Chapter 4 - A Man at the Door
Ruth did not scream.
Fear sometimes stole people's voices.
Motherhood had taught her to do the opposite.
It gave fear a job.
She grabbed the knife, moved between the door and Poppy's bedroom, and waited.
The lock clicked.
The door opened three inches.
Ruth raised the knife.
A hand appeared.
Then a familiar voice cursed.
"Jesus Christ."
Walter Keane stepped backward.
Ruth nearly collapsed.
"Walter?"
He stared at the knife.
"I was beginning to wonder why August hired you. Now I understand."
She lowered it, shaking.
"What are you doing here?"
"Trying not to be stabbed."
"At midnight?"
"It's nine fifteen."
Ruth looked at the clock.
He was right.
Fear had stretched minutes into hours.
Walter held up a brown paper bag.
"Soup."
Ruth stared.
"Soup?"
"For Poppy."
Behind him stood the same driver who had taken them to the hospital.
Walter stepped inside.
"The power is out in half the building. Transformer problem."
Ruth closed the door quickly.
"Did August send you?"
Walter hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Ruth laughed without humor.
"Of course."
"He was concerned."
"August Howerin doesn't look concerned. He looks like someone considering whether to bury a body."
Walter removed his wet coat.
"Those feelings are not always mutually exclusive."
Ruth stared at him.
Walter smiled faintly.
"That was a joke."
She exhaled.
Then remembered the clipping.
Her smile vanished.
"Walter."
He saw her face.
"What?"
Ruth took the newspaper clipping from the table.
Walter did not touch it.
His expression changed before he read a word.
"Where did you get this?"
"My purse."
"Who put it there?"
"I don't know."
Walter read the note.
AUGUST HOWERIN STARTED THE FIRE.
He closed his eyes.
"Pack a bag."
"What?"
"For you and Poppy."
"Why?"
"Because someone wants you frightened."
"I'm already frightened."
"Good. Fear keeps intelligent people alive."
"Walter."
"Pack."
Ruth blocked his path.
"No. You tell me what happened."
Walter's gaze settled on Poppy's bedroom.
"Not here."
"Then where?"
"At the house."
"I'm not taking my daughter back there."
"You may be safer there than anywhere else tonight."
The sentence chilled her.
"Why?"
Walter reached for his phone.
"Because only four people knew Daniel's name mattered enough to frighten August."
He looked at the clipping again.
"And one of them is dead."
Thirty minutes later, Ruth stood in Howerin House wearing yesterday's jeans, carrying Poppy asleep against her shoulder.
August waited in the foyer.
His eyes went immediately to Poppy.
Then to Ruth.
Then to the clipping in Walter's hand.
Everything in his face went still.
"Who gave her this?"
"We don't know."
August took the clipping.
His thumb covered the handwritten accusation.
"Vincent was here today."
Ruth saw his eyes change.
"Did he speak to you?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He said you become attached to damaged things."
August's jaw tightened.
"What else?"
"He asked about Poppy."
That did it.
August turned.
"Lock the gates."
Two guards moved instantly.
"Nobody enters or leaves without my approval."
Ruth stared at him.
"Are we prisoners?"
"No."
"It feels like it."
August faced her.
"You received a threat."
"How do you know?"
Walter looked at Ruth.
She hadn't told him about the phone call.
August caught the exchange.
"What threat?"
Ruth hesitated.
August took one step closer.
"What threat?"
"Someone called last night."
His voice became deadly quiet.
"What did they say?"
"That Poppy shouldn't return here."
August's eyes shifted toward the sleeping child.
For the first time, Ruth saw something in him that deserved every rumor.
Not cruelty.
Violence.
Controlled violence.
The kind that did not need volume.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't know who to trust."
"And now?"
Ruth looked at the clipping in his hand.
"I still don't."
August absorbed that.
He didn't defend himself.
He handed the clipping back to Walter.
"Take Mrs. Brangan and her daughter to the east guest suite."
"No."
