22
Henri
I spent the whole day on my own. I napped and watched several movies and made myself lunch in Remy’s beautiful kitchen and ate an obscene amount of cherry and cream cheese king cake—my favorite flavor so far. I ended up ordering a salad for dinner.
As I ate, I wondered what Remy was doing. How much danger was he in? What would I do if he never came back? I didn’t even know his last name. I knew he had a brother named Lancelot, and I knew he had a father and stepmother and another brother, but that wasn’t anything to go on. Why would any of those people want to help me even if I could find them?
When I tried to sleep, I tossed and turned, imagining horrible scenarios and asking myself why Remington had ignored me all day. He was busy. He needed to work. He’d told me his work took up all his time, and we’d just spent the day together, so why did it feel like he was deliberately avoiding me?
I paced his bedroom for a while, then wandered downstairs and out into the courtyard. The night was chilly and damp, and the lights of the city blocked most of the stars. I didn’t stay out there long, but before I went in, I tested the iron gate. It was locked. No doubt there was a key somewhere, but if I wanted to leave, I might as well go out the front door.
Did I want that? Where would I go? Back to my street corner? There was no way I could be with some random stranger after what I’d felt with Remy. I had to find a job that didn’t involve selling myself, and the money he was offering me would give me the time I needed to do so.
Of course, it seemed most jobs involved selling yourself in one way or another, and it wasn’t like I was qualified for anything that would help me get out of the mess I was in. If so, I would have found a job back in Birmingham.
As I was about to head back inside, I saw someone on the other side of the fence. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like he was watching the house. There was something familiar about him. I hurried back inside and locked myself in. As I tried to catch my breath, I realized where I’d seen him. He was a regular customer of one of the women who worked a street over from me, or at least he looked like the same guy. I’d mention it to Remy, but it was probably nothing, just my imagination.
I headed upstairs. Eventually I’d get tired enough to fall asleep, wouldn’t I?
When I reached the top of the stairs, my gaze landed on the office door. What was in there that he didn’t want me to see? Heart pounding, I approached the door and reached for the knob. I’d taken his word that it was locked and hadn’t touched it. I could always check. I grasped the handle and tried to turn it, but it didn’t move.
Could I get in anyway? I’d gotten a lock-picking kit back when I was in middle school. I wasn’t planning a life of crime, but I’d always loved puzzles, and locks were just another kind. Maybe, just maybe, I could get the door open.
I knew how wrong it was for me to invade Remington’s privacy. There was no reason I needed to know what was behind the door, but what if he didn’t come back? What if…
I raced down to the kitchen and looked around for anything I could use to open the lock. When I got lucky and found a large paperclip in a drawer, I ran back upstairs before I lost my nerve.
It took me far longer than it would someone who was truly skilled at lock picking, but eventually, I heard the satisfying click I’d been waiting for, and the door opened. The office looked much like the rest of the house. It was decorated in the style from the early twentieth century. The walls and antique furniture were dark greens and blues, and the room contained more bookshelves, the kind with glass doors that lifted and slid into pockets.
A laptop sat on the desk. It was open, but the screen was dark. There were papers scattered on the desktop. Did I dare investigate further? I had no idea when Remington would be home. He could come in any minute, and if he caught me… I remembered him telling me he expected me to do what he said and threatening to punish me. What would he do if he found me here? Killing me was a real possibility. Was it worth that risk to know his secrets?
Without making a conscious decision, I took the few steps I needed to reach the edge of the desk. I picked up an envelope addressed to Remington Theriot. Why did that name sound familiar?
Oh shit. His family had been suspects in the brutal murder of three men a year or so ago. It was even in the news up in Birmingham. I always paid attention to news from Louisiana, a habit I’d picked up from my mom who’d grown up in Lafayette. Theriot was a common name, but I doubted there were that many Remington Theriots.
He and his relatives had been acquitted, but most people still believed they’d done it. Shit, what had I gotten myself involved in?
I sat down in the desk chair. It was amazingly comfortable, but I wouldn’t have expected anything less. I touched the keypad on the laptop, sliding my finger across until the screen lit up and I was confronted with a box asking for a password.
Was I really going to try to guess his password? It was probably some super secure jumble of letters and numbers that I would never come up with. But I might
