“What the fuck did I just read?” I ask in a strained whisper. Daya reads over my shoulder, and when I look back at her, her wide eyes are on me, alight with confusion and concern.
“That sounded ominous. Threatening,” she says, her green eyes glancing at the letter like it’s a curse written on paper.
I nod distractedly, setting down the note and sorting through the pictures again. Looking for clues on who this man might be.
But there are none.
“He looks so familiar,” I murmur, studying another picture. They look to be at a party of some sort. The image is in black and white, so I can’t tell the color of the dress, only that it’s a dark shade. Jewels decorate the ends of her sleeves and around the collar of the dress. And of course, I don’t need the picture to be in color to know she’s wearing her red lipstick.
The man has his hand resting high up on her thigh. With the way he’s clutching her, it almost seems possessive. Domineering.
I’ve never met this man in my life and yet I know he’s a damn bastard, that I can bet money on.
And by the strained smile on Gigi's face, and the tightening around her eyes, my great-grandmother clearly thought so, too.
“Hold on, let me take pictures and upload them onto my computer. I can do a reverse image search.”
I watch her do her thing, her brow pinched with concentration. Within minutes, she’s turning the laptop towards me, staring at me carefully.
“Mark’s father. That’s who’s in all these pictures.”
My eyes snap to hers while my heart rate picks up speed.
“Are you thinking the same thing as me?” I ask.
“What, that your great-grandfather’s best friend could have been in love with Gigi and killed her when he found out she was having an affair with a man that wasn't him?” she summarizes, plucking the exact thoughts out of my head.
She sighs and stares down at the photos. “I don’t know. It’s a big conclusion to come to just based off of some creepy photos and a note. While the note does have a threatening tone to it, it certainly isn’t enough to convict him of murder.”
I nod, having thought the same thing. Something about these pictures puts me on edge and gives me a creeping chill down my spine. As much as I revolted against Gigi's diary and how she fawned over her stalker, it never gave me a bad feeling the way the note and pictures do. Still, I can’t solve a murder case purely based on feeling. I need evidence.
“Logically, Gigi's stalker is still more likely, but that doesn’t mean Mark’s father being the murderer is out of the question,” she goes on, absently picking up one of the pictures and observing it.
“I see motive in this note. So, even if it’s a small chance, I think we should still look into it.”
“Have you found any more information on Ronaldo?”
She sighs. “Yes. He died in 1947 of a cardiogenic shock.” My brows plunge.
“A heart attack?”
She shifts. “A broken heart. He died of broken heart syndrome.” My mouth dries. “I found some famil
y history on him, but not much else. His life was kept pretty tightly under wraps, and I assume his boss had something to do with that.”
“So, a dead end,” I conclude, nodding my head. I bite my lip, rolling it between my teeth as I contemplate my next move. “I think I need to go up into the attic,” I say with resignation. I may love ghosts, but fuck, that doesn’t mean I still have the desire to be possessed by a demon or whatever is up there.
Daya's sage eyes whip to mine. I told her about the last note I found and how I felt there was something very negative up there.
“You’re a masochist. You’re gonna get possessed if you go up there.”
I snort. “I think it would’ve done so by now if it really wanted to. There could be more up there.”
Daya sighs. “I’m going to die today,” she mutters.
“You won’t die, just maybe a little possession,” I chirp as I round the island and make way towards the staircase.
“Yeah, and guess who I’m terrorizing first?”