Page 79 of Bitter Lies

Once I’ve gathered all the evidence I need to tackle this headache, I give Bear the green light to do his thing.

He picks up an unfamiliar scent within seconds, moving fast. It’s sending him on a frantic hunt, almost as if it’s guiding him through the sequence of events.

If he’s right, Rico died first. The killer searched afterward, his movements wild and desperate.

When Bear’s done, he bolts from the room and stops at the locked door again. His head tilts to look up at me, letting me know we need to get inside the gallery. Whatever is behind that door is important. Vital to solving this.

I pat his head and scratch behind his ears. “Good boy. You did good. We’ll play later, after we search for the key. You can help.”

He barks and flops down in front of it.

Guess he’s guarding this room. I’m not about to argue. He’s never led me wrong. I can’t wait to learn what’s hidden inside.

Chapter 30

Isabel

The second I open the door, heat and smoke hit me. It’s thick. Impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of me.

Where am I? Oxford? London? The penthouse? My mind won’t settle on any of them.

Dropping to my hands and knees, I start crawling. The carpet should be soft. It’s not. It burns against my palms. Wrong, like everything else.

Why can’t I remember where I am?

Is this what Grams feels like? Does she constantly feel like she’s battling against a force she can’t see, like I do right now?

Blinking rapidly, I keep inching forward, my eyes burning from the smoke surrounding me. Its acrid bite makes it difficult to breathe. My lungs are on fire, each breath drags a deep cough from within.

It hurts.

I keep moving. Refusing to stop.

The further I go, the more disoriented I become. No matter how hard I try, it feels like I’m getting nowhere fast. Like I’m stuck.

Then the echoes start. A crack. Loud. A gunshot. A woman’s scream splits the air.

My grandmother.

Panic spikes. I scramble to my feet, heart pounding, needing to reach her. Another deafening bang echoes. Followed by another. Driving my feet to move faster.

But again, I get nowhere.

No matter how fast I move, I can’t break through the smoke.

The room. I know it now. My grandparents’ living room. Something is off, though. It feels all wrong.

The walls melt and stretch. Shift. Making the room larger. Pushing the doorway farther from my reach.

A racking cough folds me in half, dropping me to my knees. I pound the floor, the dull thud a counterpoint to the rasping in my throat.

Then, like a trick of the mind, the smoke clears.

The silhouette of a woman stands there. Ten feet away from me.

Her long white dress flows as she moves toward me. Her dark hair spilling down her back in waves. I can’t see her face—it’s out of focus.

But I know her.