Page 64 of Insidious Threats
“January eighteenth,” Ellie told him.
“Then, yes. I guess I have.”
“Wait. You’ve been hiding in this closet since before Christmas?”
He nodded.
“But why?” Ellie asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
Cinco shifted his gaze to Sasha. “What is she doing here?” He frowned in confusion at his daughter. “For that matter, what areyoudoing here?”
“Dad, don’t change the subject. Please. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
It was obvious he was. But Sasha held her tongue and watched the father-daughter dynamic play out.
“Yes, Eleanor, I am. I’m in trouble of the worst kind.”
“Mom is sick with worry. So are the partners at P&T. And now all your new artist friends in town are, too. Why did you vanish?”
“It’s not safe for you to be here.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell you. I thought everyone would assume I left the country. I told Poppy and Pete I was going out of town for a while, then I hid the car in the woods and sneaked back in here. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Sasha narrowed her eyes. “Who came to see you in December?”
“I don’t … what are you talking about?” Cinco stammered.
“Do we really have to do this? I could be home with my family, curled up with a glass of merlot and a good book. But I’m not. I’m here with Ellie to help you. So instead of pretending you’re not terrified of someone or something, just tell us what’s going on. Please.” At the last second, Sasha tacked on thepleaseto soften her words because Cinco looked like he might burst into tears.
He crumpled, folding his arms over his torso and hanging his head. “Her name is Bella Steptoe,” he whispered.
“Why do I recognize that name?” Sasha wondered.
Ellie pulled out her phone and thumbed out a quick search. “She’s that real estate agent who was arrested last month. You know, the one who tried to kill Maisy.”
“She’s in jail?” Cinco straightened perceptibly.
“She’s on house arrest, actually,” Sasha told him absently. “Wouldn’t do for a rich, White middle-aged woman to be imprisoned awaiting trial, now would it?”
“Why’d she come here to see you, Dad?”
He answered her question with one of his own. “Did your mother get my sketches?”
Ellie and Sasha exchanged a look.
“Yes,” his daughter told her.
“Well, those explain everything.”
Sasha frowned. She wasn’tentirelysure what effect a month-long diet of packaged snack crackers, no exposure to sunlight, and no human interaction had on a person’s cognitive function, but it wasn’t a net positive. That much was clear.
Ellie reached into her oversized tote bag and removed the rolled-up pictures. She laid them out on the floor and smoothed the pages. “Can you tell me the story of these drawings, Dad?”
He lowered himself to his knees to study the sketches.
Ellie glanced at Sasha over his head and said in an undertone, “He used to do that when I was little. Sketch several pictures then string them together to make a bedtime story for me. Maybe this will get through to him.”
