Chapter 45 Rosie – Day 10
This holiday has been full of glimmers of a life Rosie will never have. The incredible holiday home, the warm welcome, and the taste of luxury . . . Those things don’t exist, not for her.
Tears push at the back of her eyes. Saying it all out loud was tough. Rosie is amazed that Fenna sat and listened to her for as long as she did.
She had two jobs – to find out what happened to Dani and to clear her dad’s name – but she got in too deep and has genuinely fallen for Theo. She doesn’t know if she can keep this charade going. Every moment she’s terrified he will find out who she is and why she’s really here.
But there’s no way she can come clean to him after all this time. He wouldn’t trust anything she said again. It’s a lose-lose situation. She’s in too deep to go back now.
She was certain that Theo suspected something was up when he came back from his walk with Luke earlier.
He kept asking her how her morning with Fenna was.
His questions seemed innocent, but it was as though he was trying to trip her up to reveal how she really spent it.
Not that she could tell him. ‘Oh, plotting with your sister-in-law to investigate the disappearance of two women that I believe your family is somehow involved with, darling . . .’
Fenna passed her a crumpled note as they were waiting for the nightly aperitivo on the terrace.
She took the folded paper with clammy hands and thrust it into her pocket.
Her Negroni tasted bitter as she casually tried to join in with the conversation.
She wondered if anyone looking into this relaxed pre-dinner drink from the outside could spot the acting.
Rosie managed to sneak to the bathroom, lightheaded with expectation, as the first course was being cleared away.
I found a key. Meet me in the kitchen at 3 am.
***
Theo rolls over and murmurs something incomprehensible as she creeps out of the bedroom.
Rosie freezes, her hand gripping the door.
A draught blows from the open window down the landing.
Goosebumps erupt on her skin. She hasn’t slept.
She couldn’t risk setting a phone alarm and explain to Theo why it went off at three in the morning.
She pretended to nod off, laying with her eyes closed, running through the things that may be down there.
Why all the extra security? What are they hiding?
She swiftly darts down the corridor, holding her breath until she’s downstairs. What if Theo wakes up to find she’s missing and comes looking for her? How is she going to explain this?
Fenna waits at the kitchen island. She reaches into the pocket of her floral cotton robe, worn over matching shorts pyjamas, and pulls out an ordinary-looking brass key on a leather key fob with a silver reflective strip down the middle.
‘Where did you find the key?’ Rosie whispers.
‘It was in the drawer beside the coffee machine. I saw Paulo put it in there. Come on, let’s get this over with.’ Fenna walks towards the basement door. ‘Who knows how long we’ve got.’
She puts the key in the lock and turns it. The door creeps slowly back. Rosie goes first. A sudden breeze wafts Fenna’s robe as she follows.
The door shuts behind them.
‘Wait,’ Rosie screeches as the chink of light is swallowed up.
‘I can’t get the light to work,’ Fenna hisses. ‘And I can’t see where the door handle is.’
‘What?’ Rosie turns so fast she almost loses her footing.
Her heart thumps in her chest. It is pitch black.
She presses herself against the wall and blindly fumbles a hand to find the door handle or the light switch.
The rough concrete walls press around her.
There is clicking as Fenna flicks the light switch multiple times to prove it’s not working.
‘Use the torch on your phone,’ Fenna says.
‘I can’t. I left it charging by my bed.’ Rosie swallows. Her heart thrums.
Where the hell is the door handle? She worries they are making too much noise.
She was the one who wanted to come down here. She can’t have a panic attack, not now.
‘Hold on.’ There is the sound of fabric rustling before Fenna taps the screen of her phone a few times and a beam of white light illuminates the deep stone steps before them.
The only sound is Rosie’s laboured breaths. The light bounces down the gloomy steps as they descend. She tries to calm her racing heart.
The basement isn’t as big as she was expecting; it doesn’t run the full length of the house.
Instead, it looks as if it was previously used as stables.
Curved brick archways lead to individual ‘rooms’, but no doors separate the spaces.
One has an industrial-sized washing machine and airers full of linen.
Another has brown cardboard boxes neatly stacked.
One of the boxes is open to reveal glassware and bubblewrap.
They quickly move around the space, huddled together, away from the shadows.
Once they’ve searched all of the ‘rooms’, Fenna hugs her arms to her chest. ‘We’ve looked everywhere. There’s nothing out of the ordinary.’
Gerry was right. The only things down here are Paulo’s tools and the laundry area.
Fenna mutters something unintelligible. She looks deathly pale in the torch light.
Rosie panics she’s going to tell Theo that his fiancée has lost her mind, making her go on wild goose chases at three in the morning to look for clues that don’t exist.
Rosie was certain there would be something – anything – locked away down here that would help her investigation.
She dejectedly follows Fenna as they move towards the stone staircase to head back upstairs.
Something catches her eye. They didn’t see it when they came down, too focused on the space ahead of them.
On the right of the stairs is a narrow door with an arched top. She tugs the handle, but it’s locked.
Fenna yawns. ‘It’s probably a broom cupboard. Come on.’
Rosie pulls the door handle again, but it’s firmly shut. ‘Are there any other keys on the fob?’
Fenna shakes her head.
She remembers the key she found on the bench in the wild garden. Could it fit here?
‘What are you do—’ Fenna questions as Rosie pulls a key from her pyjama pocket.
‘I found this in the garden the other day and . . .’ Rosie’s breath catches in her throat.
It fits in the lock perfectly. She pulls the door open.
Her knees buckle.
The narrow door is deceiving. It opens to a room much bigger than a broom cupboard.
A semi-circular window lets in light. It looks like a space previously used to store meat.
Threatening hooks hang from the concrete ceiling.
But that’s not what’s alarmed her. Propped on the floor are A3-sized canvas paintings.
One in front of another. Row after row. The subject is the same in all of them: Danielle Dixon.