Page 133 of Sinister

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Silence falls across the table. My father’s jaw tightens, and his fists clench. I brace for the inevitable scolding.

But Mr. Snowden speaks before he can.

“No,” he says calmly. “I didn’t question it at the time. He told me he’d come into an inheritance—said his financial situation had improved significantly. I took him at his word. I see now I should’ve looked deeper.”

Realizing I’ve opened the door for more questions, I rush to ask another before my father can shut it.

“Then why would Mr. Arnoult hold a grudge against you? Shouldn’t he be grateful, after using your properties for so long?”

Mr. Snowden chuckles. “Smart girl you’ve got, Jeremiah,” he says. “Yes, you’d think he’d be grateful. But vermin like him don’t know gratitude. Over the years, I’ve confronted him several times—questioned the strange goings-on in those buildings. He always had some excuse ready to throw me off. It’s only in the last couple of years that I began to push back more forcefully.” He exhales and turns to my father. “You already know what’s been happening.”

“Indeed,” my father mutters grimly. “The devil’s work.”

I frown, waiting for them to elaborate.

Mr. Snowden shifts in his seat. “The first real confrontation we had, when I told him to vacate the property, he claimed his lease was valid for another ten years. Said I couldn’t touch him. The more I threatened to sue, to evict him regardless, the stranger things became.”

He takes a slow breath, his voice thick with memory.

“It started with my mother. The night I came home after one of my fights with Arnoult, my mother had a seizure.”

His voice falters.

“She only lasted three days before she died.”

Silence envelops the table as we all stare at Mr. Snowden.

“Then, of course, was the death of the horse stock on my estate. Ten horses died! Barely one month after my fight with that vermin.”

Shock and disbelief fills the faces of everyone at the table. Everyone but Leah.

“There were other odd instances; noises late at night that no one could explain, some strange apparitions . . . But by far the worst was the death of my dear wife.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh.

“One day she was completely fine, the next she came down with consumption. She wasted away slowly, and we had to watch her become a shell of herself.”

A collective gasp rises from my mother, my brother, and my father. I, too, am stunned. But when I glance toward Leah, I’m struck by her stillness.

She doesn’t react at all.

“Enough talk of the morbid,” Mr. Snowden says, waving a hand dismissively. “Today is a day of celebration. We should focus on the joy of the present.”

At that, I frown. Celebration? What exactly are we celebrating?

My father smiles fondly, straightening his back with pride.

“I’m happy to inform you that the engagement party has been set for later this month,” Mr. Snowden announces.

Engagement party? Who is getting engaged?

40

PETRA

Panic tightens in my chest. Is an engagement why my father told me not to wear my veil? What is happening here?

Is he serving me to this creepy old man on a platter?