Page 91 of The Triangle

The sounds behind me fade quickly once I reach this level. And the hallway makes an abrupt ninety-degree turn. I end up at the bottom of another flight of stairs and I suddenly realize—I have no clue what this place is. I’m incapable of forming a mental map of it in my mind.

It’s a very large tree house maze made of glass and concrete.

So strange, so odd, so… intriguing.

At the top of the stairs is a massive room. Like a ballroom, maybe. I don’t know how one would hold a party out here, so why this is necessary, I have no clue. But who can predict the whims of the über-rich, right?

In the corner is a concert grand piano.

I stop. Take a breath. And think about it for a moment.

My head still hurts, I haven’t found the bedrooms—if any exist on this side of the house to begin with—and I have an overwhelming urge to touch those keys.

So I walk over to it, take a seat, catch my breath as I look out at the view of the lake and surrounding mountains, and place my fingers on the keys.

I don’t know a lot of songs. Just three. And I’m not any kind of professional musician. But the ones I do know I practiced relentlessly and a moment later the sweet sound of Schumann’s Scenes from Childhood fills the room.

I like this piece for three reasons.

One. You can play it softly. It’s a soft song to begin with, but it’s very easy to adjust the pressure of your fingertips to make it even softer. Like a warm blanket that wants to cover you on a cold autumn evening.

Two. Because the scenes I remember best from my childhood are all filled with Danny. The later ones have Alec too, but I wasn’t a child anymore when Alec joined our family. Those years Danny and I were together are all I have left of the little girl I once was.

And three… it’s happy even when I try my best to make it sad.

I play it very soft now. I need that blanket.

Because something is terribly wrong here.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - DANNY

“What’s down that way?” I ask Alec. We both watch Christine disappear through the glass hallway.

“I have no clue, friend. But the kitchen’s this way. And I think making a meal with what we have is going to be challenging.”

“Typical,” I say.

“How so?”

I follow Alec down the hallway the opposite direction of where Christine disappeared and get an overwhelming feeling of dread.

And I know that the anxiety I’m feeling is mostly due to the whole turning-Alec-over-to-Brasil plan I came up with and am now regretting.

But there’s something else too.

Something with Christine.

“You know,” I say, sighing, “we always had a few hundred thousand dollars of diamonds on us, and we’d be on our way to a luxury yacht that would take us to paradise, but we’d have to hitchhike to get to the marina.”

“It’s called improvising, bru. And besides, we always made it.”

“Yeah, but I like a plan.”

“Like that plan you had back at your garage? The extra escape route?” He laughs. It’s not a mean taunt. Just a true one.

“Yeah, well. I had the guns. And the Jeep.”

“That you did,” Alec says, opening up the pantry door. “And we made it. Which is the only thing that matters.” I join him in the opening and we both stare at the shelves. “Assuming we have pots,” he says. “I guess we’ll be eating pasta.”