Chapter 9

  Ellie’s body locks in place.

  Why did Rook leave?

  It’s his crime scene.

  Then, a woman emerges from the shadows of the hallway — she must have been in the bedroom when they entered the condo.

  She looks mid-forties, maybe — effortlessly polished.

  Her dark hair is swept into a loose chignon.

  The woman pauses when she sees Ellie standing there — a slight tilt of her head, as if studying a curious animal that has wandered in by mistake.

  "Oh. It’s you," the woman says.

  This is not the reaction Ellie expected.

  She had imagined whoever was inside would be shocked — maybe even call the police over her intrusion.

  But now, the woman looks as though she recognizes Ellie — while Ellie has no memory of her at all.

  Ellie remains frozen.

  The woman’s unreadable gaze lingers on her.

  There’s a slight hint of amusement playing at her lips — and Ellie can’t quite understand why.

  “Ellie,” the woman turns back to her and strides to the sofa, patting on the grey sofa gently as she sits, “come, sit with me.”

  Recognizing Ellie is shocking enough, the woman actually knows her name. Ellie wonders how much the woman knows about her.

  As if being hypnotized, Ellie drags her feet to the sofa and sits next to the woman.

  "Ellie," the woman says, turning back to her as she strides toward the sofa. She pats the grey leather gently before sitting down.

  "Come, sit with me."

  Recognizing Ellie was shocking enough — but the woman actually knowing her name?

  Ellie stiffens, wondering how much the woman knows about her.

  As if hypnotized, Ellie does it.

  "Ellie," the woman says again, narrowing her eyes into a dangerously thin slit before letting out a low chuckle.

  "You don’t remember me?"

  Trapped in the condo with someone who seems to belong here — who knows this space far better than she does — Ellie can only obey.

  She lowers her eyes and shakes her head.

  The woman snorts — an unexpectedly sharp sound.

  "I’m Mrs. Todd," she says, pausing deliberately to study Ellie’s face.

  "Well... the widow of Mr. Todd now."

  It’s not entirely unexpected.

  That had been Ellie’s first thought when she saw the woman standing here.

  But still — why would she know her?

  Mrs. Todd leans back on the sofa, one arm draped over the back, her posture casual — too casual for a new widow.

  Her eyes stay fixed on Ellie, sharp and knowing.

  "You used to come around," she says lightly, almost musing.

  Ellie stiffens.

  "I…" she starts, but no real words form.

  Mrs. Todd smiles slowly, like she’s watching a child try to solve a puzzle far too big for her.

  "You don’t remember, do you?"

  Ellie’s throat feels dry.

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  The room feels smaller now, like it’s closing in on her with every breath she takes.

  "Well, it’s not important now," the woman says, patting her knees as if announcing the end of that conversation — her knowing Ellie, and Ellie having been here before.

  Ellie continues to study the woman in front of her, but none of her features strike her as familiar.

  "He’s dead now," the woman says flatly, as if the deceased means nothing to her.

  A thought crosses Ellie’s mind — a thought that sends a chill down her spine — and the words slip from her lips faster than her brain can process:

  "Did you kill him?"

  For a moment, the room holds its breath.

  Then, Mrs. Todd lets out a soft, almost musical laugh.

  She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her face now much closer to Ellie’s.

  "You’re funny," she says, her voice dropping to something almost fond.

  "Na?ve, but funny."

  The corners of her mouth curve into a cryptic smile.

  "Dead men have so many ways of finding death," she adds.

  "And sometimes, they don’t need any help at all."

  Mrs. Todd straightens up, smoothing an invisible crease from her trousers.

  Ellie’s skin crawls.

  She still doesn’t know if the woman has just confessed to something — or nothing at all.

  "The police say Mr. Todd took his own life," Ellie says, watching her reaction closely, carefully.

  Mrs. Todd nods.

  "Then it must have been a suicide," she replies, her voice light — too light.

  Something twists sharply in Ellie’s gut.

