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Sucking in a breath, Isobel rapped twice.
More seconds ticked by, and the urge to bolt grew strong, as if, by knocking, she had somehow triggered the countdown of a bomb.
Her fear stemmed less from the prospect of facing Darcy than it did from being this near to the house itself. Monsters, in one form or another, had shown up each time she’d entered its walls.
Thudding footsteps, heavy and fast, interrupted Isobel’s thoughts. She shifted, her uneasiness escalating, because those footsteps didn’t sound like they belonged to—
An enormous figure filled the stained-glass window. The door opened, and a man dressed in a spotless gray business suit—the exact twin to the one she’d seen in the dreamworld attic, complete with red tie and silver cufflinks—appraised her with a hardened glare.
“Yes,” Mr. Nethers said, holding the door open by a foot, as if he needed only one half of a good reason to send it slamming home again. “What is it?”
“I—I” Isobel stammered. She hadn’t expected Varen’s father to be home. Not this early in the day. “Um—”
As she scanned her brain for something comprehensible to say, she couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s six-foot stature, his bulky shoulders and steely gaze. This, after all, was the first time she’d ever encountered Varen’s father one-on-one, in person.
On the night Mr. Nethers had stormed up to his son’s bedroom in a drunken temper, shouting slurred obscenities at him, she’d caught only a brief flash of the man’s face from the closet where Varen had forced her to hide. Red and blotchy, knotted with fury, that face had seemed like an ogre’s.
And early last month, Isobel had glimpsed Varen’s father a second time through a keyhole after he had entered Bruce’s shop looking for Varen. Sober but just as angry, Mr. Nethers had slammed his giant fist on the countertop, issuing threats and demanding answers of the elderly bookstore owner.
But here, up close, Mr. Nethers looked drawn and tired, sapped of his ferocity. His soot-colored hair hung loose in greasy strands around his ashen features, as if he’d run his hands through it a thousand times that morning. Heavy bags underlined his leaden, red-rimmed eyes, and their hooded dullness made her wonder if he’d already been drinking.
“How old are you?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school right now?”
Unbidden, a string of accusatory counter-questions began flipping through Isobel’s head like cue cards, making it impossible for her to conjure a single excuse.
“I—I’m—”
“Isobel.”
Mr. Nethers swiveled his head in the direction of the soft gasp from within the house.
Over his shoulder, Isobel saw Darcy approaching. Still dressed in the black slacks and pumps from earlier, she moved toward them with purpose, her silk blouse rippling.
“Joe,” Darcy said, placing a manicured hand on his shoulder, “I forgot to tell you. I went ahead and posted that ad for a housekeeper. I know you said you weren’t sure, but I thought it would help to take some of the stress off.”
“Her?” He squinted at Isobel, his upper lip twitching into a sneer. “She’s a kid.”
“Who needs an after-school job,” Darcy replied.
Isobel kept quiet, eyes flitting between the two as she waited to see if Darcy’s fib would convince him.
“Except it’s not after school.” Mr. Nethers checked his wristwatch. “Not nearly.”
Darcy took the door from him. “I found the aspirin,” she said. “I packed it with your lunch in the kitchen. You’d better take it with you, though, or else you might as well go ahead and take the rest of the day off.”
“I can’t afford to take the rest of the day off,” he snapped, irritably stripping his watch from his wrist. “Especially not since, apparently, we’re hiring a housekeeper.” He broke away, adjusting the watch as he headed toward the back hall. “And if you’ve got time to post a want ad,” he called as he went, “then you’ve got time to post a sale ad for that damn car.”
“It’s not mine to post,” Darcy said, her voice flat, resigned.
“Post the car, Darcy.”
With that, Mr. Nethers swept from the room, disappearing down the hall.
Isobel knew they had to be arguing over the Cougar, confirming her suspicions that Bruce had indeed bequeathed the car to Varen.
“Please come inside,” Darcy said, stepping back, making room for Isobel to enter. “You must be freezing out there without a coat.”
Folding her arms against shivers that had nothing to do with the cold, Isobel stared past the woman, into the mouthlike doorway. Soft yellow light bathed the foyer within.
