Page 78 of Hide And Seek

Several heads turned toward me.

I sat up straighter. “At some point, the police are going to realize that something’s happened here, and when they do, they're going to go over everything,” I said. “And there could’ve been evidence on the bodies, right? Fingerprints, hair, skin cells.”

“So he’s cleaning up,” Jesse said, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. Or trying to, at least.”

Cole tilted his head. “He could’ve dumped them all in the lake.”

“That’d make sense,” Garrett replied grimly. “It’s easy enough to do, and it would wash off any traces he left behind.”

Maren’s gaze darted around the room. “So he was out there sneaking around while we were all in here. He could’ve been right outside and we didn’t even know.”

“He’s been close this whole time,” Tamsin said flatly. “That’s not new information.”

The truth of her words settled over the room, and one by one, people seemed to shrink inward again.

“So… what do we do?” Maren finally asked. Her voice had lost its earlier edge, worn down to something almost plaintive.

Jesse let out a long, slow breath and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “I don't know,” he said. “I really don't know.”

It was the most honest thing anyone had said in hours, and somehow that made it worse.

Caitlin had her elbows on the table, her face resting in her hands. Wren was turning an empty cup between her palms without seeming to notice she was doing it. Across the room, Grace was just staring at the wall.

I finally stood up, needing to do something. “It’s my turn for the dishes,” I said. “I’ll grab a tray.”

I grabbed my ax before I went, just in case, leaving it propped up against one of the kitchen cupboards. When I came back with a large plastic tray, people were already stacking plates and cups, offering faint, grateful smiles as I moved from table to table collecting everything.

Once the tray was full, I carried it into the kitchen, stepping carefully around the corner of the L-shaped room toward the industrial dishwasher. I loaded it and set it running before turning my attention to the pots in the sink, still smeared with remnants of the stew.

I filled the sink with hot water and dish soap, watching the bubbles rise, and then plunged my hands in and started scrubbing. It was almost meditative, in a grim sort of way. Just the heat of the water, the repetitive motion, the faint clatter of metal against the side of the sink. My brain, which had been grinding itself raw all day, went mercifully quiet for a few minutes.

I had just set the last clean pot upside down on the rack when a dull thud echoed from around the corner.

“Hello?” I called out.

No one replied.

I waited, eyes on the corner. The dishwasher hummed steadily behind me.

Another sound followed. A scrape this time. Something dragging across the prep bench.

“Hello?” I called out again. “Jasmine, is that you?”

Once again, there was no reply.

That was weird. Too weird to ignore.

Another strange scraping sound filled the room, and suddenly my imagination turned on me, filling my mind’s eye with a horrible vision. Everyone in the dining hall slumped over the tables, throats cut, the awful sounds of their demise swallowed by the noise of the pots banging around in the sink as I washed them. The killer moving through the kitchen, saving me for last.

With my heart thudding painfully hard, I quietly crossed to the cupboard where I'd left my ax. My fingers closed around the handle, and I lifted it, holding it across my body as I moved toward the corner.

I stepped slowly, keeping close to the counter, placing each foot with deliberate care on the tiled floor. Then I sucked in a deep breath and rounded the corner with the ax raised high.

Knox was standing at the prep bench making a sandwich, a butter knife in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other. He had white earbuds in both ears.

Before I had a chance to say or do anything, he caught my movement in his peripheral vision and stumbled backward so hard he hit the bench behind him.