Chapter 5
The single beep of the smoke detector died away, replaced by a low, rhythmic buzzing sound coming from the electrical panel near the pantry.
Julian laughed, a harsh, jagged sound that rattled in his throat as Vance pulled him upright from the countertop.
“You think you’ve won, Detective?” Julian sneered, his suit jacket bunched around his neck. “You have a dead woman’s diary and a maid with a criminal brother. That wouldn't last five minutes in front of a real judge.”
Vance tightened his grip on Julian’s arm, steering him toward the front door where the backup units were waiting in the driveway.
“Let the courts decide that, Sterling,” Vance said, pushing him through the doorway into the cool afternoon air.
Clara stood alone in the center of the kitchen, her hands resting on her apron as the buzzing sound behind the wall grew louder.
On the floor near the island, little Lily sat quietly, picking up the wooden baseball bat Eleanor had dropped and running her tiny fingers over the grain.
“Clara?” Lily asked, her voice small and trembling in the echoing space. “Are we going to have to move again?”
“No, sweetheart,” Clara said, kneeling down to take the heavy wooden bat from the child’s small hands and setting it safely out of reach. “We’re staying right here. But we need to check the basement.”
Clara walked over to the pantry door, bypassing the shelves of canned goods to find the hidden floor latch Julian had tried to kick shut earlier.
The buzzing sound was coming from down there—a heavy, mechanical hum that sounded like a server farm or an industrial hard drive running at full capacity.
She pulled the brass ring on the floor, and a heavy wooden panel lifted upward, revealing a set of concrete steps descending into pitch-black darkness.
A wave of hot, chemical-smelling air rolled up the staircase, carrying with it the faint sound of a digital voice recording playing on an endless loop.
Clara squinted into the dark, pulling a small flashlight from her apron pocket and switching it on with a sharp click.
The beam of light cut through the dust motes, illuminating the top step where a discarded white silk ribbon—identical to the one Eleanor had worn in her hair—lay soaked in fresh, dark blood.
Clara froze, her heart hammering against her ribs as she realized the blood on the ribbon wasn't Eleanor’s.
It was still warm.
And someone down in the dark basement was currently coughing.
Clara gripped the flashlight like a weapon, took a deep breath, and stepped down onto the first concrete step.
“Who’s down there?” Clara called out, her voice echoing down the narrow shaft.
May you like
A soft, familiar voice drifted up from the shadows, answering her with a sentence that made her blood turn to ice.
“Don't trust Vance, Clara... he’s the one who sold the diary to Julian in the first place.”
