“Yes, yes,” she said, losing her patience. She didn’t have time for a lot of superstitious claptrap. Not when she had a house full of worried people, who had to eat and sleep and live here together for who knows how much longer?
“Bad mojo,” Bereng?ria said, as if she hadn’t made this point a hundred times before already. “Bad, bad mojo.”
“Okay, so about lunch and dinner tomorrow. What did you have in mind?”
And as they set about discussing some of the practical arrangements that went into organizing a week like this, they quickly settled into the routine they’d come to rely on: Bereng?ria wanted to know what Michele wanted to have for dinner, Michele made a suggestion, which Bereng?ria immediately rejected out of hand, at which point she made a better suggestion, which Michele gratefully accepted. They went on like this for a while, checking the fridge and the larder until they had settled on tentative menus for lunch and dinner for the next few days, the cleaning schedule, laundry, flower arrangements—Michele insisted on having fresh flowers in all the rooms at all times—and finally the conversation returned to the topic that was on boththeir minds.
“Must be burglar,” said Bereng?ria with conviction. “Must be.”
“The police were asking about that,” said Michele as she leaned against the kitchen counter. God, she would murder for a glass of wine. But she knew that one glass led to a second, and she’d feel like hell in the morning. “Have there been a lot of burglaries in the neighborhood?”
“Oh, many, many,” said the caretaker. “Dozens and dozens.”
Michele thought she was probably exaggerating. If there really had been dozens of burglaries, the neighborhood would be a no-go zone, and the police would be patrolling the streets.“But if it was a burglary, why didn’t they take anything from the other rooms?” she asked, voicing a question that was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. “Why only Isobel’s room? And why murder her?”
“These are bad people,” said Bereng?ria. “They love murder. It is what they do. Stealing and killing and maiming. They vicious killers. Evilmen.” She put the emphasis on the last word, and seemed ready to launch into her favorite subject: how evil men were. All men, no exception.
“Right,” said Michele, pushing herself away from the counter. Conversations with Bereng?ria were often frustrating for this exact reason: it was hard to get a sane word out of the woman, her mind filled with scary images and evil men everywhere she looked. Something in her past must have caused her to become this person, but frankly Michele didn’t think she wanted to know.
CHAPTER 30
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Ona had finished treating her face with the face cream Max had given her. She didn’t know what was in it, but it made her skin glow with radiant health and removed all the impurities and remnants of the scars that had once burned red and angry. He really was a miracle worker. For a long time she thought this would be her life from now on: scarred and hurt and forced to be alone forever. And then Max had come along, and had lifted her out of the darkness and healed her life.
She was so grateful to him. Every day she said a silent prayer to this man, who had saved her from such a terrifying fate.
Joey and Zoey were lying at her feet, looking up at her with the kind of unconditional love and devotion only dogs are capable of. Odelia Poole had been there today with her two cats, and it wasn’t that she didn’t like cats, but there was simply no contest. Cats were wily animals, and you never knew what to expect. Dogs were loyal, and loving, and always happy to see you, whether you looked like the world’s most beautiful woman, or the ugliest. They didn’t care that your face had been damaged beyond repair—their love and devotion were unconditional.
She gave them a smile as she finished her bedtime routine by rubbing yet another cream into her face. And she was just checking a pimple on her temple when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. When she looked over, she saw to her horror that yet another envelope had been slipped under the door.
Immediately she rushed over and picked it up. Cutting a glance at the bathroom door, where Max was taking a shower, she ripped open the envelope and nervously extracted the small piece of paper, similar to the one she’d received that afternoon. The previous message had said, ‘I know your secret!’
Which was bad enough, of course, but this one said:‘$10.000 and I won’t tell!’
She sank down on the bed. Ten thousand dollars or her secret was out. Her heart sank, and hot tears trickled down her cheeks.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened and Max strode out, wearing a dressing gown. She quickly wiped her tears, and hid the note behind her back, but too late.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately. He took a seat next to her, and took the note. He read it and his expression hardened. “Who sent this?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Someone slipped it under the door just now.”