Isabella and the Slipper, page 18
He wondered how she slept at night. This room would creep him out.
“Nice,” he said, not knowing where to land his gaze. “What other rooms are up here?”
She pouted a little but led him out. She opened the door she’d skipped and brought him into Isabella’s room. He held in a gasp. Her bed was gone, as were her paintings. The closet was bare. There was no trace of her left. “This is the master bedroom,” Delilah said. “I’ll be moving in here soon. This room has the best view of the house.”
She tugged him over to the sliding-glass doors and brought him out onto the balcony. He looked over the city lights, trying to hide the emotion surging in him.
What had they done to Isabella? It was like they erased her.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking at Delilah while trying not to show his disgust on his face.
She giggled and fluffed her hair. “Come on. Let’s go watch a movie.”
He took her hand. “You haven’t shown me the rest of the upstairs.”
She waved her hand. “Not much more to see.”
“That’s okay. Show me anyway.”
Delilah sighed and took him to the hallway. The next door she opened and pointed. “This is Ava’s room.” The walls were pink. He nodded, but didn’t go in.
She pulled him past the next door, and he stopped. “What’s this door?” He reached out and turned the knob, but it was locked.
Delilah yanked him past the door. “That’s the attic. Nothing up there except for spiders.” She made a face.
An overwhelming urge to kick open the door came over Chase. That had to be where they were keeping Isabella, right? He clenched his teeth and stopped himself from saying something. Somehow, he had to find a way to prove she was being held up in the attic.
Delilah pointed to the next room. “Here’s my mother’s room.”
He peeked in to see a huge four-poster bed and dark, royal colors on the walls. “Nice.”
“And that’s it,” Delilah said. “That’s everything.”
Before he could say anything, she was pulling him down the hall toward the stairs. He had no choice. He had to follow her.
When they got back to the living room, he went to the wireless speaker system, getting an idea. “Do you want to dance? We didn’t get to dance much at the fall formal.”
She grinned. “Sure. I’ll go get my music.”
He grabbed her hand. “How about if I pair my phone and play one of my favorite slow songs?”
While she batted her eyes and nodded her head, he took out his phone. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get up to the attic to see if Isabella was up there, but he could send her a message. The first strums of the guitar started, and he cranked up the volume before taking Delilah in his arms.
Isabella lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. She had no idea if it was still Friday. Time seemed weird with no sunlight to measure it by. She’d eaten all the crusty bread Elenore had brought her earlier. Her stomach gnawed at her. Elenore said there’d be no more food until Isabella produced another painting.
Isabella defiantly refused to give in. At least for now. She was sure once the hunger grew to a painful roar she’d break down and comply.
By habit, she reached into her back pocket before realizing her mother’s photo was no longer there. She closed her eyes and tried to picture what her mother looked like. Panic flamed in her until she could see her clearly in her mind’s eye. She wondered how long it would take before the image would fade.
A tear slid out the corner of her eye and traveled down her temple to her hairline. She thought she’d cried them all. Guess there were still a few left. She wondered where Chase was right now. Was he sleeping? Or was he thinking about her?
A faint sound came from below, and she tried to pinpoint it. There had been no sounds coming through the floorboards. No quiet hum of the central air system. Nothing but aggravating silence. This new sound, though faint, reminded her of something.
She sat up straight, her heart pounding. Music. It was “Yesterday,” by the Beatles.
Chase was downstairs!
She ran to the door and pounded, screaming as loud as she could. “Chase! I’m up here!”
The faint sound of the music continued, and she stopped yelling. If she could hear the music, it had to be very loud. He wouldn’t hear her. She waited until the song ended, then began pounding again. “I’m up here!” she screamed.
She continued to pummel the door and yell as loud as she could until her voice grew hoarse. No one came. She collapsed back onto the blanket, her heart racing.
Maybe Chase couldn’t come rescue her, but he knew she was here. He had to. The song was for her.
She lay back down on the blanket, a new sense of hope rising in her chest.
Chapter 27
Delilah made a face. “It’s a little loud, isn’t it?” she yelled over the music.
Chase pulled her closer. “I like it loud,” he shouted in her ear.
As he swayed to the music, Delilah seemed to accept his explanation and kept quiet. They danced through the song, and when it ended, Chase hugged Delilah to him.
“That was—”
“Shh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. “Let’s not talk. Let’s feel the moment.” Delilah fell silent, and Chase strained to hear anything that might signal Isabella was locked up in the attic and had heard his song.
He listened to his own heart beating in his ears as the seconds ticked by on the clock. Nothing. Disappointment grew heavy in his limbs. Maybe she wasn’t being held up there after all. He pulled back and smiled at Delilah.
“That was nice,” he said.
She grinned at him. “That’s your favorite song? Seems kind of depressing, don’t you think?”
“It’s The Beatles. It’s a classic.” He pocketed his phone, unsure of what else to do. If Isabella wasn’t in the house, he hated to think what else might have happened to her.
Delilah shoved him toward the couch. “Let’s watch a movie.”
He inwardly sighed. Now he was stuck there with Delilah. Ugh.
