Chapter 15 - THE PHONE CALL NO MOTHER WOULD EVER MAKE
Claire scrambled backward against the steel shelving, clutching the medical papers to her chest.
"Dad?" she called out into the pitch-black basement.
No response. Only the low, rhythmic hum of the furnace in the corner.
Then came the footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. The heavy heel-to-toe stride of someone wearing hard-soled designer shoes. But Daniel was upstairs with Noah, wearing wool socks.
*Clack. Clack. Clack.*
Someone was walking directly above her on the hardwood of the dining room floor. Claire pulled her phone from her pocket, keeping the screen dimmed against her jacket. She dialed Daniel.
Above her head, she heard Daniel’s phone ring—in the kitchen. A muffled cry followed, followed instantly by the sickening thud of furniture crashing over.
"Dad!" Claire screamed, abandoning caution. She scrambled up the dark wooden stairs, throwing her weight against the cellar door.
It was locked from the outside. A heavy deadbolt had been thrown into place.
Claire slammed her fists against the wood. "Dad! Noah! Let me out!"
From the other side of the door, inches from Claire’s ear, a woman’s soft, melodic voice drifted through the wood. It was calm, chillingly composed, and dripping with venomous amusement.
"Claire, darling," Victoria whispered. "You really should have left that box on the porch. Your mother was curious too. And we both know where curiosity brought her, don't we?"
"You poisoned her!" Claire shrieked, battering the door with her shoulders. "I have the toxicology reports, Victoria! You're going to prison for murder!"
A low, patronizing laugh answered her. "Reports signed by a dead woman? Good luck entering that into evidence from inside a burning house, sweetheart."
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Through the crack beneath the door, the sharp, choking smell of lighter fluid began to seep into the air.
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