She made her decision.
She grabbed her bag, drew out the first picture frame, and swapped it with its match in the living room. In the kitchen, she replaced the soap dish.
She glanced out the window at the backyard, to the guesthouse. The door was still closed.
Her heart was racing. She listened, but the house was quiet. How much time did she have?
She dashed to the foyer and set the small plate down and shoved the original in the backpack.
Now came the risky part.
She ascended the stairs, eyes wide, watching, listening, ready to retreat.
At the landing, Adeline heard a noise at the end of the hall. Beyond the closed door of the master bedroom. Constance was in the bathroom.
One of the matching picture frames sat on a console table a few feet away. Adeline pulled the surveillance frame from the backpack and slipped the picture inside it and stowed the original in the bag.
She crept across the hardwood floor to the closest door, which she expected to lead to a guest bedroom. When she opened it, Adeline stopped cold. There was no bed in the room. Only a small desk and rolling chair. The walls were covered in cork. Pinned to it were dozens of pictures. And sheets of paper with names. And dates. All in the last twenty years. There was also a massive map of Europe, America, and Asia. Some of the pictures were tacked to places on the map with a note and the date of death.
It was like something out of the movies. A serial killer’s den. A shrine to deaths across the globe.
Adeline wanted to run. Every fiber of her being told her to. But she stepped deeper inside the room and gently closed the door. There was too much information here for her to write down. Or memorize. She took out her phone and clicked the video option and began holding it up to everything she saw. She walked around the room, taking it all in.
Beyond the door, she heard footsteps on the landing.
Adeline was near the end of the room. The steps drew closer.
Her hand shook.
She reached her other hand up to steady the phone, her eyes on the door, expecting the knob to turn. The electroshock weapon was in the bag. Overpowering Constance wasn’t the problem. But what if Constance had help here in the house? What if the caretaker, Gretta, was more than that? What if she was an accomplice?
Outside the bedroom, Adeline heard footsteps on the stairs, labored, slow steps going down.
Constance.
Carefully, Adeline opened the door and peered out. The stairway was clear.
She heard footfalls on the rug in the foyer.
Now or never.
She raced across the upper landing on her tiptoes, hoping the sound didn’t echo below. In the master bedroom, she set down one of the frames and picked up the original, fingers fumbling for the tabs that held the glass and picture in place.
“Adeline?” Constance called from below.
Adeline froze. She focused on the frame, but her fingers wouldn’t work. It was as if they had turned to soft rubber.
“Adeline?” Constance called again from downstairs.
She was caught.
Adeline made for the door but stopped. One last chance.
In the master bathroom, she replaced the soap dish and pulled the medicine cabinet open. Bottles of prescription medications spread out in rows, filling each shelf.
“Adeline?” Constance’s voice was closer now. Was she on the stairs?
Adeline drew her phone out, snapped a picture, and dashed out of the room, out into the hallway.
Constance arrived on the landing a second after, panting, gripping the rail, head down. She looked up and saw Adeline.
“What are you doing here?”
The question struck fear into Adeline. She was caught.
It was over.
Adeline did the only thing she could. She lied. And she was surprised at how easily it came.
“I thought you might need help. You were gone so long.”
Constance squinted at her.
“And then I needed to use the bathroom.”
“You went earlier.”
“I didn’t… I only cried. I had to actually go this time.”
Constance studied Adeline’s face for a long moment. Her gaze shifted to the strap across her shoulder that led to the backpack filled with the pictures and items Adeline had just stolen from Constance’s home. It was as if the older woman could see right through the bag—and Adeline herself. She had never felt so exposed in all her life. How had she ever thought she could do this? That she could walk into Constance’s home and ever get away with it?
Had Daniele set her up?
Constance exhaled, as if disappointed. As if she was dreading whatever she had just decided. She turned and descended the stairs. She didn’t ask Adeline to follow, but the younger woman fell in behind her.