He’s throwing a fucking party? While she rots in jail?
If he put her there, I swear to fucking God, I’ll—
I stop myself before I can finish that thought, tossing my text
book down on the floor with a thud. Nothing I’ve read in the past half hour has stuck in my brain, so it’s a waste of time to keep flipping pages.
Aside from a few trips downstairs, which gave me a chance to observe the madness, I’ve been holed up in my room all afternoon, studying and thinking way too much.
More than ever, I’m convinced it was the right call not to say anything to Lincoln. I can barely be in the same room with Mr. Black anymore. Every interaction we’ve had over the past few days has felt forced and awkward. I don’t know how to act natural around him anymore, to see him as the slightly-too-friendly-but-harmless man who hired my mom to come work for him.
I hope like hell he hasn’t picked up on anything being amiss. Maybe it’ll work in my favor that ever since my mom got hauled away in the back of a cop car, I haven’t really felt like myself. If he does notice any weirdness, hopefully he’ll just attribute it to that.
But if Lincoln knew?
Shit, I know he’s a good liar, but it’d take a damn Oscar-worthy performance to convince his dad that everything was normal. That his secret was still safe.
Blowing out a breath, I lean over the arm of the easy chair to pluck my phone off the floor, pressing the button on the side to turn the screen on.
5:32 p.m.
Guests will start arriving for the party around seven, I think.
I’m about to pick up my biology textbook, hoping maybe a change of subject will refresh my brain, when the muffled sound of raised voices reaches my ears.
I hesitate, tilting my head slightly to pick up the noise better. It’s coming from the east wing of the house—which on the second floor is taken up almost entirely by the master bedroom, master sitting room, and double walk-in closets and en suite bathrooms. Seriously, our entire house back in Arizona could fit into Mr. and Mrs. Black’s living quarters in this mansion.
And that’s who’s yelling; I’m sure of it. Samuel and Audrey Black.
I’ve almost never seen them fight. I’ve seen them be super awkward and distant, like two people just pretending to be married, and I’ve seen Mr. Black be over-the-top sweet and affectionate toward her, like he’s trying to prove it’s not pretend at all.
But I’ve never heard them have a knock-down, drag-out fight—which is what it sounds like this one is.
I’m a nosy bitch under ordinary circumstances, but when it involves the couple who hired my mom? The man who may have framed her for a murder he committed? I’ve got no compunctions at all about eavesdropping.
Quickly and quietly, I rise from the chair and cross the large room, pressing my ear against the wall to try to hear better. The voices come through a bit louder, but not much clearer. They’re too far away, probably hidden behind the closed door of the master bedroom.
I consider stepping out into the hall, but it’s risky. If either Samuel or Audrey decided to storm out in a fit, they could easily catch sight of me standing there. The hallway is long, but there are no nooks or crannies to hide in.
A sudden idea strikes me, and as the angry voices continue, I slip through the side door of my bedroom into the laundry room. It’s dark, unused for the moment since Bri’s entire focus is on final preparations for the party in a few hours. I close the door behind me and then creep over to the door that leads to the hallway, pulling it halfway open when I reach it.
Better.
With fewer walls between me and the fighting couple, I can make out not just the volume and tone, but more of the words being spoken too. Pressing my back to the wall just to the side of the doorframe, I close my eyes, focusing all my attention on the sounds coming to my ears.
“…was I supposed to do? Huh?”
Mr. Black’s voice sounds completely different than normal, deeper and harder. Audrey responds in a scathing tone, but her voice is higher pitched and quieter than his, and I can’t pick out any of the individual words.
Whatever she says only makes her husband more furious though, and he’s practically shouting as he responds. It sounds like he’s moving around, pacing maybe, because the words go in and out of clarity.
“Maybe if you didn’t… …in my own goddamn house! You think it makes me feel like a man to… …my own wife?”
Goddammit. I wish I could stand right outside their fucking room with my ear to the door. I’m trying to piece together meaning from the bits I’m hearing, but it’s hard without context.
“…if I could trust you!” Audrey shrieks, and then there’s a heavy thud.
My heart jumps into my throat, beating so hard and fast it’s impossible to swallow. For a second, I’m certain that he hit her, or that she hit him. But then there’s another thud, and a shattering sound, and I realize it’s from objects being thrown against a wall.