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  looking at the rumpled sheets, remembering how much she’d shared with him right there in that spot. It’d only been a few nights, and yet she’d shared more with him than she had with any other man.

  How had that happened?

  And what did it mean?

  Afraid she knew, she reached for her clothes. She’d just laced up her boots when she heard pounding feet. Going to the door, she opened it. Shelly was running toward the stairs. “Shelly?”

  Shelly stopped. Turned back. Wearing a long, flowing, flowery skirt and a blue hoodie sweatshirt with the hood up, she smiled tentatively.

  “What, you’re taking fashion lessons from Dante now?” Breanne asked.

  Shelly’s smile went from anxious to nervous as she pulled the hood off her head. Her hair wasn’t neatly pulled in its usual ponytail, but wild and uncombed. Probably from another Dante romp.

  “So where’s the fire?” Breanne asked her.

  “Fire?” Shelly’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my gosh, there’s a fire? Fire!” she screamed, and then went running.

  “No, I was just—Shelly, come back! It was just an expression, there’s no—Damn it.” Breanne took off after her, moving down the stairs.

  Daylight streamed in all the windows. It was the first time since she’d been here that she’d seen the place in full light, and she was blown away by the difference. Everything seemed warm and cozy, gorgeously simple, not gloom and doom. Above, the sky was a squinting azure blue, so big and bright as it shined through the skylights it almost hurt to look. At the bottom of the stairs, she could see through the foyer windows. Everyone was outside. Patrick and Cooper were bent over one snowmobile, its hood up. Dante was over the other one. Beside him was Lariana and . . . Shelly. She wore dark jeans and her fluffy white sweater that went to her knees, her hair up in a perfect ponytail.

  No skirt. No sweatshirt. No wild hair.

  Breanne turned and stared down the hallway past the kitchen, where she could still hear footsteps running away from her. “Shelly?” Feeling almost disembodied from reality, Breanne took one more look outside, then turned and headed down the hall. “Hello?”

  “No one’s here!”

  That was Shelly’s voice. Breanne would have sworn it, but Shelly was outside, she’d just seen her there. With goose bumps raised over every inch of her body, Breanne came to the kitchen.

  Empty. “Hello?” she called out, half afraid to get an answer.

  “I told you, no one’s here! Don’t you listen?”

  The voice hadn’t come from the kitchen. Breanne moved out of there, past the dining room, which was also empty. “Where are you?”

  “Go away!”

  The voice came from the back, the hallway with the servants’ rooms. It was darker here, but not as dark as it had been on previous visits. Uneasily, Breanne stared at the door to the cellar straight ahead, beyond which lay Edward’s body. Then she turned and eyed the other four doors, all closed.

  She could feel someone behind one of them. “Who are you?”

  “I’m not telling,” came the soft whisper. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

  Twenty-seven

  Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  Breanne stood there in the middle of the servants’ quarters, both confused and terrified. “Shelly?”

  “You like Shelly. You’re her friend.”

  The voice came from the left. Breanne took a step toward the two doors there. “Yes, I’m Shelly’s friend. Who are you?”

  “You’re nice. You’ll understand.”

  Door closest to the cellar door. The one that had been locked all this time. “Understand what?”

  “What happened.”

  Breanne froze with her hand outstretched for the handle. “With Edward?”

  Silence.

  “Who are you?” Breanne asked.

  More silence.

  “Can’t you tell me who you are?”

  “I’m not supposed to.”

  Heart pounding, Breanne wrapped her fingers around the handle. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a secret,” she whispered, sounding just like Shelly.

  But it wasn’t, Breanne knew that now. “A secret?” Damn, the door was still locked.

  “I’m supposed to stay quiet and out of trouble while Shelly does her job.”

  Breanne stared at the wood. “You’re Shelly’s sister.”

  “Yes.” A delighted giggle followed this, and then a click, and the door opened.

  Shelly’s face, and yet not. The eyes were slightly different, slightly slanted down. The mouth was fuller, softer. “I’m her twin.” She grinned. “I’m special.”

  “I bet you are,” Breanne said softly, her throat inexplicably tight. “What’s your name?”

  “Stacy.”

  “Stacy.” Breanne smiled gently. “Shelly told me she had a sister. She said you are close. She loves you very much.”

  Stacy beamed. “I love her, too. That’s why I’m real quiet. I was real quiet, wasn’t I? You didn’t even know it was me your first night here!”

  The face she’d seen hovering over her, of course. “Yes, you were real quiet.”

  “I can’t let Edward see me. He says I’m retarded, but I’m not. I’m not!”

  Breanne’s heart twisted. “That wasn’t nice of him.”

  “He’s not nice. He’s mean. I used to help Shelly, until I broke a plate. He—” She frowned, then hugged herself, turning away.

  A surge of hatred for the unknown Edward welled up. “Did he hurt you, Stacy?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about him.” She hunched tighter into herself. “He doesn’t like it. He told Shelly I couldn’t come here with her anymore.”

  “So you hid.”

  Stacy didn’t answer. Instead she began to hum very softly beneath her breath.

  “Edward’s gone now,” Breanne said softly. “He can’t yell at you. He can’t hurt you.”

  “He’s not gone!” Stacy tossed a fearful look over her shoulder at the closed cellar door. “He’s right in there. I’ve seen him!”

  “Stacy, he’s dead.”

  She blinked huge, hurt eyes at Breanne. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  At this moment, Breanne was sure of exactly nothing, except she had a fierce surge of protectiveness for this beautiful, sweet woman.

  “See, you’re not sure, either.” Stacy covered her face. “That’s why I did it. So he couldn’t hit Shelly—”

  Breanne went cold with fear, but not for herself. “Stacy, did you have something to do with Edward’s death?”

  But Stacy was no longer talking. Just humming and very slightly rocking back and forth.

  “Stacy?” Breanne stroked Stacy’s wild hair. “Can you tell me what you did? Something to protect your sister?”

  Stacy kept humming, and rocked faster.

  “Oh, Stacy.”

  “He always yelled,” she said unhappily. “He scared me. I’m glad he’s dead.” She covered her face again. “Bad Stacy.”

  “Stacy!” This shocked cry came from Shelly, standing at the end of the hallway. She looked both horrified and terrified. “Oh, honey.”

  Behind her was Dante.

  And then Cooper. “What’s going on?” he asked, locking gazes with Breanne.

  “Hi,” Stacy said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot, swiping her hand across her mouth. “Hi.”

  Shelly rushed past Breanne to pull her sister in for a hug.

  “I was quiet, like you said,” Stacy told her, gripping Shelly tight. “I was.”

  “It’s okay.” Shelly looked tortured as she rocked her sister. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Lariana crowded in, took a look. “What now—” When she saw Stacy out in the open, she sighed. “Dios mio.”

  “I was telling on myself,” Stacy told her.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Lariana pressed close and wrapped an arm around both She