3
This was the worst day of my life, and as I dragged myself upstairs to my bedroom, I grabbed my phone, which was charging on the bedside table. There were three messages, one from Lev and two from Mila, and I was about to delete Lev’s message without reading it, but I changed my mind.
Lev: C u when you get back.
Me: Piss off, you scum. I know what you did. Don’t contact me again.
Mila: I hope you have a great weekend. But if you decide not to come back, I’ll never forgive u.
Mila: That was a joke. I reread the message and realized you could interpret it more than one way. Sorry if you thought I was being mean. It was a joke. Message me to know that you understand.
I laughed out loud at Mila’s message because it’s typical of someone who overthinks and worries too much, and honestly, it was a nice break from my stressed and embarrassed mind.
Me: No worries, I read it as a joke. Thank u for caring, and I hope u have a good weekend too. See u on Monday.
I deleted Lev’s number from my phone, then stood at my window overlooking the gardens and pool, surrounded by leafy trees to block out the neighbors.
My nose wrinkled as I detected the lingering scent of perfume, assuming it had drifted in from down the hall, and I suddenly felt as if someone had been here recently.
And by someone, I meant Leslie, because that unmistakable scent was her perfume.
To be cautious, I rummaged through the top drawer of my bedside table to find the key to lock the door from the outside.
My bedroom was left unlocked while I was away at Castlehill so the housekeeper could clean it, and I placed valuables or important items into the locked cupboard to prevent Leslie from snooping through them. However, I still felt uneasy knowing someone had entered without my permission.
I lay down on my bed, switched music on my phone, and allowed myself to relax into the mattress as I thought about the conversation with Dad.
I didn’t care what happened with the pics, since it was dark and in these modern times, it’s hardly shocking.
But what upset me the most was the disappointed look in my father’s eyes, as I had betrayed him.
The Warwicks set me up, but I still felt like a traitor because I should’ve stayed away from them.
An hour passed before I found the courage to leave the confines of my bedroom and venture down to the kitchen to make a coffee and toast a slice of bread, since I didn’t get a chance to have my breakfast earlier.
The house felt empty, and once I was on the ground floor, I checked my father’s office, where he was most likely to be on the weekend, if he was home, and found it locked.
Leslie often took her paperwork home on the weekends and would perch up at the bar and work there, but she wasn’t there either.
I suspected I was home alone, but to check, I opened the garage door, surprised to find that my father’s silver Benz was there, but Leslie’s sky-blue sedan was gone.
I put the commercial coffee machine on to make a strong black coffee with a touch of cream to wake me up, poured a glass of pink grapefruit juice, then slotted a slice of dark rye bread, recommended by my father’s doctor to help lower his blood pressure, into the toaster.
The kitchen windows looked out across the backyard and the pool, and as the sun rose higher above the trees, the water began to sparkle, an invitation to take a dip after breakfast. Cupping my coffee mug, I sipped the warm brew and allowed it to invigorate my senses, although nothing would help douse the guilt and embarrassment that scoured my body.
A shiver ran down my spine when I caught movement in the glass, which looked like the reflection of someone walking past the kitchen entrance toward the hall. “Dad?”
I set my coffee mug down on the counter and tiptoed out as my heart pounded in my chest, making my breath hitch, and I gazed down the hallway and called his name again.
Seeing and hearing nothing, I retreated into the kitchen, pulled open the dishcloth drawer, pushed the false panel so it popped open, and felt around for the handgun hidden in there, but it was empty.
The only other living person who knew where we stashed our weapons was my father, because he was the one who put them there.
So, either he broke our pact and told Leslie where they were so she could protect herself if needed, or he took the gun out himself for one reason or another and forgot to put it back.
There was another gun hidden in my father’s office, which I couldn’t access because it was locked, and the next nearest hiding place was further down the hall in the games room, which was in the same direction as the ghost moved in.
I couldn’t hear footsteps, and as I walked down the hall, I’d convinced myself that no one was here.
In the games room, I felt under the pool table for the handgun stuck to the bottom and was relieved that it hadn’t disappeared, also.
