“What is it?”
“Who’s hurt?”
“This isn’t funny,” says Millie, clutching her legs as her gaze scrapes across the group. “I want to knowwho did it.”
“Did what, Millie?” asks Malcolm gently.
Millie sniffles. “I couldn’t sleep,” she says. “I thought, screw it, right? Might as well get up and work. But when I got to my desk, it was there.”
Sienna coaxes Millie to her feet, and Malcolm puffs up his chest and brings his hand to the doorknob, glancing back at them all before leading the charge into the room.
The lights are on, and it takes a second for Sienna’s eyes to adjust. She turns toward the desk, half expecting to find a dead animal, or blood, some gruesome scene painted on the desktop or the walls. But the only things cluttering the surface are a sleeve of multicolored pens, a journal, and the typewriter, a sheet of pale-blue paper—Millie’s designated color—fed into the roller.
At first Sienna thinks it’s blank, but when she leans closer, she sees the neat black type.
Two words in the center of the page.
GET OUT.
Sienna rolls her eyes. All this fuss, over what’s obviously a stupid prank. She pulls the paper out and passes it around, studying their faces as they see what’s printed.
Priscilla frowns. Cate says, “Creepy.” Kenzo cocks his head.
But Sienna notices the corner of Jaxon’s mouth twitch upward in a smirk.
Asshole, she thinks.
“Jesus, Mill,” he says, passing the paper on. “We thought something was actually wrong.”
“It is!” snaps Millie from the doorway.
“Maybe this placeishaunted,” says Cate.
Kenzo and Priscilla exchange a look.
“I think the far more likely answer,” ventures Priscilla, “is that this is just a tasteless prank.”
“But how did they get in?” Millie wraps her arms around her ribs. “The door was locked.”
A nervous shiver runs through the room.
“Are you sure?” asks Malcolm. “We were all tired. It would have been easy to forget—”
Millie shakes her head as she drifts step by cautious step into the room. “When you grow up with a little sister, you learn to keep your things secure. Ialwayslock my bedroom door. Even at home. It’s just habit. I didn’t forget.”
That does make it weird, but half the people in this house have written mysteries set in locked rooms, and the answer is never ghosts. It’s Occam’s razor, like Malcolm said: The simplest answer is usually right. Sienna looks around, thinking about all the strange things she’s learned to do over the years in the name of research. Surely more than one of them knows how to pick a lock.
“In that case,” says Sienna, “someone broke in. Obviously someone”—she pauses long enough to glare at Jaxon, who lifts his hands, as if to sayDon’t shoot—“is trying to rattle you.”
“Which means,” adds Kenzo cheerfully, “they see you as a threat.”
“Stiff upper lip, dear Millie,” offers Malcolm with a yawn.
“All right,” says Priscilla with a tired sigh. “It’s late. And we have a lot of work to do, so I think we should all go back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep in here!” yelps Millie.
“Look at it this way,” says Jaxon. “If thereisa ghost, they’ll find you wherever you go. But you’re welcome to sharemybed.” He grins, adding, “I’ll protect you.”
