by JA Huss
“Once what’s done?”
“Once we kill him.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Connor growls.
“We killed him,” I say. “We followed her downstairs to the first floor and she… opened this little hatch in the floor. And then we went down to the basement and there was a fight. He had a gun. But he wasn’t ready for us. So we fought him,” I say. “And killed him.”
Camille laughs. She needs to stop drinking.
Bennett stands up, walks over to Hayes, and says, “Give me some cash. Now.”
Apparently this makes perfect sense to Hayes, because he takes out his wallet, looks through it for a second, then places a hundred-dollar bill on the dining room table. “Sorry,” Hayes says. “I know it’s supposed to be a symbolic dollar, but I only have hundreds.”
“Everyone, give me some cash. Right now,” Bennett says. “Then I’m your lawyer and I can’t legally say anything about what I hear next.”
We just stare at each other like a bunch of dumbstruck idiots.
“Here,” Hayes says, pulling out four more hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover everyone.”
Bennett picks up the cash, pockets it, and then returns to the table, this time taking the empty seat next to Camille. He reaches for his wine glass, gulps it down and sighs, “OK, keep going.”
Servers appear with our next course, but Hayes waves them away with one hand. “Later,” he says. “Leave and don’t come back.”
And then, before I realize what I’m doing, I resume the story.
“What will we do with the body?” I ask Louise.
“Bury it, of course. We certainly can’t leave it here. That will definitely send the wrong message.”
“What the fuck—”
But Hayes interrupts me. “Kiera,” he says. “Just… go along.”
“Is this normal to you two? Because killing someone and burying a body isn’t my typical Saturday night.”
“No,” Louise says. “Your typical Saturday night is coercing people into sexual acts and then writing them down in a book for some unseen group of people to take possession of.”
“Fuck. You,” I say. “You have no idea what’s been going on this past month.”
“Quite the contrary, Kiera. I’m the only who knows what’s going on here. Unless you count Emily, but I don’t. Since she’s locked up in a mental hospital for shooting you. Which, I should not need to remind you, but will anyway, she was ordered to do by the people running this little scheme. So shut up and grab his feet. Hayes, you get the arms. I’ll get the door.”
And then she doesn’t go to the door we came through, but another one on the far side of the room. Almost hidden behind a rack of gowns, of all things.
“There was a tunnel,” Hayes says in the here and now. “Right, Kiera?”
I just stare at him for a second, trying to recall the details. This part seems very fuzzy in my head, but… “Yes,” I say. “I remember it now. There was a tunnel.”
“So we took him out the tunnel and came up in a cemetery,” Hayes says.
“Very convenient,” Camille chortles.
“Wasn’t it?” Hayes says, smiling. “Almost like it was planned that way.”
Camille’s laughter stops abruptly. She reaches for the bottle of wine, but Bennett puts his hand on hers and whispers something I can’t hear.
This seems to calm her, because she lets go of the wine and places her hands in her lap.
“This makes no fucking sense,” Connor says.
“That’s because you never got the whole story, Con,” Hayes says. Cordially, I note. “Kiera and I were the only ones who sorta understood what was happening that year. Louise is the only one who knows everything. Unless you count Emily, but I don’t. Because after what she did, no one would believe her.”
“Which was the whole point,” Bennett surmises.
“Correct,” Hayes agrees.
“I’m sorry,” Sofia says in her small, soft voice. “It still makes no sense to me now.”
I sigh, so tired. I feel like I’ve been locked in this mansion for years instead of hours. “Essex is an exclusive club, Sofia. One only the world’s best and brightest can attend.”
“So how did you get there?” Camille asks.
It’s a legitimate question, so I don’t take offense. I don’t even think she was trying to be mean. It’s just… pertinent.
“My mother went there. And my grandmother.”
“Oh, shit,” Connor says, snapping his fingers and looking at me from across the table. “Did you guys know who Kiera’s mother was?”
