Chapter 5 - The Return to the TombOn the afternoon of day sixty-eight, the heavy wrought-iron front gates of the Barrett estate swung open.
A pristine white luxury sedan pulled smoothly up the long, oak-lined driveway, stopping outside the grand front porch.
The car doors opened.
Sheila Barrett stepped out into the humid Louisiana sunlight wearing an oversized sun hat, large designer sunglasses, and an immaculate cream silk suit she had purchased on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
Beside her walked Tony, wearing a linen shirt, looking tanned, relaxed, and holding a leather travel bag filled with expensive French duty-free items.
Rosie, the housekeeper, stepped out from the garage entrance, her hands trembling violently, her face pale as a sheet as she met them near the porch steps.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Barrett," Rosie whimpered, her eyes darting nervously toward the house.
Sheila adjusted her sunglasses, pulling a pristine pair of white lace gloves from her handbag, a cruel, satisfied smirk resting on her face.
"Is it done, Rosie?" Sheila asked softly, her voice cool and indifferent as she checked her manicure. "Did the smell leak into the hallway?"
Rosie swallowed hard, unable to form words, her jaw working dryly.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Rosie," Tony scoffed, taking a slow sip from a stainless-steel tumbler. "The girl was terminally ill anyway. The coroner will list it as natural organ failure due to her neurological condition. Did you keep the storage room door locked?"
"Yes, sir..." Rosie rasped out.
"Good," Sheila said, stepping up the grand stone stairs toward the front double doors. "Tony, call the parish coroner's office. Tell them we just returned from Europe and found my daughter deceased in her room. Put on your crying voice."
Sheila pulled her house key from her designer purse, inserted it into the brass lock of the front door, and pushed the heavy oak panels open.
The foyer was pitch-black. Every drape in the house had been drawn tight, shutting out the afternoon sunlight, leaving the sixty-room mansion wrapped in a cold, suffocating silence.
Sheila frowned, stepping onto the marble floorboards. "Rosie, why are the lights off?! Why is it so freezing in here?!"
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A quiet, mechanical CLICK echoed from the end of the long corridor near the laundry wing.
The heavy, iron-reinforced storage room door swung open into the dark hallway.
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