Chapter 405 P.M.—The Button Manor
“I’m telling you, there’s something she isn’t saying,” Fola whispered to Octavius.
The two siblings were at the edge of the slowly emptying drawing room as more guests were sent home.
The west wing bell had just finished ringing and was now dangling from one of the foyer’s walls.
The bell was usually used to signal when breakfast, lunch, and dinner were ready, not when it was time to release more murder suspects.
The bell had been rung so many times in the last two hours, Octavius’s erratic heartbeat hadn’t had a chance to settle down once. He wasn’t sure he could ever hear that bell again and think of anything else but death.
“How do you know she’s hiding something?” Octavius questioned as they stood side by side watching the remaining guests, who were concentrated in the center of the drawing room.
There was an agitated boy seated on the ground nearby thumbing a Rubik’s Cube; a girl and her mother a few paces away having a semi-hushed argument, the mother saying something about wanting to call the family lawyer; and a trio of prodigies looking at them disdainfully.
Earlier the guests had seemed to be a lot nicer, some even came up to them to offer their condolences, but as the clock ticked on, people were becoming less patient and less sympathetic.
A few guests were now giving them funny looks …
like they blamed Octavius and his sister for them being trapped in here.
Octavius looked away quickly, his heart rattling a little more than it had before. Fola didn’t seem to notice.
“I know she’s hiding something because I can feel it,” Fola stated.
“You can feel it?” Octavius said.
“Yes,” Fola replied simply. He was surprised that his very logical sister was using feelings as a scale by which to judge this situation.
He considered her suspicion. Perdita had been acting sketchy, particularly about the inheritance.
It was clear their sister was hiding things from them, serious things.
And considering everything that was going on, it was not a good look for her.
He couldn’t imagine Perdita being capable of doing anything bad … or maybe he didn’t want to.
“Maybe she made some secret exclusive deal with Father’s ghost to sell her soul in exchange for his entire fortune?” Octavius replied in a light tone, trying to ease both the tension between them and the anxiety bubbling inside.
“A Faustian bargain?” Fola questioned, looking very unimpressed by his suggestion.
He nodded. “She’s artsy. Artsy people love Faustian bargains—just look at Dorian Gray.”
“One, Dorian Gray is a fictional character. Two, Father’s will was changed three days ago, so it wouldn’t have been his ghost. Three, are you seriously trying to suggest that ghosts exist?” Fola never quite understood hyperbole or sarcasm, which made it all the more fun to mess with her.
“Of course they exist, Fols. This house is full of them.” As if to demonstrate, Octavius waved at the empty space next to Fola. “Hi, Dad,” he said.
Fola fixed her gaze on him sternly, not finding his antics funny at all. “Are you drunk, Tavi?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Define drunk.”
“Have you consumed a liberal amount of alcohol in the last two hours?”
He looked up thoughtfully. “Perhaps … but in my defense, it is the only way to stay sane in this family, sister dear. Plus, it helped cure my dreadful hangover from this morning.”
“And you don’t think that’s a bad idea?”
“Why would it be a bad idea?” Octavius asked.
“Aren’t you worried that it’ll make you seem …
suspicious?” She glanced sideways at the uniformed officers stationed at different points near the drawing room.
One was posted by the foyer, which still had police tape, another by the entrance of the drawing room, and another right in the center.
Octavius had attempted once again to sneak up to the second floor, but had bailed on his plan when he’d seen the dark blue uniforms and stern expressions of two officers stationed at the top of the west wing staircase.
They felt like guard dogs closing in on them.
Each officer a hound, baring their sharp canine teeth at them all, and surveilling them as if they were dangerous delinquents guilty of a nefarious crime.
“Suspicious of what, Fola?” Octavius replied with a raised eyebrow and an inebriated smile, focusing back on his conversation with his sister.
She didn’t bother answering, sensing that Octavius was in one of his funny moods. Instead, she craned her neck, searching the expanse of the drawing room. “I’m going to find Perdita and figure out what is up with her.”
