Page 35 of Liar Byrd
Her sharp eyes had lingered a second too long on the last of my fading bruises on my wrists, courtesy of Jeremiah. My arms feel naked, and my legs the same way, after getting used to beingcovered from my neck to my ankles. I smiled as if embarrassed and said something about being clumsy.
“You’ll start here.”
I whip my head away from the stairs up to the attic to focus on Nance.
She’s standing outside a bedroom at the end of the third floor, offering me the black basket filled with cleaning supplies she was carrying.
As I take the basket from her, she holds on. “Curiosity has no place here. Do a good job, and you will be paid fairly for it. Cause trouble, and you’ll be out so fast your head will spin. Do you understand?”
I nod.
She releases her grip on the basket, and as I take it, she walks away, leaving me alone with a basket of cleaning products.
I walk into the peach-colored bedroom, frowning.
A light dusting and opening the window to air it. That’s all she said the guest rooms needed. But from the thick layer of dust on the dresser and bed frame, the musty-smelling sheets, and the streaks on the window, this guest room needs more attention than that.
An hour later, I’m dusting the blinds, a frankly mind-numbing job that allows my mind to wander, when a deep, male voice comes from the staircase.
I don’t want to run into anyone if I can help it, but Iamcurious about the deep, male voice that doesn’t sound like Nash.
Is that one of the men who live in this house?
I tiptoe to the door and stick my nose out.
A man with large shoulders, in black jeans, bare feet, and a black T-shirt is standing at the top of the staircase with his back to me.
He’s on the phone or talking to someone on the floor below. I can’t see a phone in his hand from this angle.
I study the strong lines of his back, not sure what to do.
Who exactly is he?
Mr. Gabriel didn’t say he had a brother. But maybe that’s who lives in this house. Three brothers.
The man stops scratching his head and angles it toward me as if he feels the weight of my attention.
I wrench my head back into the room and stand there, gripping my duster and holding my breath as I wait for him to go.
I don’t want to see anybody. I don’t want anyone to seeme. Just do my job well, take my money, and leave.
I count down five seconds, then I peek around the door and frown.
Empty.
Where did he go?
“Are you still cleaning that room?”
I jump as Nance pops her head up the stairs.
She’s frowning.
“Nearly finished,” I say. “I stripped the bed, but I wanted to know if you had any fresh linen, or if I need to wash this set.”
She moves toward me, and her stern expression softens as she walks into the room. She picks up the sheets I stripped and left on the floor, sniffing them with a slight twist of her lips. “I could have sworn Lydia did these already.”
The sheets don’t smell like anyone has washed them in months.
