Page 64 of The Golden Hour

Fear alights in her eyes. “Nothing,” she says quickly.

“Lizzie, tell me. What if you were free to do whatever you wanted?”

After a furtive glance at the doorway, she takes a swift breath. “I want to be a fiction writer. I love mysteries, thrillers, that sort of thing. Don’t say anything to Mom, though, okay?”

“Why? If it’s your dream—”

“Just don’t.” She closes the magazine, dropping her earbuds atop it. “You don’t understand, Calli. If you did, you wouldn’t ask. I gotta go.”

She’s gone before I can think of something to say to bring her back.

* * *

The next week passes with excruciating slowness. Lizzie gives me the silent treatment, going so far as to leave any room we both occupy. At least Franco stays away, though I notice two new guards prowling outside at night.

Selina doesn’t show up for work three days in a row—her replacement says she has the flu. And when she does return, she avoids me like the plague. Molly never spoke to her on Thursday, which now I’m grateful for. Apparently when Selina returned home from work, her little boy and husband were waiting outside for her. I’m still not convinced—like Finn is—that she’s an undercover cop or an informant. It’s much more likely she’s here for the same reason Finn is: a vendetta.

Tired of banging my head on a wall where both women are concerned, I give up and spend the rest of the week pretending to relax. Reading in the shade of a backyard umbrella, swimming laps until my muscles are lax, and texting with Finn to keep up the ruse that we’re a normal, newly dating couple.

I miss him. Not the canned charm of our messages, but the acerbic, sarcastic man. I miss the possibility of us that was sparked last week, so much that sometimes I wonder if it really happened.

Then, at 9:00 p.m. every night, he calls the burner phone and reminds me it was real.

* * *

Near midnight Sunday night, after lying sleepless for hours in dread of Vivian’s return tomorrow morning, I finally break, giving in to the curiosity that’s been on simmer since I came back.

Now or never.

I don’t creep through the house. Wearing pajamas and a robe, I clomp barefoot down the shadowed hallways toward the kitchen, veering right instead of left when I reach it. A short hallway ends with a door. I try the handle—locked.

“Dammit.”

“What are you doing?”

I gasp, spinning to find Lizzie in the archway of the kitchen. She’s in boy shorts and a tank, her dark blond hair in a messy bun, her face clean of makeup and glowing with youth. Though she doesn’t necessarily look happy to see me, at least she isn’t avoiding me anymore.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I say with a short laugh. “Why are you awake?”

“Same reason you are, I guess. Couldn’t sleep. Came down for a yogurt.” She glances behind me. “Why are you trying to get into the basement? You know it’s always locked.”

A lie comes easily. “I wanted to see if Vivian kept anything from my mom’s marriage to Dad, or if she threw it all away when she said she did.”

Lizzie watches me another moment. “Hang on.” She disappears into the kitchen. I hear a thud and a tinkling sound like water, then she reappears holding a set of keys. “She keeps them in the rice. Don’t tell her I told you.”

The keys arch my way. I catch them.

“Thank you, I won’t.”

“There’s nothing down there, anyway. Everything was cleared out to a storage unit years ago.”

Well, that answers the question of my father’s files.

“I’d still like to take a look.”

“Suit yourself.”

The third key I try fits, and the door opens on cool, musty air. Fumbling on the interior wall, I find the light switch and flip it. Track lighting buzzes on, illuminating the long room at the base of the stairwell.

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