“Ah, there you are,” says her soon-to-be-ex, who has the audacity to look well rested, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back, dressed in slacks and a sweater with the elbows patched—a look she used to think of as sexy professor and now feels more like belligerent grandpa. He’s standing at the counter with Priscilla and Millie, three sheets of paper laid out between them, one yellow, one blue, one pink. Cate arrives, handing over a fourth, the same two words printed on pale-green paper.
GET OUT.
Malcolm’s gone into full detective mode, scratching his chin (a tic he insisted on giving to their latest PI, the devil being in the details and all that) andhmming thoughtfully as he hinges forward, examining the letters in search of the damning misaligned G.
She didn’t see Kenzo duck out, but now he returns holding two pieces of paper, one lavender, the other white. The lavender is his, which means the white sheet belongs to—
“I took the liberty of getting Jaxon’s, too,” he says, as if saving them the trip.
Sienna studies Kenzo.
“What?” he adds. “The door was open.”
“Excellent,” says Malcolm, even though it’s not.
If Kenzo were the one behind the message, he could have just framed Jaxon. Or he could have used Jaxon’s typewriter to make himself look innocent. Not that any of this has occurred to Malcolm. Sienna shakes her head. He really would make a terrible detective.
Malcolm adds the samples to the set. They stare down at the counter. Six pages, each with the two words typed in hard black capitals.GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT.The effect is disconcerting, but so is the fact that they’re all identical: The G is perfectly in line with the rest of the letters. Sienna steals a glance toward Kenzo, but he doesn’t look guilty or relieved, just perplexed.
“Huh,” he says, cocking his head.
“What does it mean?” asks Cate, eyes wide.
Malcolm rubs her shoulder. “It means, dear Cate, the game is afoot!”
Millie sighs. “Thanks for trying.” She looks up at Malcolm. “And thanks... for your help... earlier.”
A little warning light goes on inside Sienna’s head. She’s seen enough doe-eyed novices look at Malcolm that way, over the years. She clears her throat.
“With what?” she asks, trying not to sound like a jealous wife.
“It’s not a big deal,” murmurs Millie, blushing in a way that doesn’t help her cause.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” says Malcolm, letting his hand come to rest on the girl’s shoulder. Sienna glares at the point where skin meets cotton and forces her mouth into something like a smile.
“Go on, then. Share with the group.”
Priscilla cocks a brow. Kenzo and Cate stand there, in rapt attention. Malcolm chuckles, but he must be able to feel the heat radiating off Sienna, because he removes his hand from Millie’s shoulder as he explains.
“I heard somedistresscoming from Millie’s room. Turned out, she was having a spot of bother with the typewriter.”
“I made a mistake,” she cuts in. “On a laptop, you know, it doesn’t matter, you just go back, but these things are so clunky, and if I went too fast, my fingers kept tripping, so I’d gone slow, and I’d made it all the way down to the bottom of the page, and I couldn’t believe I’d have to start over.”
Sienna stares at her, bewildered. “But... why not just use Wite-Out?”
Malcolm nods. “Exactly what I said. And Millie here goes, ‘What-Out?’ ”
Between the arching brows and the earnest look, his impersonation is spot-on. He laughs, returning to himself. “So I showed her how to use it.”
Cate’s the only one who looks like she’s taking mental notes. Sienna feels bones groan beneath her skin. Kenzo just shakes his head. Priscilla takes off her pink glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. “My god.”
“What? I’m sorry I wasn’talivebefore computers.” Millie claps her hand over her mouth.
Priscilla and Sienna exchange a tired look before the reality of it hits Sienna. Whether or not Millie’s typewriter is the one who woke her up that morning, she’s already startedwriting. Panic winds around her ribs.Ticktock, goes her heart.
She and Malcolm better get to work.
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