Chapter 42
Fola had been standing outside the second-floor powder room with her arms crossed for the last two minutes, waiting.
“Almost finished!” Evie’s voice called from behind the door.
“Take your time,” Fola replied. She had been looking for Evie all over the house and had finally found her, minutes ago, rushing into the bathroom like she was trying to get away.
Clearly Evie did not want to be caught by the police or Fola.
She must’ve known there would be dire consequences either way.
Smart girl, Fola had thought. The police presence had thinned out across the house, probably because there were fewer suspects, thus making it easier to keep track of who still remained. So it was good Evie knew to run. Running made her look guilty.
“All yours!” Evie said cheerfully as the door swung open and she stepped out.
“I actually don’t need to use the bathroom,” Fola said, unpicking Evie’s expression in the same way she unpicked the expressions of the people she played in her chess matches, searching for their weak spots, any vantages she might be able to exploit.
“Oh,” Evie replied, her face now settled into an uncomfortable, forced smile. “So you’re just stalking me, then?”
Fola smiled back at her. “Something like that.” Evie’s face stilled; she looked like a mouse caught in a trap. “Why were you up here, anyway? There’s a perfectly nice guest bathroom downstairs,” Fola said.
“I prefer the one on this floor. I needed to fix my hair and this one has a larger mirror,” Evie replied.
“Could have gone back to the staff quarters, you know … the place you were dismissed to hours ago … where you actually live,” Fola said, pausing for a beat to look between Evie and the space around them. “In fact … if memory serves me right, you have a perfectly sizable mirror in your bedroom.”
The corners of Evie’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Evie said.
“That you have a mirror?” Fola asked, even though she knew it wasn’t what Evie was referencing.
One of Evie’s eyebrows arched curiously. “No, I didn’t think you’d remember my room,” she said, saying very little but, with that, saying a whole lot.
Fola folded her arms. “Well, I do,” she replied sharply, only somewhat acknowledging what had trespassed between them one fateful day when Fola was thirteen.
They’d never actually spoken about it before; Evie had left for Italy shortly after, and so there had been no need to.
Besides, as her father always reminded her, emotions were the foil in every genius.
The more you pushed away these unnecessary feelings, the sharper, the more focused, the more brilliant you could be.
“Anyway,” Fola continued, brushing off the memory of brief adolescent passions.
“I actually came to get you because Henry was calling everyone to the dining room for dinner. Your mom made a casserole. I guess they wanted to make sure everyone had eaten before the arrest. Give my father’s murderer one final meal. How nice of them.”
“Oh, right …,” Evie said, and Fola could see the cogs turning behind her eyes.
She’s going to try to get out of this. “I’m actually not all that hungry.
I’ll probably just have leftovers.” Fola noticed Evie’s gaze shift down nervously, and her right hand rest on her back pocket where something small and square appeared to be poking out.
“Are you sure?” Fola asked, not buying it for a second.
“Yeah, I’m feeling kind of dizzy, actually. I can feel a headache coming on. I might just stay up here for a while.”
“It wouldn’t be good to stay here alone when you’re unwell. Come, follow me. Henry will help.” Fola’s voice was firm.
“Honestly, I’m fine here—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, this is our house and you’re a guest here. It would be impolite of me to abandon you,” Fola said, forcing a smile.
Evie did not look so convinced, but nodded anyway. “Okay,” she said, and then followed with, “I happen to have always liked your impolite nature,” in a low mutter.
Fola pretended not to hear that last part, mostly because she did not have the time to decipher its meaning.
Fola’s focus was razor-sharp, settled on her main goal of getting Evie into the foyer for the next stage in their plan.
The plan that involved conveniently revealing all they had discovered about Evie to a roomful of eyewitnesses and officers.
Fola knew it was ruthless of her, but she had no loyalties to anyone here but her family.
Fola gestured for the ballerina to go ahead of her down the east wing staircase that led to the foyer.
When they got to the foyer, Fola guided Evie toward the drawing room instead, where her other siblings were waiting.
As they entered, she saw Romeo standing next to Perdita and Thorin, and Octavius on the floor by the fireplace, seemingly playing himself once again in a game of checkers.
Her gaze swept over the small handful of final suspects dotted around the periphery.
Everyone in here seemed to be reaching their breaking points.
No one even seemed to notice that one of the prodigies, the world-famous fifteen-year-old puzzle master Franco Demorphus, appeared to be curled up on the sofa in a fetal position, rocking back and forth.
The rest looked equal parts exhausted and irritated.
Fola wouldn’t be surprised if a revolt started any moment now.
“Where’s Bilal?” Fola asked the room, noting his absence.
