carpet. That…” I wasn’t sure how to continue. “Those worms that came out of the boy… those were predators, weren’t they?”
Annalise didn’t look at me. “Did you take the jewelry?”
“No,” I said.
She started to pat me down. Without thinking, I drew away from her. That was a mistake.
Annalise grabbed my upper arm and squeezed-not hard enough to break the bone, but enough to remind me she could. I held myself very still.
I still had the ghost knife, of course, but I wasn’t confident enough to try it against her. Maybe later, though. Maybe soon.
She searched me and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. When she was done, she went back to the window without a word. I moved next to her and stared at the woman, too. What ever Annalise was seeing, it didn’t entrance me the way it did her.
Eventually, Annalise went upstairs to the master bedroom. I followed. She took the jewelry from the safe and laid the wood scrap against it. The sigil twisted at the same steady pace. The necklace was no more magic than anything else in the house. Annalise didn’t seem surprised.
“So, boss,” I finally said, “do you want to see what picture she’s crying over?”
“Yes,” she answered. Her funny little voice sounded small.
“Does it have anything to do with the job?”
She looked up at me. Her tiny eyes were shadowed and impossible to read. “I’ll know soon enough, won’t I?”
I walked out the front door, up the Bentons’ walk, and down the sidewalk to the next house. The mailbox had the name FINKLER on it in gold stickers.
I rang the front doorbell. After about three minutes-a long wait, but I knew she had to wipe away tears and check herself in a mirror-I heard her turn the knob. I stepped down her front step, giving her space and putting myself below her. I wanted to be as nonthreatening as I could.
She opened the door without undoing a lock. I’d have placed her in her mid-forties, although she could have been older. She had grim lines around her mouth and eyes, and her face was puffy.
As I looked at her, her expression changed. The traces of sorrow vanished. Within a few seconds, she was as pleasant as if she had just been watching a dull sitcom. “Yes?” she said.
I wanted to tell her to lock her doors. What if some ex-con came by with some song-and-dance story? Instead I said: “I’ve been trying to reach the Benton family next door? I’m a day early? No one seems to be answering, though?” I let my voice rise at the end of each sentence, turning everything I said into a question.
“I saw them loading up their car. It looked like they were taking a trip.”
“Really? They were expecting me. Aunt Meg was going to help me find a job.”
“At the toy plant?”
“She didn’t say. I guess so.”
“And she’s your aunt?” She looked at me carefully, measuring me.
“We haven’t met. Our family is pretty spread out. I’m still not sure what I should call her. ‘Mrs. Benton’ sounds so formal, but I’m not comfortable yet calling her ‘aunt’ when we haven’t even met.” I kept vamping, wondering how much time Annalise would need.
“When you see her,” Ms. Finkler interrupted, “ask her what she wants to be called. People should let people pick their own names.”
“Welp, that makes a lot of sense.”
“But they went on some kind of trip. You say you’re early?”
“Only by a day.”
“They looked like they were going to be gone longer than that. I don’t know what to tell you. But if you want a job, you should go to the toy plant tomorrow. They’re always hiring lately.” She looked me up and down. “Wear something decent.”
I smiled at her. It took an effort. “Thanks. I appreciate the advice.”
“You’re welcome.” She closed the door.
I walked back to the van and climbed behind the wheel. Annalise hadn’t told me where to meet her, but I hoped she knew better than to think I was going back to the Bentons’ house. I drove around the corner, parked beside the alley, and waited.
The streetlight was overhead. I took the piece of paper I’d found on the floor of the living room and held it up to the light. It read:
