Chapter Twenty-One

Lauren

I fall to my knees inside the cramped closet, both hands clasped tightly over my mouth.

I want to scream but I can’t, my heart in my throat. I can barely breathe, my chest and my stomach in knots. My whole body shakes, my knees so wobbly I can’t stand.

Chase is gone.

The goons have found him and taken him away and I can only guess what they’re going to do to him.

No. I don’t have to guess. They’ve hurt him before. They can do it again and something tells me they will.

The thought makes me feel so sick I almost throw up on the carpet after crawling out of the closet.

I manage to keep the contents of my stomach down, though. I even manage to stand up, though I have to grip the edge of the desk as my knees buckle and I stumble.

Shakily, I walk toward the door of the study, my eyebrows deeply furrowed as I search my brain furiously for a way to resolve the current situation.

I have to do something. I can’t just let them hurt Chase. I can’t just let the man I love die.

But what should I do? What can I do?

I wonder about it as I get out of the room.

There’s not much I can do, just whittle and play the guitar and feed the horses and…

“Cindy!” Maggie exclaims.

I lift my gaze from the carpet that I didn’t even know I was looking at, finding Maggie picking up pebbles a few feet away.

“I was wondering where you went. I thought the ghost got you.”

That’s one way of putting it.

She comes over to me, touching my arm as she glances at the door behind me.

“You were snooping around?”

I glance at it over my shoulder, too. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Cool.” Maggie pats my shoulder. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that. I had to wait a week to summon enough courage to snoop around. And to think you were doing it at the old master’s study. So, what did you find? Anything interesting?”

“It’s just a mess,” I answer softly.

Maggie frowns. “I guess it is since none of the maids have been there to clean it up. I’m sure the new master will ask us to eventually.”

She goes back to where the pebbles, marbles, and soil are still scattered, cleaning it up.

I just stand there, still trying to think of what I should do.

“Hey.” Maggie turns to me. “You didn’t see the ghost, did you? Because you definitely look like you saw one.”

I don’t answer, wringing my hands.

“Oh, by the way…” Maggie stands up. “The reason I was looking for you is because Polly’s looking for you. Tina’s too scared out of her wits to help out in the kitchen so Polly said you should. I’ll take care of this.”

The kitchen.

“You can cook, can’t you?” Maggie asks.

I nod absently.

Cook. Yes, that’s something I can do.

“Unless, of course, you’re also too scared out of your wits. I swear, something bizarre is going on. I…”

I’m no longer listening, the wheels in my head turning, playing back the memory of when I made crepes with Chase.

I could poison you if I wanted.

Poison.

“Cindy?” Maggie snaps a finger in front of me.

“Sorry. I have to go to the kitchen.” I run down the hall.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you to do!” Maggie shouts behind me.

I leave her, turning around the corner and going down the stairs two steps at a time.

I have an important mission to do.

---

The kitchen is even more hectic than when I left, everyone on their feet now, pots boiling, oil splattering out of the pans, blenders whirring, knife blades clattering against the chopping boards, all at the same time. Steam, smoke, flour particles, and an even thicker aroma of spices fills the air.

I stand in the middle of it, overwhelmed.

What on earth is going on?

“Cindy,” Polly calls my name as she pulls my arm. “I need you to help Dorothy out. The master has just returned, and he wants an amazing meal.”

The master has returned? Terrence?

The thought makes a shiver go up my spine.

I ignore it, though, telling myself that I have to keep my wits about me or I won’t be able to help Chase.

“This is Dorothy,” Polly introduces me to a petite redhead in chef’s whites sipping from a ladle that she has just taken out of a large, aluminum pot. “She’s the head chef for this meal.”

Polly gives me a shove.

“Put her to work, Dorothy.”

“I will,” Dorothy promises.

She points to a table where there’s a chopping board and a basket of onions.

“I want those minced. Let’s see your knife skills.”

I nod, taking my seat behind the table and picking up the knife.

I cut the onions, first in halves, putting the halves down on the chopping board. I don’t know how I’m doing this when my mind is so far away and riddled with worry but my hands seem to be moving on their own, spurred on by the bustling rhythm of everyone else in the kitchen.

Good. I have to keep moving or I’ll get kicked out of the kitchen. Then I won’t be able to help Chase.

I take the onion halves to the sink to wash them, first in cold water then in warm water. Then I bring them back to my bench and pick the knife up again to start mincing.

“Interesting,” Dorothy says, standing in front of me even though I didn’t even see her coming. “You seem to know your way around onions.”

“I’ve minced a few,” I admit as I begin mincing one half.

“I can see that.” She nods. “Well, it’s good to know at least one person here isn’t crying over onions.”

She leaves my table and I keep mincing.

Onion is strong. But it’s not poisonous. And I need something poisonous to put in whatever dish Dorothy is making. Not lethal, of course. Just enough to make someone sick.

I quickly glance around. What can I use?

“Cindy,” Dorothy calls my name.

“Yes?” I look up.

“After that, chop some herbs for me, will you? Get them from the herb garden outside. And then I want you to divide it into two piles – one for using now and for later as a finishing touch for the pork chops.”

The herb garden. Finishing touch.

Suddenly, I find an opportunity.

“Got it?” Dorothy asks.

“Yes, Chef,” I answer.

I quickly finish mincing the onions, placing them in a bowl. Then I hurry outside.

“Wait!” Dorothy calls after me.

I pause, worried.

“Yes, Chef?”

“Don’t forget your scissors.”

Dorothy hands me the tool.