Octavius turned to scan the room too. “Do you have any idea of where she might be?”
Fola raised one perfect, manicured finger in the direction of the double doors at the back of the drawing room that led out toward the garden.
“There,” she said, her eyes narrowing at the familiar figure of their sister in the gardens next to Romeo.
Fola looked ready to pounce on them, but before she could, someone stopped her in her tracks.
“Hello, Fola; hello, Octavius. How are you both holding up?” Henry said, his hands around his back. The secretary looked exhausted, his skin all red and splotchy, and he was out of breath like he’d not had a moment to just stand still in a while.
“We’re fine, Henry, we were just about to go and speak with Perdita,” Fola said, eyeing the doors.
“I hope things aren’t still … tense between you all. That will reading was … a lot to take in. Especially so soon after—”
“Not at all!” Fola said with a high-pitched inflection and a tight smile. “We’re good now.”
Henry did not look like he was buying whatever performance Fola was selling—probably because she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He looked at Octavius, as if hoping he’d convey the truth through telepathy. “Are you well, Tavi?” Henry asked after a few moments of failed mind reading.
Why did people keep asking him that?
“I’m peachy,” he said with a smile and an exaggerated thumbs-up. He was also doing a poor job at selling his performance.
Henry just looked at them both, disturbed. “Well, if there is anything you kids need from me—” he started, but was interrupted by Fola, whose eyes suddenly snapped away from her target in the gardens and over to Henry.
“Yes, actually”—she lowered her voice several octaves—“I was wondering if you had any updates on what I’d spoken to you about earlier? The fake journalist from yesterday, have you mentioned her to Waxler as another potential suspect?”
Henry nodded, responding in an equally quiet tone.
“Ah yes, I did. Turns out Chief Waxler and his officers were already looking into her. She was one of their first suspects, seeing as an incident report had already been filed against her after yesterday’s ambush. They quickly ruled her out though—”
“What, why? She clearly had something against our father. She literally threatened him.”
“I know. But after her break-in Ms. Bachchan was held in police custody all through the night. There was no way she could have been on that yacht in the Hamptons. They also checked to see if she has any affiliation with any groups, and it appears that Ms. Bachchan was just a very enthused activist working alone. There was no one to infiltrate the yacht on her behalf.”
“Okay, but what about the journalist from this morning,” Fola continued, desperately grabbing at straws.
Like always, she needed a definitive solution.
“The one who smashed a drone through the entryway door? He clearly isn’t afraid of using force or violence.
How do we know he wasn’t on the yacht last night? That he didn’t hurt our father?”
Henry looked at them pityingly. “I’m afraid that the journalist from this morning also could not have been on the yacht last night.
Waxler had him looked into and there is CCTV footage of his whereabouts last night.
The journalist wasn’t even in New York. Every single guest and member of the staff was vetted before the ball.
We significantly increased security at the ball following the intrusion at the conference.
Excepting all guests already on board, no one else boarded the boat once it docked for the last time at 11:05.
I can tell you though that he is now in police custody, if you were afraid of him causing any more harm to you all.
Your safety is our top priority here. Though, now that we have put out our official announcement, we aren’t expecting any more threats of this nature, which is good news—but not great news in terms of being any closer to finding out who is behind the tragic events of last night,” Henry said.
“I can assure you that Chief Waxler and his officers are working very hard to go through the transcripts and the available evidence with every intention to arrest someone today. They are using the best technology available in the state, have brought on their best detectives, and are reporting back to myself and your father’s lawyers regularly with the latest information. ”
“That good to hear …,” Fola replied with a small frown, her eyebrows knitted together as she calculated her next move.
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you,” Henry said, then checked his watch.
“Actually I should go check in with Chief Waxler upstairs in Eden. He’d mentioned about an hour ago that they had a potential lead.
He didn’t give me much detail, but maybe there’s been progress on that front.
I’ll let you know if anything of note comes from this. ”