Chapter 5 - THE BACKPACK DISCOVERY
By 6:00 PM, the tension in the house was volatile. Dean had arrived early, expecting to find the estate in mourning. Instead, he found Abigail drawing pictures at the dining table.
Dean pulled Madeline into the hallway. Claire, polishing the silver in the adjacent dining room, strained to listen.
“You said it was handled,” Dean hissed.
“I put it in the bottle,” Madeline whispered frantically. “The maid must not have given it to her. Or she switched it. She knows, Dean. She heard us in the library.”
“Where is the bottle you tampered with?”
“I don’t know! If she has it, she has proof. We have to find it before Gabriel gets back.”
Dean’s voice turned deadly. “Tear her room apart. Find it. If she kept it, I’ll take care of her and the kid tonight. We’ll make it look like they fled.”
Claire dropped the polishing cloth. She had to get Lucy and leave. Now.
She sprinted up the back stairs to the servants' quarters. She burst into her room. It was already trashed. The mattress was flipped, the drawers emptied. One of Dean’s men was standing in the center of the room.
“Looking for something?” the guard sneered.
Claire backed away, but Dean appeared in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Where is it, Claire?” Dean asked quietly, pulling a suppressed pistol from his jacket. “Where’s the bottle?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claire lied, her eyes darting around the room. Where was Lucy?
“Mommy?”
Claire’s heart stopped. Lucy was hiding under the small desk in the corner, clutching her yellow backpack to her chest. The backpack containing the poisoned bottle.
Dean saw the child. He saw the way she clung to the bag.
“Give me the bag, kid,” Dean said, stepping forward.
“No!” Claire screamed, lunging at Dean.
The guard grabbed Claire by the hair, throwing her hard to the floor. Dean reached under the desk and yanked the backpack from Lucy’s tiny hands. The toddler screamed, reaching for her mother.
Dean unzipped the bag. He pulled out the blue medicine bottle. He smirked.
“Smart girl,” Dean said to Claire. “But not smart enough. It’s a shame. You should have just minded your own business.”
He raised the gun, aiming it directly at Claire’s head.
“Put the gun down, Dean.”
The voice was not loud. It was not shouting. But it resonated with a bone-chilling authority that froze the blood of every person in the room.
May you like
Gabriel Mercer was standing in the doorway.
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