I checked that it was loaded, kept the safety cap on, then walked back down to the kitchen to finish my breakfast in peace.
Naturally, because I wasn’t born yesterday, I sat facing the doorway, in case someone thought to surprise me.
Honestly, it’s not easy to break into this house, but it's not impossible, even with security and cameras everywhere. That gave me an excuse to call him to check his mood over an hour after the ‘conversation’, as he might’ve cooled down by now.
Finishing my coffee first to give me courage, I then swiped his number, preparing myself for an indifferent tone or for him not to answer at all.
The line clicked over, then started ringing, and I took another deep breath to ease my swimming nerves.
A ringtone played out, and I pulled the phone away from my ear to hear properly and realized that it was coming from inside the house.
The line clicked over to my father’s phone message, so I stepped out into the hall armed with the loaded handgun and walked to my father’s office.
Once there, I pressed my ear against his door listening for a sound, and when I was met with silence, I swiped to call his number again.
Two clicks and the ringtone sounded out on the other side of the door. “Dad?” I knocked heavily. “Are you in there?”
Okay, so he must have left his personal phone at home, so I called his business number, but that went straight to voicemail.
“Dad, can you call me?” I was wary that someone might be listening in to his messages, so I calmed my tone and added, “It’s not urgent, but I'm just wondering if you’ll be coming home for dinner because I thought about making something since I’m here, maybe your favorite, as an apology. ”
Hopefully, my father will reply to my message, and then I’ll be able to gauge his mood. So, he’s busy, perhaps in a meeting, and turned his business phone off. It’s Saturday. He had meetings on Saturdays sometimes, I told myself, even though my nerves were working overtime.
I stepped away from my father's office, then froze when a clunking noise like furniture falling over, and I pressed my ear against his door and heard a strange creaking. My finger swiped for Leslie’s number dangerously close to calling her to ask where my father was, but my instincts refused to let me go through with it.
“Dad might kill me for this, but one must do what one must do,” and I removed the safety cap on the handgun, stood back from the door, then fired two shots at the door handle, then quickly stepped out of the way, in case someone was inside. If Dad were inside, he’d shoot and ask questions later.
The door flew open from the blast, and the creaking was clearer, sending a shiver down my spine. I took a deep breath before peeking into my father’s office to see a man hanging from the ceiling by a rope, his head covered with a black fabric bag, and I looked away to compose myself.
My heart pounded rapidly in my chest as I took deep breaths to ease my nerves, shut my eyes tight, before looking again.
It was my father. I didn’t need to see the face behind the head covering to know that it was my father: the gold Rolex watch, the black slacks, and the navy Ralph Lauren polo shirt.
My father is hanging from a noose in his office.
“Dad?”
The blood drained from my body as I saw his personal phone resting on his desk beside his laptop as if he was sitting in his leather office chair only moments ago working, and then had an urge to take his life.
“Dad,” I screamed, climbing up onto the desk in an attempt to release the noose. I unloaded my gun at the rope to cut it, and his body fell to the floor as I immediately tried to loosen the rope around his neck, and removed the fabric bag to find blue lips, bulging eyes.
“Dad?” I listened for breath, then checked his pulse, but he was gone. Empty. I was too late.
Nothing made sense. Why would he do this?
With trembling hands, I swiped for the police and ambulance, and managed to keep the hot tears away as I told the emergency operator my father had hung himself.
When I said his name, Maxwell Boleyn, there was hesitation and intake of breath down the line.
The operator knew who and what he was; they all did.
My father was notorious in these parts, the Boleyn name uttered in hushed tones.
I swiped for Leslie’s number. She picked up straight away, and there was noise in the background; it sounded as if she was driving.
“Adina?” She sounded surprised that I called her because it’s something I avoided, but I faltered when her tone seemed forced. “Is everything okay?”
“Um,” I breathed, taking a couple of beats to compose myself, before continuing, “It’s Dad. I found him…”
“You found him?” she asked, confused. “Where? What are you talking about? Adina, are you okay?”
“No, I mean-