Such Pretty Flowers by K. L. Cerra

Author:K. L. Cerra [Cerra, K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2023-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

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I’d turned those words over in my mind ad nauseam since Dane’s death. Still, they had the power to rip the air from my lungs, pointing like neon arrows to all my sisterly failures. The way I’d recoiled from him when he’d needed me the most. My obsession with his girlfriend. The way I’d refused to believe Dane, just like everybody else, when it mattered most.

Now, months too late, I was finally ready to listen. But the only remaining pieces of him—his illustrations—weren’t telling me anything.

I rushed back to Maura’s townhouse through the darkened Savannah streets. Bobbing gas-lamp flames twisted by, making shadows squirm across the bricks. The up-lit spire of the cathedral stabbed the sky. I had no idea how much longer Maura would spend at the showcase—and therefore, how long I had to myself. I wasn’t even sure of my mission once I got back. Investigating the townhouse for the umpteenth time? I knew only that, like his paltry box of belongings, Dane’s illustrations on display at the showcase weren’t telling me the whole story.

Back at the townhouse, I pounded up the stairs to the second floor. When I’d first moved in, Maura had mentioned she rarely used the upstairs. Had that been her way of discouraging me from poking around up here? Now I tore through the second-floor rooms: nondescript guest rooms; a room with an old-fashioned sewing machine. I sorted through some of the scraps of fabric on the table, a dusty closet with only a Swiffer and a couple cartons of bottled water.

None of Dane’s work.

Next, I paced the first floor, dragging my fingertips along the wainscotting on the walls. My hand stopped on a doorframe right beside Maura’s bedroom.

Of course. The basement.

The mustiness was the first thing that registered, pressing like damp wool against my face and arms. That distinctive scent of mold and mildew and rot. A crude wooden staircase led down. I yanked a string hanging from the ceiling and a single lightbulb clicked to life.

Even though the basement was unfinished, it was as tidy as the upstairs of the townhouse. For some reason, this chilled me. I shuffled across the concrete floor, feeling coldness seep through the soles of my flats. Copper pipes snaked through the walls. I shone the light on my phone over the neat piles Maura had amassed. A stack of wooden trellises and metal stakes to—ostensibly—guide the growth of her plants. Bags of mulch. A dehumidifier with a transparent tank half full of water. An old wine crate filled with knickknacks: a Barbie with eyes that were nearly worn away, a snow globe, and a satin drawstring pouch.

I pulled the pouch open. Nestled at the bottom were two teeth, their long roots still intact. On one tooth there even appeared to be bits of dark blood—or was it flesh?—still clinging to the root.

I cinched the bag shut, disgust and fascination washing over me in equal measure. Had Maura actually decided to keep her own wisdom

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