I nod, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Chef.”

I head out into the garden, gathering the herbs I need. At the same time, I look around, trying to see something I can use as a weapon.

Then my gaze rests on the lily-of-the-valley.

It’s not in the herb garden. It’s not an herb, after all.

In fact, it’s a sprint away at the entrance to what must be the flower garden. But it’s exactly what I need. After glancing around to make sure I’m not being watched, I run over to it quickly. I pick a few leaves, putting them in my pocket.

Then I go back inside.

Just as Dorothy has instructed, I chop the herbs, placing them into two piles.

“What did you get?” she asks, inspecting the piles.

I almost jump. “Just the usual. Basil, coriander, radish leaves.”

“Hmm.” Dorothy nods. “You seem to know how to cook.”

“Thanks.” I smile.

“Do you do pastry?” she asks.

I nod.

“Good. Because Tina used to make the desserts and since she’s not around, you get to do them this time.” She pats my shoulder. “Get started.”

I blink. Dessert? I thought I was working on the main.

“Cindy?”

“Got it, Chef,” I answer. “What dessert?”

She shrugs. “Impress me.”

---

Two hours later, I present Dorothy with layers of puff pastry, strawberries, nuts, and cream in between the layers and some powdered sugar and chocolate shavings on top.

I hold my breath as she takes a bite and chews, which seems to take an eternity.

Finally, she sets down her fork and dabs the corner of her mouth with a table napkin just before it curves up.

“I like it,” she pronounces.

I let out a sigh of relief.

“In fact,” she continues. “It may just be the simplest yet most decadent Napoleon I’ve ever tasted.”

I place a hand over my chest where my heart is fluttering.

Dorothy like my dessert. A real chef said my food was good.

The sense of pride and accomplishment is fleeting, though, robbed as I see the pork chops being plated.

My hand goes over the pocket of my apron.

I have to go to those chops and fast.

“Ah, the main seems ready,” Dorothy remarks.

“Not yet,” I blurt.

She raises an eyebrow.

“You said some of the herbs for a finishing touch,” I remind. “Would you mind if I sprinkle them myself?”

“Right. I almost forget that.” She rubs her forehead. “I swear I’m not feeling well today. Go on.”

I smile, my excitement returning.

I go to the plates, sprinkling the pile of herbs I chopped earlier first and then discreetly mixing in bits of the leaves of the lily-of-the-valley. Just as I’m finishing up, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Looks good,” Dorothy says.

My heart stops.

Wait. She’s not going to taste them first, is she?

“These are good to go,” she announces out loud.

My heart starts beating again. That was close.

Dorothy pats my shoulder. “Oh, and Cindy, since you did such a good job, why don’t you deliver the food yourself?”

“Me?” I point a finger at my chest, my heart having come to a halt again.

She squeezes my shoulder. “Why not? Get them all on the dining cart and bring them to the third floor. That’s where the master’s bedroom is.”

I glance at the cart, swallowing the lump in my throat. I’m well aware of the danger this task entails but I don’t seem to have a choice so I obey.

I arrange the plates of the main course on top of the cart, the desserts on the tray beneath it. Then I use the elevator, heading to the second floor.

As I push the cart down the hall, I can feel sweat breaking out at my nape, my hands and knees shaking.

I keep pushing, though, up until I reach the doors at the end of the hall.

For a long moment, I just stare at it, unable to move, then just when I’ve mustered enough courage to knock, it opens, a heavily built man wearing sunglasses appearing in the doorway.

I try not to gasp.

“Oh, the food’s here finally,” the man says. “And it looks good. Smells good, too.”

He opens the door wider and I push the cart in.

From the corner of my eye, I see Terrence sitting in the middle of a leather couch, his legs crossed. He’s discarded his jacket now so he’s just in his white shirt and black slacks, the top button of his shirt undone.

I try not to shiver as I feel his gaze on me.

I fail, though, when I see the other men in the room, three of them familiar – the one in the leather jacket, who said he was from the Census Bureau and the other two, the guy with the long hair and the other in a checkered shirt, red Nike shoes on his feet.

They were the ones Chase hit with the hoe.

I bow my head as I set the plates of pork chops on the table, trying to hide my face as much as possible even as the fear of being recognized racks my every bone.

Somehow, even with shaking hands, I manage not to drop a single plate. But then I see someone else from the corner of my eye – Chase tied to a chair in the corner, a bleeding gash on his forehead and on his lower lip – and my heart just drops. The fork I’m holding falls out of my hand as well.

I kneel down to pick it up, my knees just giving way under me.

“Hey,” one of the goons says. “Careful there.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, fingers closing around the utensil.

I can’t seem to stand, though, my body drained of all energy all of a sudden.

They have Chase. And they’ve already hurt him.

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” A hand grabs my arm and helps me to my feet.

I keep my head bowed, seeing the red shoes in front of me.

“Wait a minute,” the man says, lifting my chin. “I’ve seen you before.”

As if something has snapped inside me, my body starts moving again and I take a step back.

“No. I’m… new.”

“I’ve seen her, too.” The man with the leather jacket approaches me, rubbing his chin.

I glance at Chase.

“Run,” he mouths.

But the goon in the checkered shirt already has my arm. “You’re that girl from the ranch, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean, Steve?” Terrence asks.

“I mean, she was there,” Steve answers. “She was there with Chase when he was hiding.”

Terrence narrows his eyes at me and I feel all the color drain from my face, the knot in my throat so big I can barely breathe.

“Grab her.”