The ability to search the name Alice May would be a godsend right now. Even if the things I found were gruesome, better to know and be forewarned than live with this scary unease where I’m not sure about anything.
The more my anxiety increases, the more gore I see every time I close my eyes. Nothing approaching the weird replay I experienced last night but enough to exhaust me.
It takes an hour before I even untie the first ribbon on the first present. I want to cry as I lift a pair of crimson sandals out of the box. The heels are ridiculously high, especially compared to the sneakers that are my usual choice of footwear.
What it lacks in practicality it makes up for with tiny crisscross straps that make my ankles—even the bruised one—look stupidly pretty.
I love them. I might have worn them anyway.
The fact that I have to because I suspect the overly controlling madmen gangster who runs this property murdered the mother of his child takes away a lot of the enjoyment factor. Especially when I add a mysterious missing nanny to the mix.
My mood doesn’t improve when I open the next box to find a matching dress in soft velvet. The fabric is so thick it should mould me into a spare tyre shape, instead it hugs my curves and makes me look like I’d be at home sitting on a very naughty Santa’s knee.
The third box is filled with lingerie. Well, filled is an overstatement. They have more in common with a tissue than a garment.
The last contains jewellery. A choker of alternating jet and ivory slivers bound with platinum chains top and bottom. When I fasten it around my neck, it fits snugly, the faint pressure when I swallow causing a frisson up and down my bare arms. Beneath it are two hair combs in beaten silver. They look heavy but I pick them up to discover they’re hollow.
I don’t know what time dinner will start but I shower early and wear everything exactly as I should. The wait for a knock or other signal wears on my nerves. By the time Yuri comes to escort me down, my thumbnail has disappeared and I’m chewing on the quick until its colour matches my crimson dress.
“Aren’t we going to the dining room?” I ask when it becomes apparent that’s not where we’re heading. The bodyguard is his usual ebullient self so when he deposits me outside a door, I know precisely nothing.
“Isabelle,” Meri says in a flat voice as she opens the room to us. Her glance flicks to her brother before returning to me. “You look wonderful.”
Baxter sits in a chair on the far side of the room, brandy in hand and daughter resting on his knee. His eyes travel down my body, leaving a trail of heat like they’re a physical force.
“Time for your dinner,” he announces, kissing Sophia and setting her on her feet. She bounds across the room to grab hold of my leg, trying to climb me like a tree. “No,” Baxter says, and she immediately obeys, standing back with her eyes shining.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Sophia is wearing a fancier dress than the one she wore earlier and with far less evidence of rambunctious play. “So do you.”
“Come along, pipsqueak,” Meri says, holding out her hand. “Let’s get you fed and watered.”
Tiff sits on a tan leather couch next to Edgar. I nod to them both but stay where I am, feeling a million times more self-conscious than I did last night, even though then there’d been far more people staring at me.
“You’re allowed to sit down,” Baxter says in an amused voice. “We’re having before dinner drinks in celebration.”
I head towards a chair on the far side of the couch, but his resulting frown makes me too nervous to commit, and I wind up taking the seat on the other side of Baxter. “What are you celebrating?”
There’s a pause long enough to wonder if I’ve asked the wrong question, then Edgar puts an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Tiff’s pregnant.”
One inquisitive glance tells me she doesn’t look happy at the news. “Congratulations?”
Baxter glances over to me and smirks. “They’re also leaving my employ so it’s bittersweet.”
“Leaving?” It’s nice to know some people get that opportunity, but I clamp down on that streak of sarcasm before it can get going or worse, wind up coming out of my far-too-big mouth. “But you’re half the people I know here. I’ll have to make new friends.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Baxter says, rising to pour himself a refill. He catches my eye and tilts the bottle and I give that a hearty nod. When he brings the drinks back, he passes mine over and clinks the bottom with his tumbler, “Cheers.”
“Where are you moving to?”
Tiff and Edgar exchange a glance that makes me think they won’t tell me, but after a pause, she answers, “We’re going to try it over in Sydney for a while.”
“You want your kid to be Australian?” My tone of voice makes it sound akin to being raised by savages in the deepest darkest forest but I’m not apologising. “They’ll talk all funny. When they grow up, they’ll be sent down the mines.”
Baxter relaxes farther into his chair, then taps the arm rest. “Why don’t you sit here rather than all the way over there?”
I’m less than a metre away but he makes it sound like the other side of the planet. Taking a generous swig of my drink, I comply.