Hayes sighs. And then he’s holding my hand under the table.
“Who?” Sofia asks.
“She wrote The Seduction of Sadie,” Connor says.
Hayes is staring at me.
“What?” I say. Irritably. “It slipped out this morning.”
“What else does he know?” Hayes asks, letting go of my hand, his cordial demeanor gone now.
“You knew?” Connor says.
“Well, I didn’t know,” Camille says. “But I know that book.”
“And her grandmother—what was her name? Noelle?”
“Nicole,” I say. “Nicole Baret. She wrote an erotic book too. Called The Longing. Also published. In the Fifties or Sixties.” I wave my hand in the air. “I don’t really remember.”
“Erotica,” Bennett guffaws. “You come from a long line of erotica writers?” His laughter echoes in the large room, bouncing off the ceiling in an eerie way. “Please tell me this isn’t really about books. Because that’s just… stupid.”
“Anyway”—I sigh—“that’s how I got in. Apparently, my grandmother filled out a legacy scholarship application for all her female descendants. My mother had nothing to do with it.”
I say this last part specifically to Hayes. He gives me one of those looks that says, Keep telling yourself that.
“So this is about you,” Sofia says, her soft voice hard now. “You did this?”
“She didn’t do anything,” Hayes says. “No more than you or I.”
“I didn’t do shit,” Sofia spits. “I just showed up at school.”
“That’s all Kiera did as well, Sofia. Now stop it. We can’t turn on each other. Not now. Everything depends on how well we can stick together from this point on. They’re counting on us being divided. That’s how it always worked in the past.”
“In the past?” Bennett says.
But Hayes ignores him. “Look, there’s a lot more going on here than you guys realize. But all you really need to know is that all this tracks back to Connor.”
“Me?” Connor asks.
“Yes,” Hayes says. “It makes the most sense. But we really need to get in touch with Louise to make sure. She’s the one who knows things.”
“Or Emily,” I say. “Who is right here in this house and doesn’t refuse to talk to us.”
“Sneaky little bitch,” Camille says. And for a moment I think she’s talking about me. “Emily!” she screams. “Get your fucking ass out here now or I’m gonna hunt you down like Professor Plum and kill you in the dining room with the goddamned candlestick!”
Bennett guffaws again. “God, I love you sometimes, Cammie.”
“Cammie?” Sofia and I say together.
Camille does one of those shrugs that come with a sideways turn of the head and a covert smile. “I like the sound of it.”
Sofia and I roll our eyes simultaneously.
“Speaking of Clue,” Camille says. “Who asked for the games? Up in the tower?” She looks across the table at Sofia. “Remember the games? Trouble. Parcheesi. Checkers. Who the fuck was playing checkers up in the stupid tower?”
I force myself not to look at Hayes.
“We were,” Hayes says. “That’s what Louise asked for in the suggestion box after… that night.”
“She asked for board games?” Connor says. Then he looks at me. “That’s what you guys did up there all year
while the rest of us were fulfilling some freaks’ sexual fantasies?”
“Yes,” I say.
But at the same time Hayes says, “No.”
I glare at him.
“Well, which is it?” Sofia asks. “Yes or no?”
“Both,” we say, this time in sync.
There is silence around the table at this point. Everyone but Hayes and me is trying to put those two answers together in a way that makes sense.
“Is anyone still hungry?” Hayes asks. “Because I for one am not. Should we go back upstairs and—”
“I’m going home,” Camille says, standing up and throwing her napkin on the table. “You need to leave anyway, right, Bennett?”
“I do, man,” he says apologetically to Hayes. “I have an appointment with my father tonight. I really can’t stay.”
“Sofia,” Camille says. “If you don’t want to be alone tonight, you can stay with me.”
We all look at Sofia.
“No,” she says, her quiet voice back. “No. I’m going to stay here tonight.”
“Are you staying?” Connor asks me.
“Yes.”
