Chapter 5 - A Trap Inside the Mansion
The footsteps on the staircase were coming from the service entrance, fast and heavy.
I slammed the flip phone shut and shoved it deep into my apron pocket just as the door handle jiggled.
It wasn't Christopher; it was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had served Christopher’s branch of the family for decades.
She was a stern woman with eyes like polished flint and a reputation for reporting everything to Christopher.
"What is that smell in here?" Mrs. Gable demanded, sniffing the air with deep suspicion.
She marched straight toward the bed, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the stripped linens in my arms.
"The patient had an involuntary bladder release, Mrs. Gable," I said, pitching my voice with just the right amount of embarrassed apology.
"The fever made him sweat through the top mattress protector."
"I'm taking them down to the industrial laundry immediately."
Mrs. Gable stepped forward, her bony hand reaching out to touch the wet patch on the mattress.
If she smelled the chemical pungency of the neuro-toxin, our entire ruse would crumble right there.
Just as her fingers were inches from the fabric, Theodore woke up in his travel crib and unleashed a piercing, terrified shriek.
Mrs. Gable recoiled instantly, clutching her temples with a snarl of disgust.
"Keep that filthy creature quiet!" she barked, turning her back on the bed to glare at my crying son.
"Christopher was right, bringing a common street girl into this house was a grotesque mistake."
"Get these sheets washed and get that child muffled before Mr. Christopher returns from the downtown club."
"Yes, ma'am, right away," I whispered, bowing my head in fake submission.
She huffed and stormed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.
I let out a ragged breath, picking up Theodore and rocking him against my chest.
"Good boy, Theodore," I whispered, kissing his damp forehead.
"You saved our lives that time."
I gathered the contaminated sheets, bundling them tightly to hide the scent, and carried them down the back stairs.
Instead of putting them into the laundry chute, I slipped out through the conservatory door into the freezing rain.
I shoved the wet bundle deep inside a sealed garbage bag and hid it beneath the wooden floorboards of the old garden shed.
This was physical evidence of attempted murder; Arthur Vance would need every single drop for the federal prosecutor.
When I returned to the mansion through the service corridor, I saw Christopher standing in the grand foyer.
He was talking to two men in dark trench coats who carried heavy leather folders.
"He won't make it to Friday," Christopher was saying with a cold, predatory smile.
"Have the estate transfer deeds drawn up for tomorrow evening."
"I want everything signed, sealed, and ready to file the second the coroner issues the certificate."
My blood ran ice cold as I shrank into the shadow of the staircase.
Tomorrow evening.
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Dr. Wallace and Christopher weren't going to wait seventy-two hours anymore.
They were going to accelerate the timeline and execute Raymond Winslow tomorrow night.
