Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [89]
“The money,” he said, his jaw tight and his head aching from the ugliness of the day. “You said you were after money.”
The woman nodded, her eyes still flashing with hatred. “My murderous old great-granddad liked to keep a diary about the sick games he played in this place, and he mentioned having a stash of cash hidden in the house. He was never able to get to it once he was arrested and I guess he didn’t trust his loving wifey to get it for him. But if you think I’m going to tell you where he said it was, you can go to hell.”
“I’ve been there,” he said evenly. “And you don’t have to tell me a thing. I know exactly where the money was hidden.”
Beside him, he heard Lottie gasp in surprise. Even the chief looked interested. As for Louisa, she went utterly pale. “You’re lying.”
He shook his head. “My mother hated this place, you know. She always thought her grandfather had been a crook. So when she was a teenager and there was a fire that destroyed a dozen rooms on the third floor, she wasn’t exactly surprised by what they found.”
“The third floor…”
“Every room on the west side of the house.”
The woman began to shake.
“She and her brother found thousands of tiny bits of burned paper—blackened—like confetti.”
“No…”
“Yes,” he said, taking satisfaction at showing the woman what an utter fool she’d been. That she’d wasted her life—and had cost other people theirs—for absolutely nothing. Feeling it was almost poetic justice—though, of course, small consolation—he shook his head.
“It was money. And every bit of it was destroyed.”
BY THAT NIGHT, Simon began to feel that both he and Lottie were getting back to normal, to recover from the ordeal of not only the day, but all the days—weeks, months—preceding it. They had talked for hours, and when she’d told him how she’d put everything together, he’d been very impressed.
He hadn’t liked hearing about how a psycho had risen out of the floorboards of the attic and chased the woman he loved down the stairs and out of the house. But she was safe. She was in his arms, in his bed.
Preparing to go away.
“So, your family’s expecting you back tomorrow night?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant when a voice inside his brain was screaming at him to demand that she stay with him instead.
Her head was resting on his shoulder, her faced tucked against his neck, but she nodded. “Yes. I have to leave in the morning.”
“As long as your car starts,” he said, only half joking.
She didn’t even try to force a laugh. “I got an e-mail from my professor asking for my notes a couple of hours ago. I sent them…and told him I’d finalize everything and see him in person on Wednesday.”
Nothing in her voice indicated that the idea bothered her. She sounded ready to go, to move on with her life.
Well, why wouldn’t she be? Since being in his house, she’d been stalked, attacked and nearly killed. Who wouldn’t want to get away from here—away from him, the man who’d caused it all?
“Will you be all right, Simon?” she asked. “I mean, if you need more help…”
She didn’t continue, letting the words hang there unsaid. He knew if he asked her to extend her trip, she’d do it. If he told her he needed her, nothing would make her leave. After all, her loyalty and kindness were two of the things he loved most about her.
But he couldn’t ask. Having her stay here because she thought she needed to take care of him was almost as bad as letting her go. Almost.
He thought about just telling her the truth—that he wanted her to stay because he loved her. Or that he’d go with her anywhere she wanted to be…again, because he loved her.
He didn’t do it. Laying the “L” word on her would make her feel obligated to use it back. That or make her pity him more.
So he kept silent. He asked for nothing, he told her nothing, he promised her nothing.
He simply made love to her all through the night, asking her, telling her and promising her everything. Without saying a single word at all.
And by noon on Halloween, she was gone.
17
Lottie