddle of blood. I swat at her. “Get away from that!”
This time she listens to me. She scurries away from the puddle, and I hear her footsteps going up the stairs. Great—she’s probably going to track blood all over my floor.
I don’t know what to do. No, Idoknow what to do. I should call the detective and tell him everything. I still have his business card, and I’m sure he would take my call. But I also know how terrible this looks for me. Am I supposed to tell him that a pool of blood magically appeared in my basement? Is there any chance in hell he’ll believe that, knowing who my father is?
No, if I tell him about this, I’ll be his number one suspect. If I’m not already. I’ll probably end up leaving the house in handcuffs.
My best bet is to clean this up before anyone else can see it. And as soon as I deal with my broken down car and finish speaking to the detective tomorrow, I’m going to get an alarm system for my house. Nobody’s getting in here ever again without my permission. Even a cat.
Chapter 28
