Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Kat called inside, “Reno PD. Anyone here?” They paused and listened, but no sound emerged, and so they both entered, Kat sweeping the entryway, Sienna behind her.
Kat called into the house again, but once more, all was still. There were shafts of light streaming through the uncovered windows, and surprisingly, although old and in need of about a thousand repairs, the place was free of garbage, and the structure and walls were intact, no spray paint in sight.
Perhaps the sagging roof and porch were a deterrent to those who might use the property unlawfully, when there were other abandoned homes nearby that didn’t look as if they might cave in at any moment.
They went from room to room, clearing the whole house, and ended up in the kitchen at the back. The tile floor was grimy but free of cracks, only one brown cabinet door hanging askew. The busy floral wallpaper was peeling, one whole sheet slumped halfway over like a garishly dressed woman who’d fallen asleep while still on her feet but hadn’t yet hit the floor.
Sienna opened a cabinet, the smell of musty captive air making her wince. Next to her, Kat was doing the same but was wise enough to stand at an arm’s length as she did so. Sienna learned from her mistake and stood back as she pulled a drawer open and then another. In the bottom was an ancient-looking first aid kit. Sienna picked it up and snapped it open, but all that was inside was a bottle corroded with rust-colored liquid. She didn’t imagine it was a clue—it looked like it’d been there as long as the house—but she’d make sure the criminalists gathered it anyway.
The other cabinets and drawers were empty. “Oh,” Sienna breathed right after she’d opened the door to an old pantry. Kat stepped over, coming to stand next to her, and together, they peered at another piece of handwritten note, pinned to the inside of the door the way an old recipe might be. Sienna’s heart picked up speed at the sight of the familiar penmanship.
She looked over her shoulder, and Kat whispered, “Did you hear something?”
Sienna shook her head. “No. It’s just creepy as hell. He’s leading us around, Kat.”
She nodded once, picking up the note and depositing it into an evidence bag. “Let’s get out of here,” Kat suggested. “We can read this at the station.”
“I agree. And we’ll get a criminalist out here for a quick once-over.” She had a feeling this guy was smart enough to wear gloves, but maybe they’d find a shoe print or a hair . . . something. Sienna felt targeted, and it was extremely off-putting.
They were back in the car a few minutes later and entering the station thirty minutes after that. Ingrid was out of her office, and so they used that room to spread the note out beneath the copy of the first. Sienna refreshed her memory with the final lines of the previous note and was suddenly back in the kitchen, where she pictured “Father” bound to a chair, a gag in his mouth. “Mother” had challenged “Father” to a game of seven-card stud, and Sienna had the distinct impression he was about to lose.
Father’s eyes continued to convey a mixture of rage and confusion. He didn’t know about the cards. Mother and I never played games while he was home, and I kept the boards and the puzzles and the decks of cards in the back of my closet under a loose board. The uncertainty in his gaze overtook the anger when my mother placed two cards down in front of him and herself in rotation.
She stared at my father, seeming emotionless, though I saw the flicker of fire in her gaze because I knew her better than anyone. Mother always played her emotions close to the vest, unlike me, who found it difficult to contain my feelings. “I like that word,” she said to my father. “Stud. Do you like that word, Roger? No, of course you don’t.” Her lips tipped devilishly, and she raised her pinkie finger, wiggling it. My face burned at her insinuation. “It mocks you, doesn’t it, Roger?” She clicked her tongue. “Poor pencil-dick Roger. No stud at all. Not even close.”
Beneath his gag, my father let out a growl of anger.
“Danny, your father’s hands are unavailable at the moment, so you’ll need to handle the cards for him.” I was slightly unnerved to get so close to Father, but Mother gave me a reassuring nod, and so I moved in close. “Those are your hole cards, Roger,” Mother explained. “I realize you’re at a disadvantage when it comes to cards. It irks you, doesn’t it? But that’s the way of life, right, Danny Boy?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I’ll explain what you need to know to play this game, but I’m afraid the rest is up to you,” she continued.