Chapter 405 P.M.—The Button Manor #2
Fola nodded. “Thanks, Henry, I really appreciate it.” The secretary smiled and bade them goodbye.
Fola only waited a few beats, making sure Henry had left the drawing room, before she returned her focus to Perdita, clearly not planning on wasting any time contemplating further.
Before Octavius knew it, she was storming her way through the crowd, her jaw set and her eyes blazing with rage.
It seemed to Octavius that Fola was making her way through the stages of grief a lot quicker than anticipated, starting this morning with sadness, skipping ahead only moments ago to the bargaining stage before moving swiftly on to anger.
“This should be good,” Octavius muttered to himself as he followed his sister through the sparser crowd, daggered glares trailing closely behind him as he did. At least the next stages of grief—denial and depression—would be less frightening. He hoped.
Octavius closed the large French doors behind them as they left the temperately warm drawing room and entered the freezing gardens, Fola marching ahead toward Perdita, who was on the marble black-and-white walkway of the patio.
He heard the subtle beeping of the alarm system somewhere in the close distance.
They were trapped. Restricted to this little section of the patio where there weren’t any sensors yet.
Unlike other areas of the Manor, the gardens weren’t being heavily guarded. As the alarm system was switched on, it would be nearly impossible for any guests to sneak out into the wider estate without setting them off.
Perdita’s eyes widened as her siblings descended on her. Octavius pulled his sunglasses on and stood back, not wanting to get any blood on his stolen clothes.
“We need to talk about Father,” Fola snipped quietly, her eyes darting very briefly to the drawing room, her permanent scowl contorting into an even more severe expression.
“I already said—”
“I know what you said, Dee, and I still think it’s bullshit. What are you not telling us? And before you think to lie again about how you had no idea, think very carefully about the consequences, Perdita, because I swear, I will ruin you.”
Perdita’s eyes were wide and shimmering.
“Fola, I think she really doesn’t know …
,” Romeo began, but Fola shook her head and smiled, baring her sharp teeth.
“Look at her,” she said, gesturing to their sister.
“The lie is written all over her face. She forgets that I know her, I know her expressions. I know what it looks like when she’s swallowing the truth. ”
Before anyone could react to that, Octavius heard the double doors to the garden yawning open again, the chatter from the drawing room spilling through the broadening gap as a very serious Bilal appeared in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Perdita,” Bilal said, his face fixed with a harsh expression. Octavius couldn’t tell if that was just Bilal’s resting face these days or if he was also looking for vengeance. Bilal hobbled past him, right over to where the others were standing.
“If you’re looking to interrogate me, Fola hasn’t finished her witch hunt yet, so you might have to get in line,” Perdita muttered, wrapping her arms around herself as a protection from both the cold and Fola’s death stare.
“She’s right, I haven’t,” Fola said, arms folded and eyes murderous.
“I just have one question,” Bilal said, looking at Fola as if for permission to interrupt her interrogation with his own.
Fola sighed and gestured for Bilal to speak. It felt like they were in some kind of upside-down courtroom.
Bilal turned to Perdita with a hard look. “Anwar said he saw you last night with Dad; overheard you arguing and saying you wished he was dead.”
Something unrecognizable flashed across Perdita’s features, and her gaze briefly flickered over to Octavius, who was at the edge of their interrogation circle. Then her eyes narrowed as she looked up at her oldest brother. “What are you really asking, Bilal? Are you trying to suggest something?”
For a few beats, everything was still, quiet, the only movement coming from the midafternoon chill blowing a gentle breeze toward them.
Bilal shook his head. “I’m not trying to suggest anything, Dee.
I’m just saying, the police are whittling down suspects, looking for our father’s murderer, and Anwar overheard you wishing he was dead.
I don’t know how long you were down there arguing with Dad, but given one person saw you, this could mean there are others that did too.
I’m giving you this chance to tell us what happened last night.
Whether there is something we should know and prepare for. ”
Perdita didn’t speak, just stared blankly ahead. Octavius followed her gaze to the empty space and wondered if she was eyeing a ghost.
“If you don’t say anything, I can’t stop Anwar from reporting what he heard to Chief Waxler,” Bilal pressed on.
Perdita’s gaze shifted back into focus. “He can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Bilal asked.
“Because,” Perdita began boldly, as if she was finally ready to give them a proper explanation. But then she quickly deflated, drawing back. “He just can’t.”
“Perdita,” Billy said steadily, his eyes overcast by something dark.
“What were you guys arguing about? Why did you tell Father that you wished he was dead? Why can’t you answer these two very simple questions?
Everyone still here is a murder suspect.
That includes us too. The police are watching, and with the way you’re acting, you’re giving them a reason to think—”
“Think what? That I murdered my own father?” Perdita asked, her eyes burning, the tears that had been teetering on the edge now falling against her milk-white skin.
A heavy silence fell over them all.
Octavius hated the quiet and couldn’t help himself. “Well, the tabloids are always insinuating that he’s not our real father, so who knows, maybe the police think so too—”
“Be quiet, Octavius,” Fola hissed in a voice too low for him to fully comprehend.
“It’s an easy story to believe,” he continued. “Daddy didn’t love me enough because he wasn’t my real father, so I slit his throat.”
Bilal shot Octavius a look that could most definitely kill.
“He was,” Perdita muttered, avoiding their gazes by staring mostly at the ground.
“What was that?” Fola asked.
Perdita paused, clearly weighing in her mind whether to repeat herself. Then something flashed across her face, a look of decisiveness but also a new willingness to surrender.
“He was,” she repeated with more clarity.
Octavius still wasn’t sure what she meant, and it was apparent that his other siblings were lost too.
“What do you mean by that?” Bilal asked.
Perdita wiped her wet face, and finally stared at them all, wincing when she did, as if she were staring directly into the sun. “He was my real father, or biological father, or whatever you want to call it,” she said softly, her words cracking around the edges like it hurt her to say.
Octavius’s eyebrows knitted together, matching the mix of confused and surprised expressions around their malformed circle.
He was my real father.
The revelation lingered in the late afternoon air.
He was my real father.
A knife twisting in his gut.
He was my real father.
The final nail in the coffin of the Button siblings.