Chupacabra by Roland Smith Page B

closed the door behind her she let out a sigh of relief. Acting cheerful when you weren’t cheerful was very taxing. She looked around the bathroom again for cameras, but didn’t see any. Next she went over to the toilet, disappointed to note that the water tank did not look disturbed. She removed the lid and set it on the seat. A smile spread across her face, but this time it was a genuine smile. The Ziploc bag was floating zip side down. She had left it floating zip side up. There wasn’t enough room in the tank for it to flip upside down on its own. A fish had nibbled on the bait. But which fish? Had Noah Blackwood searched her room, or was it someone else? There was only one fish she was trying to hook.
    Her grandfather’s mansion was nothing like Wolfe’s house — or fort, as Wolfe called it — on Cryptos Island. In fact, the two homes could not be more different. Noah’s mansion was ultramodern, Spartan, antiseptic like a hospital operating room. The only other person she had seen within its stark white walls was her grandfather. Her bedroom, and the entire house, was cleaned within an inch of its life every single day, but she had yet to lay eyes on a maid. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were lonely affairs. By the time she got to the massive dining room, the food was already laid out no matter what time she arrived. No servers or cooks. Noah Blackwood certainly wasn’t preparing the food and setting the table. She had visited the kitchen several times at different times of day. Not once had she found anyone in there. It was like the meals were cooked by ghosts. When she had asked her grandfather about this, he answered, cryptically, that he preferred his help to be neither heard norseen. “They are employees. This house is for family,” he had said. As far as she knew, she and her grandfather were the only two people in the Blackwood family. Half the time, her grandfather didn’t show up in the dining room for meals and she ate alone.
    Grace missed Wolfe’s cluttered fort, which looked more like a Gothic castle than a home. Jammed into every room was a mishmash of antique and new furniture in total disarray. Meals were communal affairs. The kitchen and dining room were free-for-alls, with everyone participating in the food prep and the eating.
    She pulled the Moleskine from the tank and shook off the water in the sink. She had written several pages. It was the most difficult writing she had ever done, because it was filled with lies.
    I suppose that’s what bait is , Grace thought. A lie dangling on the end of an invisible line. She opened the Moleskine. But to hook a fish, the bait has to be believable.
    She skimmed the first several pages and got to the section she had penned that morning, hoping it was convincing enough to negate her grandfather’s suspicions.
    Timothy and Sylvia lied by letting me believe they were my parents and Marty was my twin brother. Wolfe lied by letting me believe he was my uncle when in fact he was my father. As far as I know, the only adult who hasn’t lied to me is Noah Blackwood, my grandfather. Wolfe and the others say he’s the biggest liar of them all. But I’m not so sure now.
    It’s not bad here. I miss Marty of course, and I’m a little lonely, but when I think about it, I’m pretty happy, all things considered. Butch lets me do whatever I want. I know he’s not thrilled to be hanging out with me, but I think he enjoys it in his own way. He’s not nearly as tough as he’d like people to believe. When I finish my entry for the day, I’m going to ask him to take me down to play with the panda cubs. They are so adorable! Afterward I want to spend some more time with the hatchlings and Yvonne. She’s not as bad as I thought, either. She’s already taught me a lot about animal behavior and training.
    Grandfather wasn’t there for breakfast today … again. I really miss his company and I hope he shows up for lunch. I want to spend more time with him. He’s my