Chapter 41
The duct tape is exactly where we always used to keep it, in the pantry by the kitchen.
Veronica is starting to stir a little bit by the time I get back to her with the roll of silver tape, which means I don’t have a second to lose.
Unfortunately, it’s damp in the pantry, and the tape has lost some of its stick.
So when I bind her wrists together, I loop the tape around several times to make sure it won’t be easy for her to get free.
She’s still pretty out of it, so I’m also able to secure her ankles together without much effort.
I study Veronica, lying on the floor with her ankles and wrists bound. Well, at least she’s not going anywhere or making any phone calls. But I’m not sure if she’s going to be willing to listen to what I have to say.
I pull another smaller piece of tape off the roll and press it over her lips. Okay, now she has to listen.
But I’m still kind of worried about Teddy deciding to come downstairs or maybe overhearing our conversation from his bedroom.
This house is gorgeous, but it’s not very soundproof.
I don’t know what will happen if Teddy overhears our conversation, and honestly, I don’t want to know.
If Veronica and I are going to talk, it can’t be in the living room.
Then my gaze moves to the door to the cellar.
That would be perfect. It’s not soundproof either, but Teddy is never going to hear us from two floors up. Veronica and I can have a long conversation, and Teddy won’t hear a word.
He won’t even hear her if she screams.
Veronica groans on the floor, but her eyes are still closed. Better to do this while she’s still mostly unconscious. When she’s awake and struggling, this is all going to be much harder.
I open the door to the cellar, and that familiar musty odor fills my nostrils. I flick on the light, which is only bright enough for Jeremy to be able to read the labels on the bottles of spirits. It’s actually perfect.
Now how am I going to get Veronica down there?
While she is taller than I am, she’s very skinny.
I test the waters, grabbing her by the ankles and dragging her along the floor, and it’s actually easier than I thought it would be.
I do worry a little bit about hurting my back though.
Dragging an unconscious woman down to the basement would’ve been so much easier in my twenties.
Yet another downside to getting older that I haven’t even anticipated.
It’s actually much easier when we get to the stairs though, because now I’ve got gravity helping me. At first, I’m trying to go slowly to avoid bashing her head on each step, but then I realize that might be a good thing. The more confused she is when she wakes up, the better.
The basement of the house is partially finished.
There is only one overhead light, which keeps the room dim at all times, especially since there are no windows either—light is the enemy of fine wine.
Jeremy lectured me about this once, droning on about how wine is easily damaged by sunlight, temperature, and humidity, which is why it needs to be stored so carefully.
In order to get the right temperature, he installed a cooling system as well, which keeps the cellar a perfect fifty-five degrees at all times.
But in addition to the wine, Jeremy also keeps a considerable collection of spirits, including bourbon, scotch whiskey, and rum.
He loves wine, but when he’s had a rough day, there’s nothing he likes better than a snifter of scotch after putting Teddy to bed.
And I know that because he’s my husband, and I love him more than Veronica will ever be capable of.
The floor is unfinished, as is one of the walls, while another wall is all brown bricks. There are about a dozen wine racks pushed against the walls, most of them about three-quarters full.
It’s chilly in the cellar, especially since all I’m wearing is a light sweatshirt.
Veronica is only wearing a T-shirt, and goose bumps pop up all over her arms. It looks like the frigid air might be waking her up as well, because she lets out another low groan, although her eyes are still sealed shut.
I stare at her for a moment, lying unconscious on the floor.
She really is very beautiful—unfairly beautiful.
I can’t even entirely blame Jeremy for falling in love with her.
Well, okay, yes, I can. But still. I have a feeling that no matter what arrangement we come to down in the cellar, nothing will really change.
Jeremy will never stop wanting her because, well, look at her!
You have to get rid of her.
My mother’s raspy voice is speaking to me in the back of my head.
I realize that with Veronica lying on the floor, her arms and legs restrained, it would be almost too easy to finish her off.
I could grab a knife from the kitchen, plunge it into her chest, and she’d be dead before she knew what hit her.
A chill goes through me that I don’t think is from the cooling system.
Of course, this is all ridiculous. I’m not a murderer. Whatever else I have done in my life—and I honestly don’t think I’ve done anything that bad—I certainly would never do that. I’m not going to kill Veronica.
But what if she wasn’t quite so pretty?
I wonder if Jeremy still keeps the scissors in the same place.