The Spite House(61)
Dess called out, “Dana? Can you hear me? Dana?”
Millie stood and came closer to hear the clumsy, slapping noises of a struggle come through from Dana’s end of the line. Grunts and clipped shouts. Two voices, neither forming discernible words. One voice belonged to a man.
With one last, hard bump the call ended.
CHAPTER 30
Lafonda
In all the time she had spent with her, Lafonda never saw Eunice stay in her room this late into the day. On a few occasions she’d stayed in bed an hour past her preferred breakfast time, always to make up for the rare restless night, but she would still be up and about shortly after the sunrise during the daylight savings season, and before the sunrise when the clocks fell back. Granted, the previous night had broken her routine, and she’d taken a pill to help her sleep, but Lafonda still hadn’t expected Eunice to take this long getting her day started. She was simultaneously glad that Eunice was taking her time—giving Dess more time to spend with Emily—and also worried about Eunice’s health. Her job was still to keep Eunice active and well, no matter how uncomfortable she felt about recent events.
Eunice was awake now, at least. She just hadn’t left her bedroom. Lafonda checked on her four times after Dess had left. Eunice grumbled, “I can hear you out there,” the third time Lafonda came to the door, and this last time Eunice said, “I’m getting ready, Lafonda. For heaven’s sake, give me a little time to get myself together.”
“All right. I’m going to leave the door cracked if you need to shout for me,” Lafonda said.
“Fine, fine.”
Lafonda went back to check on Stacy in the second-floor library, one turn down a short hall to the right of Eunice’s room. She brought her to the library after breakfast. When she first went in, Stacy walked all around, staring up at the bookcases wide-eyed like she was seeing stars in the sky for the first time.
Little Stacy Ross was growing on Lafonda. Last night’s strangeness aside, she seemed like a good kid. She was quick with a “thank you,” and you didn’t have to tell her anything twice. Lafonda cautioned her against taking any books from the lower shelves without asking first. Stacy put her hands behind her back and kept them there as she went around the library, not even tempted to touch a book without permission.
Now Stacy sat in a club chair much too large for her. She’d propped her little doll beside her. In her lap was a hardback book of classic myths and fairy tales that she’d asked Lafonda to take down for her. It had a full-page picture of a wood engraving for every story, and a handwritten dedication to Eunice on the flyleaf that read, “From Val, for your birthday.” Stacy said aloud that all of these things were “so cool,” then promised to be “extra careful” with the book.
Lafonda watched her turn each page like it would either blow away or crumble to dust if she didn’t handle it right. She found this adorable, yet something about Stacy’s reverence for the paper made her a bit uneasy. For a moment she felt like the girl was making a show of being so well-behaved and innocent. Like she’s trying to trick me, Lafonda thought, then tapped her forehead three quick times, an old habit for when she wanted to knock a dumb or otherwise unwelcome thought out of her mind. How paranoid could she be right now? It was one thing to be a little on edge given what recently transpired, to be suspicious of her very wealthy and very determined boss, and something else to think a seven-year-old was masterminding a devious plot.
The distinct crack and creak of the front door opening and moving on its hinges stole her focus. It sounded different from the upper floors of the house than it did when you were right in front of it. Harsher and more aggressive, like someone had pushed through it fast enough to be on the other side of the door before anyone could stop them from coming through. It was a strange feature, more of the house than of the door. The acoustics of the building brought the sound noisily up the central stairs, down every hall and into every room. It was as if the house were its own giant alarm with no regard for who might be entering, whether it be intruder, invitee, or inhabitant. Eunice had said time and again that this was a deliberate feature of the house when she’d tried to convince Lafonda that a modern, proper security system was unnecessary. The compromise they had come to, installing the security system but keeping it off during the day, had left them both a little dissatisfied. Eunice was quick to say how creepy it was to hear the system’s disembodied voice announce when it was being turned on or off—to say nothing of when it declared a certain door or window was opened—while it took Lafonda months to get used to the idea of living in a house full of luxuries and lax security.
She said to Stacy, “I think Miss Dana just got here. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” Stacy said, barely looking up from the book that held her rapt.
Lafonda wanted to meet Dana downstairs, duck into one of the rooms that kept conversations secret, or go out back with her to talk about everything, make sure they were on the same page. The discussion they had over the phone that morning went so fast Lafonda couldn’t remember all that she’d said to Dana. And she still wanted some clarity on exactly what happened to that couple. The Renners. Did they have physical injuries, or was it more of a panic attack situation? She wanted to know if the house somehow posed a threat. If it did, she’d have to talk to Eunice. She couldn’t continue working for someone who was endangering others without giving them information that might lead them to opt out.