The peculiar old man had a curved spine and liver spots atop his bald head. He was welcoming and at the same time cold. He loved her and at the same time despised her. He kept a watchful eye as though she might turn on him at any moment, yet he not only trusted her in his kitchen—her kitchen, as he now called it—he trusted her with his most personal and favored of all assets: his bank accounts.
He was the founder and CEO of a global accounting firm, as well as an entrepreneur who, in his younger years, began many companies he still held shares in today. Or so the rumors went. He was known as one of the wealthiest businessmen in the western United States, and highly respected—or feared—by most. But there was one thing Elizabeth had always found odd in his trust of her. He had a countless supply of experienced and ingenious accountants readily available at the tips of his fingers, yet Elizabeth managed his money. Elizabeth, who knew nothing of money and had never cared to. She had told him this in the beginning, but he insisted. He gave her strict directions about what went where and when, but that was all he’d ever said on the matter, other than, “I trust you, Elizabeth.” And she was the only one he trusted. No one touched his accounts, most of the time not even him. With someone like her, he said—someone naïve on the matter—he didn’t need to worry about scandals and misdeeds.
And here she was, sitting at his oversized dining table that looked more like a conference table, imagining how simple it would be to do as her brother asked: steal from her trusting employer, Mr. Vanderzee.
Really, it would be simple. He had three accounts, one of which had always struck her as odd. It never served a purpose she could see. He never wanted anything withdrawn and never spoke a word of its function. Like a second savings account, it only accumulated money. It was his smallest, barely 1.2 million—chump change in comparison to his other accounts, which themselves were chump change to the wealth he had invested. And never did he keep tabs on it; never did he give it a second thought. Her instructions were simple, and as long as she kept adding to it, he never laid eyes on it. Even the bank trusted her with Mr. Vanderzee’s money—with his life. It was her they associated with Mr. Vanderzee’s accounts, her they let make every decision. If money needed to be withdrawn or transferred, no one would ask.
She’d never stolen a cent in her life—never stolen so much as a crumb. And the previous night, after Willem had left her apartment, it hadn’t even been a question for her. No matter what, she would never betray Mr. Vanderzee that way. She would never let anything—even a death threat—take her integrity.
But as the day had worn on and the same haunting image of Willem frequented her mind—the one of him as a child, making her promise to always protect him—she found her determination waning. She found her palms sweaty and her hands trembling. She found her head aching and her stomach in knots. She found her mind distant and her heart heavy. Even Mr. Vanderzee had stepped outside his cold boundaries that morning and asked what troubled her. She would never tell him, though, never ask for the favor. It would only weaken her in his eyes, and he would always refuse. So she’d simply smiled and taken his dishes to the sink, side-stepping the question.
But she had to do something.
Willem. Shot point-blank in the head.
A swelling sickness rose in her stomach, leaving her faint, and she ran to the bathroom just in time for the recently polished toilet to catch her heaving stomach. How she threw anything up was beyond comprehension, since she hadn’t eaten since the evening before. And she threw up until her stomach was a hard knot, having nothing left to give the toilet.
Still, no tears. Just a sick stomach, clammy hands, and an acrid taste in her mouth.
She flushed the toilet, washed her face, rinsed her mouth, and left the bathroom. Picking up her phone, she dialed Willem’s number, all the while fingering the locket around her neck. Her father had given it to her for her fourteenth birthday: a long silver chain with an engraved circular locket at the end, stuffed with a picture of her as a child on one side and a seven-year-old Willem on the other. He’d told her it was so she would always remember who Willem really was. So she would remember they were a pair.
“Beth,” Willem answered in a panic. “You change your mind?”
Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth. She hated herself, along with him. “I’ll meet you and the Paddock brothers tonight. I’ll have it all.”
Chapter 5
A light knock roused Elizabeth from a sleep so deep even dreams eluded her. With half her face in the pillow, her eyelids opened with difficulty. She could tell by the gray-lit motel room it was just barely past sunrise, and her heavy eyelids began to close again. The knock sounded a second time, louder than the first. A timid voice followed, muffled through the door. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ashton.”
Elizabeth tried not to groan while escaping the sheets twisted around her. She wiped her eyes on her way to the door and opened it to find Anita Thurman, eyes apologetic and hands holding Elizabeth’s jacket. The neckline of her flowery, simple blouse was lower than her sweater had been the previous night, displaying a small golden cross dangling from her neck. Her hair—auburn with an accent of silver—had been neatly pinned back with gold-colored barrettes on both sides and her almost nonexistent eyelashes were free of makeup.
“I’m very sorry,” Anita said. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Sheriff says the sooner he and Brian can get your car back here, the better. They’ll be waiting at the diner for you.” She held out her jacket. “Here. You left this in the office last night.”
Elizabeth took it while tucking her hair, which was a ratted mess, behind her ear. Her jacket wasn’t just dry. “You…cleaned it?”
“Oh, it was nothing. Just wiped some of the mud off is all.”
“Anita, thank you. For all the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Ms. Ashton. We’re just happy to have you, as temporary as it may be.”
“Please, it’s Beth.”
“All right, Beth.” Anita smiled, displaying a charming set of crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. There was a certain shyness, or innocence, Elizabeth liked about her. She began walking away, but turned back. She took Elizabeth’s hand with a slight hesitation, letting her smile fall. Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “I’ve been thanking the Lord all morning.” At Elizabeth’s confusion, she went on, “Bill and I pray for the safety of this town every night, and I’m just grateful you were included in His protection.”
Elizabeth only smiled, squeezing Anita’s hand.
“Are you…doing all right since…well, since last night?”
“Really, I’m fine,” Elizabeth replied, trying to keep her voice light and her smile gracious. She hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror since her pit stop the night before, but the sight must be something awful since everyone treated her like the battered victim she wasn’t. It had been that way ever since she’d fixed up Eustace’s hand at the diner, ever since they’d learned about her encounter with the monster. And perhaps Elizabeth should be bent out of shape. Perhaps she was crazy, since the recent events of her normal life distressed her more than a deathly encounter with a beast from another world.
“I just hope you realize how blessed you are to be standing here, Beth. And I know you probably want nothing to do with this place now, but you’re always welcome here.”
Elizabeth nodded, speechless. Knowing she was welcome anywhere, even a place as small as Hemlock Veils, warmed her heart in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Anita gave one last smile and squeeze of Elizabeth’s hand before walking away.