“I think this is a bad idea, Bennett,” Hayes says. “You should cancel on your father and stay here with us. We should all stay together. Buddy system, remember?”
“I’ll bring Camille with me,” he says, looking at her. “We’ll buddy up, OK?”
Camille nods her head, forcing a smile. “We’ll keep the candlestick close.”
“I don’t like it,” Connor says.
“Con, you know my father,” Bennett says. “You know I can’t cancel.”
“Do you think he knows what’s happening?” Sofia asks.
I lean to the side so I can see Bennett better and catch him in a shrug. “I dunno, you guys. I can’t imagine he knows what we’ve been through. Aside from Kiera, that is.” He leans to the side so he can see me now. “The shooting, I mean.”
I nod. “I get it.”
“We should meet up tomorrow,” Bennett says. “Maybe in the city.”
“We’ll see,” Hayes says, not committing. Then he stands and says, “OK. Let’s walk them out together.”
I know what Camille wants to say. Something like, We don’t need your help to get to the car. Or, Back off, I’m not helpless. But she holds it all in. Because we’ve been there. We all know how quickly things can change.
We make our way back through the house to the grand foyer. There are cops here now and we hear the familiar sound of radio-speak as we get closer to the entrance. There’s a group of doctors and a K-9 dog walking briskly across the marbled floor, nose busy sniffing, as the officer follows down a hallway and out of sight.
“Any luck?” Hayes asks the doctor, who’s talking to someone in a suit who appears to be in charge of the psycho hunt.
“She’s been all over this place,” the one in charge says. “They get a scent and then she… disappears into a wall. Mr. Fitzgerald, you don’t happen to have secret passageways in this place, do you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hayes laughs, patting the man on the shoulder like that is some fantastic joke. “No, I’m sorry. But she is a very clever girl so I’m not surprised she’s giving you the slip.” Then he pauses. “Do you think she’s still here? Inside, I mean. Or do you, perhaps, think she has vacated the premises?”
“Do you have an alarm on the doors and windows?”
“Of course,” Hayes says.
“And did it go off?”
“No, but some of it isn’t armed at the moment,” Hayes replies.
The detective—I think this suit guy is a detective—says, “That’s… typical? That you leave yourself so open and exposed?”
“Well, no.” Hayes frowns. “But I had guests coming today. So the main part of the house—this center wing right here—is unarmed. All the separate wings are armed at all times because we rarely go in there.”
The detective looks up at the ceiling where an elaborate crystal chandelier hangs. I look up too, unable to stop myself. But every time I’m in one of these mansions and I look up at a chandelier I imagine it falling from the ceiling and killing me.
Not that I’m in these mansions a lot lately. But I’ve been to everyone’s family estate for events. Except Louise’s.
That anniversary party for Connor’s parents. All those lavender balloons and butterflies.
A birthday party for Sofia’s great-grandmother. Four generations of wealthy Astors together in one room to celebrate the matriarch who started it all.
Bennett’s younger brother’s high-school graduation. A wild, extravagant rave complete with an in-person appearance of that rapper everyone loved back then. The glow-in-the-dark jewelry.
Camille’s family Christmas. String quartet in the corner playing traditional carols and a hundred thousand dollars worth of champagne flowing through a fountain.
And of course, I’ve been here to Hayes’ place many times. Not just for parties.
I stop imagining all the different times I could’ve been killed by a chandelier and focus on another K-9, sniffing its way across the lobby. Maybe it’s the same one backtracking. Maybe not. It’s just better than imagining myself being crushed to death by grotesque opulence.
“Ready?” Connor asks, snapping me out of my introspection.
I realize Hayes and Sofia are looking at me expectantly and Camille and Bennett have already left. “Sorry, drifted off there for a second. Yeah, let’s go.”
We follow Hayes up the stairs to the third-floor library, passing by several people still searching for Emily.
“It’s kinda ridiculous, don’t you think? That she’s loose in this house and we’re staying the night here?”