“Okay.”
He put his arm around her after she turned on some lame chick flick. Halfway through the movie, Elenore came home with Ava. They had arms full of shopping bags, and Ava gave Delilah an impish grin before they disappeared into the other room.
The movie lasted another hour, and when the credits started to roll he stood and stretched his arms. “I’d better get going.”
Delilah hopped up. “So soon? Can you come over tomorrow?”
With no evidence of Isabella in the house, he had no reason to come back. And luckily, he had a great excuse. “Sorry, I have a social event for my upcoming film I have to attend.” He’d promised his mother he’d go, even though he didn’t want to act for a living. It was a party for the cast, and even with a small part, he was invited.
“Maybe Sunday, then?”
He moved toward the door. “Maybe,” he said, giving her a smile.
Or maybe he’d skip town.
Delilah wrapped herself around his arm like a snake trying to squeeze the life out of its prey. “Do I get a goodnight kiss?”
Resisting the urge to gag, he stepped out onto the front steps. “Close your eyes.”
She puckered her lips and closed her eyes. He picked up her hand, pressed his lips to the back, and then scampered down the steps to the sidewalk.
“Good night!” he called as he sprinted to his car.
He sighed as he climbed in. That hadn’t gone as planned.
Chapter 28
Soft music played from the live band in the corner of the room. Chase straightened his tie and glanced around the large home. This was the kind of house that was meant for lavish gatherings, with the huge chandelier, the open floor plan, and the swinging doors to the kitchen so staff could constantly bring more hors d’œuvres.
His mother nudged him. “Mingle.”
He walked farther into the room and joined the female costar, Mel, who was standing with an older gentleman, chatting about what a hit the movie was going to be. Mel sipped a glass of sparkling something and grinned. “The screenplay is brilliant.”
The man chuckled. “Thank you.”
Chase nodded his head. “I thought the dialogue was fresh.” That was his go-to compliment when talking to a writer.
The man puffed out his chest. “And you are?”
Chase stuck out his hand. “Chase Hawkins.”
“Ah, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” He went on to talk about the screenplay, but Chase’s gaze had wandered.
Suddenly, he froze.
Isabella’s poppy painting was hanging on the far wall in the other room. He excused himself and made his way through the crowd of people.
His mother followed him. “That was rude.”
“Sorry,” he said absently. “This painting. I know it.”
A man with pure-white hair turned around and smiled at him. Jack Manning, the one throwing the party. “It’s stunning, isn’t it? I just acquired it. It’s a Shephard original.”
Chase’s heart pounded. “Isabella Shephard?”
Jack’s eyebrows knitted together. “No. Anthony Shephard. The famous Los Angeles artist who tragically died a few years ago. This was in his private collection. I picked it up for less than two million.”
Looking closer, he saw the signature in the corner. Anthony Shephard. It hadn’t been there in Isabella’s photo. Chase swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
Isabella’s paintings. She said her stepmother would sometimes take them. Elenore must be selling them as Anthony’s work.
And if that was the case, there was no way she’d let that money train go. Isabella had to be locked up in the attic.
Why hadn’t she heard his song? Then a new thought entered his mind. What if she were drugged? What if he needed to get to her right away?
A sense of urgency rose in him. “This isn’t a Shephard original. You should call the police. Excuse me.” He left Jack, his eyes wide, and moved his way through the crowd to the door.
His mother grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? Why are you acting this way?”
“I have to go. Something urgent has come up. I can’t explain it now, but can you call Dad and have him come get you? I need the car.”
His mother frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Isabella’s in trouble.”
She fished her keys out of her purse and handed them to him. “I trust you.”
Heart racing, he grabbed the keys and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.” As he climbed into his mother’s car, he dialed 911.
Chase rang the doorbell a second time, his palms sweaty. He was going to sweet-talk Delilah into letting him into the attic. That was his only plan. Talking to the emergency dispatch hadn’t gone too well. He sounded like a lunatic, raving about a forged signature on a painting and a girl being held hostage. After ten minutes of getting nowhere, he hung up. He was sure he was now on some watch list somewhere.
The house was silent. If they weren’t home, maybe that was a good thing. He knew how to get in. Picking his way around the house, he crept toward the lattice. A quick glance around told him no one was watching. Their home was private, with large hedges shielding them from the neighbors. He climbed up the side of the house and over Isabella’s balcony.
The sliding glass door wasn’t locked, so he slipped inside. Isabella’s room looked the same as yesterday. He crept out into the hallway and examined the locked attic door. There was a keyhole under the handle, much like the old skeleton keys would open, but it looked modern instead.
He had to find the keys.
He walked down to Elenore’s bedroom and flipped on the light. No bowl of keys lay about, easy to find, so he started opening drawers and cabinets. He was rewarded when he pulled open the drawer on her nightstand. A ring of keys rattled, and he grabbed them.
It was obvious which one opened the attic door. He shoved it into the keyhole and turned it, hearing a click as it unlocked. He threw open the door and ran up the stairs only to find another locked door. He pounded on it. “Isabella?”