Ruth folded her arms.
"You don't get to send me upstairs and decide what I know."
"This is not a negotiation."
"Then fire me."
Walter rubbed his forehead.
August stared at her.
"Mrs. Brangan."
"Ruth."
"What?"
"If you're going to ruin my life, at least use my first name."
Something almost like disbelief crossed his face.
Walter turned away to hide a smile.
August's eyes narrowed.
"You want to know about the fire?"
"Yes."
"You think knowing will make you safer?"
"No."
"Correct."
He picked up his cane.
"Put your daughter to bed."
"Then you'll tell me?"
"Then I'll tell you enough."
An hour later, Ruth entered August's study.
He stood beside the fireplace.
The blue wooden horse rested on the desk.
Ruth recognized it from the photograph.
She looked at him.
"Daniel's."
August nodded.
"Who was he?"
"My half brother."
Ruth had not expected that.
"Your father—"
"Wasn't his father."
August poured whiskey but did not drink it.
"My mother had another son."
He stared at the fire.
"She left when I was twelve. I didn't see her again for nearly fifteen years."
"When she came back?"
"She was dying."
Ruth said nothing.
"Daniel was four. Different father. No family. My mother asked us to take him."
"And you did."
"My father refused."
August's mouth tightened.
"So I threatened to leave with him."
A shadow of memory softened his face.
"My father had spent twenty-seven years building an empire. Apparently the possibility of losing his only useful son was more frightening than raising another child."
"You loved Daniel."
August looked at the wooden horse.
"He followed me everywhere."
His voice weakened.
"Everywhere."
Ruth's anger dissolved.
"What happened that night?"
August's hand tightened around the glass.
"Someone stole weapons from one of our shipments. Daniel overheard men arguing. I didn't know he had followed me to the docks."
"The fire?"
"I went inside Warehouse Seven."
His eyes fixed on nothing.
"I found him hiding behind crates."
Ruth held her breath.
"There was an explosion."
August touched the scar at his neck.
"I got him toward the side exit."
"What happened?"
"The roof came down."
His voice broke.
Only once.
But Ruth heard it.
"I woke outside."
"And Daniel?"
"Never found."
"Then how do you know he died?"
August looked at her.
"Because I went back in."
Ruth's stomach tightened.
"I searched until part of my coat had melted into my skin."
He looked toward the window.
"They dragged me out unconscious."
"Who started the fire?"
"We never proved it."
"The clipping says—"
"The clipping says what Vincent paid a reporter to say."
Ruth froze.
"Vincent?"
August's expression was unreadable.
"He claimed he was protecting the family. Someone needed blame. Better me than my father."
"And you let him?"
"I didn't care."
"Why?"
August looked at her.
"Because Daniel was gone."
Silence filled the room.
Ruth finally understood the loneliness.
Not all of it.
But enough.
"Why does Vincent frighten me?"
August did not answer immediately.
"Because Vincent believes fear is useful."
"Do you trust him?"
"I used to."
The distinction mattered.
A floorboard creaked outside.
August reached under the desk.
A gun appeared in his hand.
The door opened.
Poppy stood there in pajamas.
Her eyes were sleepy.
"Mommy?"
Ruth rushed forward.
"What happened?"
"I had a bad dream."
August hid the gun instantly.
Poppy looked at him.
"Can I stay here?"
Ruth began to say no.
August surprised them both.
"Yes."
Poppy climbed onto the sofa.
Within minutes, she was asleep beneath a blanket.
August watched her.
Ruth watched him watching her.
Then Poppy murmured something.
August leaned closer.
"What did she say?"
Ruth smiled faintly.
"She talks in her sleep."
Poppy turned her face toward the back of the sofa.
Her voice came again, clearer.
"Blue horse."
August went rigid.
Ruth looked at the toy on his desk.
"Poppy?"
The girl did not wake.
She whispered one more sentence.
"The boy says you didn't leave him."
May you like
The whiskey glass slipped from August's hand.
And shattered.