“No more or less ridiculous than anything else that’s happening today,” Sofia mutters, out of breath as we hike up the last flight of stairs to the third floor. “You don’t think she came back while we were gone, do you?”
“I locked it when we left,” Hayes says, taking out the key.
“I didn’t see you lock it,” Connor says. “You were leading the way.”
“I have people, Connor,” Hayes snaps, just as we reach the top.
The three of us just accept that because Hayes tries the doorknob. It clicks back and forth, locked. Just like he said. And then he unlocks it with the key and opens the doors.
If Camille were here she’d say, “So someone else has the key. That’s comforting.”
But she’s not. And the rest of us don’t have Camille’s penchant for rudeness, so we stay quiet.
My bag is waiting near the entrance. I’d forgotten all about it. It feels like years ago that I packed that bag. “Do you need—” I start to ask Sofia, but I see she has packed a bag too. “Oh.”
She smiles at me. But it’s tight-lipped.
“I guess you were planning this, huh?”
“No more or less than you were, Kiera.”
Connor and Hayes are over at the drink cart, pretending not to hear us.
“Can we not make this weird?” I ask.
“Whatever are you talking about?” she quips.
“You know what I mean,” I whisper. “Staying the night here with Connor.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she says, not bothering to whisper. “I’m buddying up with Hayes.” She smiles at Hayes. He smiles back and raises his glass to her. “What we did was fun but there’s more fun to be had.”
I make one of those screwed-up faces at her.
“Come on,” she whispers. “Hayes brought us all here for a reason.”
“Yeah, to read the book and come up with a plan.”
Sofia huffs. “We didn’t get very far, did we? I mean, a few chapters of Connor reading out loud sent us right back into the past, didn’t it?”
I want to deny it, but I can’t.
She’s right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - CONNOR
“Want a cigar?” Hayes asks.
“No, thanks,” I say. Something
is off here between Kiera and Hayes. Has been the whole fucking day. Ever since he showed up at her house with that helicopter. And that story at dinner? How come they never told us about that guy they killed? I mean, for fuck’s sake. That’s something you share when you’re playing the same fucked-up game of show-and-tell, right?
Unless… unless we’re not playing the same game at all.
“I’m tired,” Kiera says. “I’m going to bed.”
“Me as well,” Sofia says. “See you all later.”
See you all later. Was that an invitation?
Sofia plays the quiet-demure part perfectly but I know her. It’s an act. She’s just as dirty as the rest of us. We did things together. Me. Her. Kiera. But we also did things together. At the parties we went to. All six of us.
“So what are you gonna do?” Hayes asks.
“About what?” I ask back, still thinking about the parties.
The first party we all went to was at Camille’s family estate. It was Christmas Eve and for some reason we were all together. Ah, I remember why now. Bennett’s parents were in Europe looking at colleges with his younger brother.
Mine were on the yacht in the middle of the South Pacific, halfway through an impromptu let’s-sail-around-the-world cruise. They took all my brothers and sisters, but for some reason I don’t recall now, I stayed behind.
Sofia’s father had just died, so her mother wasn’t doing Christmas.
Hayes’s parents were too old to give a shit about holidays anymore. Well on their way to becoming the eccentric recluses they are today. And Kiera… why was Kiera there?
“About Kiera,” Hayes says.
She certainly was out of place.
The DuPont family Christmas party was beyond extravagant. There was a champagne fountain in the center of the ballroom. Trickling waterfalls of Armand de Brignac flowed out like a river. I’ve seen my share of high-society parties and this one, for sure, was the most disgusting display of opulence I’ve ever witnessed. The gowns and jewels alone in that house were enough to fund small countries for a month. Beluga caviar—which I can’t tolerate for many reasons, and the taste of it doesn’t even make my top three—served on light-as-air crackers. Truffle cream canapés. A seven-course sit-down dinner of lobster bisque, prime rib, Florette baby leaf salad, rack of lamb…
