Chapter 3 - THE POCKET WATCH
I spun around, desperately searching for a place to hide the schedule.
I shoved the paper into the deep pocket of my damp jeans just as the heavy wooden door clicked open.
Nathan stood in the doorway.
The dim hallway light cast long shadows across his face. In his right hand, he held his grandfather’s gold pocket watch—a family heirloom he usually kept locked in a safe.
His thumb was rhythmically stroking the etched gold casing.
“You didn’t go to our room,” Nathan said. His tone was perfectly level, which only made it more terrifying.
“I…” I swallowed hard, forcing my face into a mask of mild confusion. “I got turned around. The layout of this house always confuses me. I was looking for the linen closet to get a towel.”
Nathan didn’t move. He stood blocking the only exit.
“You ruined Judith’s tea,” he said quietly.
“It was an accident, Nate. It slipped.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“Did it?” he asked.
He raised the gold pocket watch, clicking the latch open. The ticking seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
“You’re off schedule, Claire.”
He knew. He knew I had done it on purpose.
My mind raced. Answer One, Open Two. I knew the motive involved Owen’s inheritance—a trust my late father had set up for him, which I currently managed. If I was out of the picture, Nathan became the sole guardian.
But why the pocket watch? Nathan only took it out when he was obsessing over time.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied smoothly, forcing a nervous laugh. “I’m just clumsy. Let me go change.”
I stepped toward him, praying he would move aside.
Nathan’s eyes darted down to my jeans. To the pocket where the paper was hidden.
“You were looking at my desk,” he noted.
“I was looking for a towel!” I snapped, letting real frustration bleed into my voice. “Nathan, please, my leg is freezing.”
For a terrible, agonizing second, he didn’t move.
Then, slowly, he stepped to the right.
“Go change, Claire,” he whispered. “But don’t take too long. We have a long night ahead of us.”
I pushed past him, my skin crawling at his proximity.
I hurried to our bedroom and locked the door. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely unbutton my wet jeans.
I pulled out the paper. The ink was slightly smudged from the tea, but the words were clear.
I had to find Owen. We had to leave now.
I changed quickly, throwing on a heavy wool coat from the closet. I needed my car keys.
I quietly unlocked the bedroom door and crept down the hall toward the kitchen.
The house was eerily silent. The fire in the dining room had burned down to embers.
I slipped into the kitchen. My purse was on the counter.
I dug my hand inside, searching for the familiar cold metal of my keys.
My fingers brushed against the leather of my wallet, my makeup bag, but no keys.
I dumped the purse onto the granite counter.
Empty.
“Looking for these?” a voice asked from the dark corner of the kitchen.
May you like
Judith stepped out of the shadows. In her wrinkled hand, she held my car keys. And dangling from the keyring was a silver rosary—the one that had belonged to my mother.
“You’re not going anywhere, Claire,” Judith smiled.
