He smiled. “Good.”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

I REACHED MY HOUSE WITHOUT BEING DETECTED. The stars were out overhead, and the skyline was finally void of sunlight. Bunching up my skirt I climbed the small oak tree that stood outside my bedroom window. Then shimmied along the thick branch adjacent to the roof overhang, and in through the window I’d left open. The moment my feet hit the carpeted floor I felt a rush of relief.

I stood in the darkness, trying to calm my breathing, listening for any sound that might spell trouble. The house was quiet.

Rose had murdered Ben. The horror of it flooded me again, conflicting with thoughts of what I’d just done in defiance of Rose. I could hardly hold on to both ideas at the same time. I was sure Rose had her reasons, just like I had my reasons. Was I wrong, then? Was she?

I couldn’t imagine Rose being wrong.

I forced the questions from my mind and focused on the fact that I had a brother named Eli who was depending on me. He might be dangerous, but so was everything in my world right now.

A gust of cool night air reminded me my window was still open and got me moving. I closed it tight and yanked the curtains together as though doing so would conceal evidence of my betrayal. Then I removed my shoes and shoved them into the back corner of my closet where they wouldn’t be discovered. But my dress was the worst—dusty and dirty from the basement and train car.

It took me less than a minute to undress, hide my clothing, and shrug into a clean dress.

What about my hair? And my hands! I could see several dark smudges across my palms and mud under my nails. I needed to wash before I was collected for dinner!

A hard, rapid knock on my door made me jump. My heart stopped. I dropped to my bed and crossed one leg over the other. “Yes?”

The door opened, and I did my best to appear as nonchalant as possible. And I would have pulled it off if it had only been my mother.

But it wasn’t only her. Rose entered my room behind her.

“As I said”—my mother indicated me—“she’s been here all along.”

I flicked my eyes from my mother to Rose, slowly tucking my fingers in toward my palms and moving them into the folds of my thick skirt to hide the smudges. Rose was here, in my home. She knows. She knows it was me.

Rose brushed past my mother, face drawn. “When did you get home?”

I think I would have answered well enough, but Bobbie appeared over Rose’s shoulder, staring at me, and I was so taken aback by her sudden entrance that I struggled to speak.