  The casual way Mrs. Todd speaks about her late husband's death unsettles her more than she can explain.

  This is not grief.

  This is not even anger.

  "But there are flaws in the evidence the police found," Ellie says, still unable to believe how easily the widow accepts whatever the police claim at surface value.

  Mrs. Todd narrows her eyes, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she mulls over Ellie’s words.

  "What flaws?"

  Ellie takes a deep breath.

  Great.

  The one person she’s supposed to seek approval from before revealing anything — Rook — isn’t here.

  And Ellie isn’t sure if she should divulge what he told her about the investigation.

  "I thought it was quite conclusive that he ended his own life," Mrs. Todd says, her tone light but suggestive, clearly trying to coax more information out of Ellie.

  "No, it’s not," Ellie blurts out — almost too quickly, falling straight into the trap.

  Mrs. Todd’s expression doesn’t change immediately.

  But something behind her eyes sharpens.

  “No? You mean not conclusive?” she repeats, her voice soft.

  “Interesting… I was under the impression the case was quite tidy.”

  Ellie’s throat tightens.

  Even though she doesn’t say a word, her face says enough — she does not agree with that impression.

  “I wonder who told you that,” Mrs. Todd adds, her words smooth and slow, carefully measured.

  “As far as I know, only the police and family were given access to those details.”

  Ellie suddenly wishes Rook would walk through that door.

  Now.

  Mrs. Todd leans back again, crossing one leg over the other, her fingers now tapping slowly on her knee.

  "You’ve come back to look for something, haven’t you?" she asks.

  The words are deeper than her casual tone suggests.

  Ellie doesn’t respond.

  "More evidence, maybe?"

  Mrs. Todd glances sideways at her, her expression unreadable.

  "As if the truth might still be lying around somewhere… waiting to be found."

  The way she says truth makes Ellie’s chest tighten.

  Ellie says nothing. She can’t. Her tongue feels like stone.

  "Suicide is a tragic thing," Mrs. Todd continues, her voice dropping lower, though her eyes never leave Ellie’s.

  "Clean. Simple. It gives people closure. There’s no need to drag others into this… no need to look for what isn’t there."

  Her words settle heavily between them — not quite a warning, not quite a threat, but close.

  Ellie opens her mouth, but no words form.

  What does she mean?

  Does she know Mr. Todd’s death wasn’t a suicide — and simply wants to leave it that way?

  What is her role in all of this?

  Then Ellie hears a faint sound coming from the shadows of the hallway.

  She freezes again.

  Is there someone else in the house?

  Her wide, owlish eyes remain fixed on Mrs. Todd, as if pretending not to hear it will make that unseen presence disappear.

  "You should really leave the case…"

  Mrs. Todd’s voice fades into a dull buzz in her ears.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie catches a glimpse — a figure emerging briefly from the hallway shadows, only to retreat just as quickly.

  Her breath stops.

  Unmistakably, it was Madam Odette.

  Even in the dark, Ellie is almost certain.

  The silhouette. The posture. The way she turned and disappeared again.

  Despite the heaviness in her legs, Ellie forces herself to stand.

  Mrs. Todd doesn't flinch.

  She doesn't even look surprised.

  She simply watches.

  And in Ellie’s mind, only one question rings clear now:

  What is Madam Odette doing here?

  And the next:

  Is Mrs. Todd also involved in Mr. Todd’s death?

  Ellie doesn’t remember making the decision to move.

  She turns and bolts for the door, yanking it open and stumbling into the corridor.

  She doesn’t look back.

  By the time she bursts through the side entrance and into the open air, her lungs are burning.

  The street is quiet.

  Too quiet.

  She spins toward where Rook had parked his car.

  Nothing.

  The black sedan is gone.

  Where the hell is Rook?

  She stands frozen on the pavement, the cold biting through her clothes.

  Her breath clouds the air in ragged bursts.

  She is alone.

  Utterly alone.