But she was alive, here. In this room.
And that’s when she heard it.
There was movement just on the other side of the door. A slight scratching sound.
Or was it?
She listened intently.
It sounded as though someone were trying to pick the lock.
She hurriedly pulled on a dressing robe. Then she crept to the door, her heart rocketing.
She heard muttering just beyond it.
Something told her not to cry out. She grabbed a heavy candlestick from the fireplace mantel and held it aloft, ready to strike.
The doorknob slowly turned.
She covered her hand with her mouth in fear.
But as the door tried to push open, the dead-bolt lock held fast. It caught the door with a catch.
The knob stopped turning.
Grace adjusted her grip on the candlestick, her hands sweating.
She stayed there like that, breathing heavily, straining her ears above the sound of her own heartbeat, until the footsteps finally turned and walk away.
She leaned her back against the door. Then she slid down it, dropping the candlestick with a thud, and cried muffled sobs into her hands.
In the morning Grace cleared off the desk and sat down to write her mother a postcard.Doing well!she wrote. It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it sounded a bit more optimistic thanStill alive!So she scribbled,“Keeping busy with visits to the Colonnade of States and trying hundreds of different types of food. You’d be impressed by the pyrheliophor covered in thousands of mirrors—and perhaps even more so by Missouri’s elaborate temple display made entirely from corn. Give Papa my love. Be home soon.”
She slipped it in the postbox and returned just as Theodore came to her door.
“Brought you something you were looking for,” he said. He held out an envelope. “The complete guest list from the night of Harriet’s death.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him cautiously. “Did you… come here last night?”
“What?” he said. “No.” She watched the realization as his face darkened. “Why? Did someone visit you?” he asked.
“Never mind,” she said.
“All right…” he said, studying her. “That’s the guest list from the night of the party. Lillie got it from Oliver’s lawyer, but she was busy with something this morning.”
“Thanks for bringing it by,” she said. “Have you seen it yet?”
“No.”
They walked a little and took a seat on a bench beneath a tree that was dropping pink petals like fat, lush tears. She opened the envelope and unfolded the list so they could look at it together.
There were a hundred names on it. Her suspect list just kept growing.
She snuck a glance at Theo, who was examining the list beside her. She could smell the mint of his breath. The cinnamon spice of his skin.
“You know, it’s interesting,” she said. “But Earnest is wondering whether he might have been the real target.”
She shifted to put a little more space between them. Could Theodore be the murderer? Surely not. Surely there was some good explanation for what he had been doing yesterday. Sneaking away to a nefarious place and lying about it.