A muffled noise came from behind the door. “Chase?” He could barely hear her.
His heart pumped faster, his fingers trembling. “I’m coming!” he yelled. He peered at the lock. A deadbolt, just like any other. He turned the ring of keys in his hand. He’d have to try them all.
The sound of the front door opening wafted up the steps, and he froze. Voices carried. Delilah laughed. They were home. Panic flooded him, and he ran down the stairs to close the first door. If he were quiet, maybe he wouldn’t be detected until he got Isabella out of there.
He crept back up the stairs in the pitch blackness. He felt around for the deadbolt keyhole and then tried the first key. It didn’t fit. He continued, and had tried several of them when one key slipped and he dropped the ring, making a clinking noise as the keys hit one another. He froze, listening. He couldn’t hear anything except his own heartbeat, so he picked up the keys again and started over.
His own breathing sounded loud in the quiet stairwell. It seemed to take forever until he finally got one key to slide into the hole. He turned it. The door opened, and light flooded over him.
Isabella threw her arms around him. “You came!”
“Shh,” he said, hugging her close, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He shut the door behind him. “Your stepmother came home as I was trying to unlock the door,” he whispered. “They’re downstairs.”
She sobbed into his shirt. “I wasn’t sure you would find me. How did you know where I was?”
He stroked her hair. “Your poppy painting. I saw it hanging in a Hollywood producer’s home. It had your father’s signature on it.”
“She’s forcing me to make more.”
“I know.”
His mind reeled as to what he should do next. Charge downstairs with Isabella and barge their way outside? That was better than waiting up in the attic to be discovered. He pulled back and took her hand.
“We need to get out of here. Let’s try to sneak out quietly, but if we’re seen, be prepared to make a run for it.”
She nodded, and he opened the door. They crept down the carpeted stairs to the bottom door. He listened. No sounds filtered through. He pushed it open.
The hallway was empty. He gripped Isabella’s hand and walked toward her old room. The door creaked as he pushed it open. He froze, listening. Nothing. Had Elenore left again? He didn’t want to wait to find out. He tugged Isabella through her room and to the sliding-glass door. The curtains billowed inward with the breeze. He must have left it open.
Isabella swung her leg over the balcony and found purchase on the lattice. She descended and he followed, his heart pounding. He climbed down and jumped the rest of the way.
Elenore came around the side of the house. “Well, isn’t this unfortunate.” She pointed a hot pink revolver at him. He froze. Isabella’s eyes grew wide.
Delilah appeared and grabbed Isabella. Isabella started to scream, but Delilah clamped her hand over her mouth. Ava picked her way over to them.
Elenore grabbed Chase’s arm and tugged him toward the cliff, her revolver pointed at his head. He didn’t struggle for fear the gun would go off. Elenore clicked her tongue. “This has really been a sad turn of events, Isabella.”
“Should have stayed away from him,” Delilah hissed in Isabella’s ear.
“The police are out looking for you, Isabella, but they won’t find you.” Elenore’s grip on his arm tightened.
Ava’s eyes grew wide. “Why not?”
Elenore cast a weary glance at Ava. “Because she’ll be locked in the attic.”
“Oh.” Ava nodded. “Yeah.”
Elenore frowned. “This all could have been avoided if you’d have cooperated, you stupid girl. I told you to stay away from the boy.”
“He’s mine,” Delilah said. Chase stared at her in disbelief.
How delusional were these people?
Elenore continued. “But you wouldn’t listen.” She got a hard look in her eyes. “I’ve never understood why you were the lucky one. I should have been the one with the talent. I worked hard all my life for it. But no. I was never good enough. But you? It never was a struggle for you. And I’m not going back to the streets, sweetheart. I’m smarter than that.”
Elenore glared at Isabella, her stare murderous.
What was she talking about? She wasn’t making any sense. She was out of her mind.
Isabella’s gaze connected with his. She made the slightest movement with her head.
What was she trying to tell him? Did she want him to pounce now, or was she shaking her head saying no, don’t move?
“Isabella, pay attention. This is what happens when we don’t do as we’re told. This is all your doing.” Elenore took a step toward the edge of the cliff, forcing him to come with her.
Delilah shrieked. “What are you going to do?”
Elenore met her with a cold gaze. “Chase here is too distraught over his girlfriend running away. He’s going to throw himself off the cliff.”
Chase had no intention of letting that happen. He readied himself and gave Isabella a hard look.
“What?” Delilah’s face drained of color.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re fond of this one. But we can’t have him messing up our plans.”
“But you can’t!” Delilah’s shrill voice filled the air. “I love him!”
Isabella shoved Delilah, and she fell on her butt.
Chase took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed for the gun. Elenore’s grip was strong, and he couldn’t get her fingers off. They struggled, the gun waving up in the air. A loud bang sounded.
“Mother!” Delilah screamed, getting up from the ground. “Don’t you hurt him!”
Chase managed to wrestle the gun away from Elenore. He backed up from her, the gun pointed at her head. “Don’t move.” His was voice surprisingly steady.
