Chapter 40
I walk quietly down the flight of stairs to my room. I bend down to check on Roy. He’s asleep, breathing loudly. Silently, I take the key from its hook, pat my pocket to make sure I have the spare key to his office, and close the door behind me.
I’ve only gone down a few steps when I sense something that makes me stop. Did I hear something? I’m not sure. I look down over the banister, and I’m sure I can see a change in the dimness of the light, like shifting shadows.
I stop and listen. Everything is quiet. I keep going down the stairs, silently, carefully, my feet bare on the carpet, and then I stop.
There’s someone in my kitchen.
I tighten the belt of my robe, wishing I was wearing something else, and peer around the door which is once again ajar.
Mikey is standing in front of the open refrigerator with his back to me.
A silhouette in jeans, sneakers, a hoodie with the hood down, dark unruly hair.
He takes out a plate of leftover quiche, closes the door, turns around, and jumps at the sight of me.
The plate slides out of his hand and smashes on the floor.
He is frozen with fear. I put my finger on my lips. Shhh. I listen to see if either Roy or Marie heard, but the house is silent.
“It’s okay,” I mouth.
He doesn’t reply. He looks terrified, frozen in place. Probably because he’s seen what I can do.
But I am shocked again to see how incredibly thin and small he is.
And I remember with a start what Dolores hinted at the other day.
It’s not allowed. She wouldn’t take a single morsel of the food she spent over two hours preparing for Meredith and her friends.
So what are they allowed to eat? Does Meredith give them rations?
I think of the fuss she made when I got there.
“I bought everything for you.” Like she was doing me a favor.
Like she had considered asking me to cook her lunch and bring everything to make it.
Marie can eat whatever she likes, for Christ’s sake. She doesn’t have to ask. And when I cook dinner, I always make enough for her too. She usually takes it upstairs to her room, or sometimes she’ll eat it in the kitchen.
Maybe he does this a lot, sneaks into neighboring houses to forage for food.
I take a step forward, then another, and reach for the tin of macarons on the table where I left it earlier.
He glances toward the doorway, now that I’ve moved away from it, probably gauging his chances to sprint out of the room.
But I’ve wedged the tin in the crook of my arm, loosened its lid, and I take out a macaron.
I hand it to him. He stares at it. I put the tin down slowly, take another macaron with my bandaged hand, and shove it whole in my mouth.
His face slowly breaks into a grin, and I grin too, even though my cheeks are full of macaron.
Gingerly, he takes my offering and snags a quick bite.
His eyes grow big and round as he starts to chew.
“Not bad, hey?”
He grins again. I point to the chair closest to him, pushing the tin of macarons to the center of the table. “It’s okay,” I mouth. He hesitates, glancing at the doorway behind me.
Then he sits down and takes out a small tablet from inside the collar of his hoodie. It has a cord looped around his neck and he unhooks it and puts it on the table. Then he uses the stylus to write.
Deb said I could.
I stare at him. Ever since I’ve been here, everyone else has called her Deborah. But she didn’t like the name Deborah. She preferred Deb.
I nod.
Then he looks at me eyes wide and writes, I thought you were going to kill Mrs. L.
I gesture for his tablet. He presses a small button at the bottom of the tablet and the screen is wiped clean. He hands it to me, along with the stylus.
Would that have been such a bad thing? I write.
He looks shocked.
Just kidding, I write.
He grins. Then he writes, Deb was my friend.
Was. So he knows she’s dead, then.
Then he writes, Sorry.
I click my tongue. You have nothing to be sorry for.
He gives me a small smile.
I scribble again. Did Deb give you the code to the back door?
He nods.
I’m glad, I write.
He smiles again and drags the tablet across.
She told me about you.
I write, Your mum?
He shakes his head. Your sister.
A wave of something warm but desperately sad crashes over me.
She was waiting for you. She said you’d be here soon.
I blink away tears.
I miss her too, he writes. A lot.
I nod. I know.
Did you see her when she was sick? I write.
He shakes his head. No.
He drags the heel of his hand across his cheek. I notice his wrist, how skinny it is, and for a moment, I wish I had squeezed Meredith’s neck that little bit tighter.
Something occurs to me. I drag the tablet again. Did you see her the day—
A noise upstairs. I glance up. Mikey must realize I heard something because he’s on his feet, panic flashing across his face. He snatches his tablet from the table and loops it over his head. I close the tin and shove it against his chest. He raises both arms, shakes his head. No.
I snatch the notepad from the fridge door, scribble on a page and tear it off. A present for you and your mom. I sign it. There. Now, if Meredith finds it, he’ll have proof he didn’t steal it. I put the note in the tin and press it into his arms.
Another sound. Footsteps. It’s Roy.
Go, I mouth. He slips away in the darkness and out the back door, the tin of macarons under his arm.
“What are you doing?”
I slip the pad in the pocket of my robe. Roy is at the door, his eyebrows knotted together like a frightened child. I wonder if he was lying in the dark just now, the realization slowly dawning on him that he could be the prime suspect in the murder of his lover.
“I was hungry,” I say.
“What? Now?”
“Yes, now.”
He points to the floor. “What happened there?”
“I dropped a plate.” I pull the broom and pan out of the cupboard and sweep up the mess on the floor. “Go to bed,” I say. “I’ll be there soon.”
I wait long enough to make sure he’s back in bed, then let myself into his office. I wish I had my phone with me so I could take a picture of his appointments for that day, but I can take a screenshot on the computer and email it to myself. I need to be quick.
I open the laptop.
There’s a password field. There wasn’t a password field before, which means he must have set it up in the last couple of days.
Not surprising, really, considering. Still.
It’s disappointing. Especially because if he’s smart—and we can all agree that he is—he’s going to remove her name from his calendar and replace it with another. Muddy the waters.
But then I remember the box of old appointment books he keeps.
I turn off the laptop and open the bottom cabinet.
Ten minutes later, I have found the relevant appointment book.
I slip it inside my robe. Then I grab the box of cartridges from the bottom of the glass cabinet, hurry back up and leave it outside Marie’s door.
A few minutes later, I slip into my bedroom. I hide the appointment book at the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper in the bathroom, then I get into bed. Roy is curled up on his side, his back to me, asleep.
I lie on my back, grinning with happiness. By tomorrow, the police will be investigating Roy for the murder of his wife. I think of Mikey’s face when I started to write down the words: Did you see her the day—
There was something in his eyes in that brief moment before he panicked and fled. I got the impression he was going to tell me something. I think he did see her that day.
I think he knows something.