“He’s having a … crisis. Henry’s dealing with it now,” a voice answered from behind her. She turned and found Bilal’s little literature-obsessed boyfriend standing there.
“Is he okay?” Fola asked.
Anwar nodded. “Yeah … I think so.” She could tell there was something he wasn’t saying but decided to investigate that later. She had bigger fish to fry right now.
Fola turned around to face Evie, who was peering around the room with an odd look in her eye.
“I thought we were going to dinner?” she asked.
“In a moment. How’s that headache of yours?” Fola asked.
Evie shrugged. “I’ll live,” she said.
“Will you?” Fola asked, and Evie looked at her with a frown.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I just … I imagine it must be difficult, carrying the burden of so many secrets,” Fola started, raising her voice a little so that she could be heard by all.
“I mean, getting removed from your ballet company, leaving Italy, dealing with the mysterious death of your former colleague and principal ballerina Adelina Toscano … I’d have a terrible headache too.
” Fola felt a thrill wash through her at the brief flash of surprise in Evie’s eyes.
Got you.
The room was completely quiet now, all eyes trained on them. The police weren’t around to hear the inevitable confession, but that didn’t matter much at this point. It would be all of them against Evie.
“Fola, what are you doing?” Perdita asked quietly from behind.
Cleaning up our family messes, like I always do. Fola hoped Perdita would be smart enough to keep quiet and, as Bilal had said, let things run their natural course.
Evie’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How did you—”
“How did I know all of that? Well, I know a lot of things, Evie Gray,” Fola said, circling her now. “For example, I know that you’ve been keeping tabs on us. I found your little red notebook,” Fola said, pulling it out of her blazer.
Evie’s eyes widened. “How did you get that?”
Fola shrugged. “On our way down here, saw it in your back pocket and thought I’d take a look.
It helps being a professional chess player.
You develop the ability to move your fingers quickly,” Fola said as she began flipping through the pages haphazardly.
She’d already skimmed through the booklet on their descent down the stairs, knowing Evie was trying to act confident and not look back at her.
As such, she knew vaguely of its contents; this part was just for dramatic effect.
“This book shocked me, Evie. I mean, here I was thinking you were a dear family friend who’d just come back to visit, but instead it seems you’ve been stalking us.
I mean a whole journal titled The Heirs, dedicated just to myself and my siblings?
Scary stuff. It made me start to question everything.
Have you been pretending to show us kindness since you turned up yesterday—or even before that?
Do you in fact have some twisted plan for my family that you aim to exploit?
I heard you were even hunting down my father last night. ”
The room was quiet then.
Evie’s face was neutral, but Fola could see the storm brewing behind the mask.
“You seem to have lied about so much, Evie. I wonder what other nefarious things you’re hiding,” Fola said.
Evie looked at her in disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to suggest that I killed Mr. Button?”
Fola could hear whispers, the sound of feet shuffling, disturbing the quiet. “You tell me,” Fola replied. “Did you kill my father?” Fola’s desperate heart rate rose, the air in the room quickly disappearing.
“Wow,” Evie said, scoffing a little.
“Wow indeed,” Fola said. “Now, are you going to explain yourself or should I go and let Chief Waxler know about my discoveries?”
“You can go and do whatever you like, Fola. But it won’t change the fact that you and I both know that I did not kill him.
You’re right about some things. I did leave Italy, and yes, I was removed from the company, but not for any of the reasons you seem to be insinuating.
You were also wrong about many things. Last I heard, doing a deep dive into a famous family—one whom my family works for, by the way—isn’t illegal, or even novel.
And unlike yours, Fola, my alibi from last night is watertight.
I’m in the official footage taken by the event videographer during the time of the murder.
” Evie shifted her stance, an unexpected confidence steeling her demeanor.
“The thing is … the videographer was there to capture Anwar with the trophy and to film the celebrations after, and the firework display—during which time Mr. Button was murdered. And yet you are nowhere to be seen in any of it …,” Evie said, looking directly at Fola and then staring straight ahead at the rest of the Buttons, minus Bilal, who was still elsewhere. “None of you were, for that matter.”
Evie straightened her posture and folded her arms. “As I said, I didn’t kill your father. But I am almost certain I know who did.”
“Who?” Fola said, feigning confidence as she arched one of her perfectly plucked brows, even though her heart was racing at one million beats per second. She locked eyes with Evie for a brief moment, and it was all she needed to know that this was the end.
Evie turned to the corner of the room, where a lone figure sat in front of the fireplace still fiddling with his checkerboard. “You,” Evie said, looking directly at Octavius. “I think it was you.”