Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead - that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, an...
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Turned out Martha was more efficient than she looked because she phoned me on Tuesday and Wednesday with updates on the happenings at Daylesford Hall. I suspected she hadn't developed an altruistic streak so much as a deep-seated need to spread a particularly juicy piece of gossip as far as humanly possible. She even tried to get me to join the Facebook group she'd set up specially for the purpose, but I didn't have any social media accounts. When I told her that during the second call, she gasped so dramatically anyone would have thought I'd confessed to the murder itself.
"No Facebook? But you've got Twitter, right?"
"I don't even have a computer."
"But how do you keep in contact with people?"
"I don't."
"But what about your family and your friends from...wherever you were born?"
Aleppo. I was born in Aleppo. Thanks to years of civil war, I had no family left, and I'd never been great at making friends. Yes, I'd had acquaintances, but I certainly hadn't wanted to stay in touch with any of them.
So I changed the subject. "Has anyone said if we'll still get paid for this week?"
"No, but I can't imagine we won't. It's hardly our fault there was a murder."
She sounded remarkably casual about Helene's death, but even so, I sure hoped she was right. My job at Weston Corp was the first salaried position I'd held. Until then, I'd worked through agencies, and if I didn't turn up and do my hours, I didn't get paid—simple as that. And if I didn't get paid, I couldn't afford my rent. A reasonable landlord might have granted Shannon and me some leeway, but our current slumlord wasn't that man.
"When do you think we'll be able to get back to work?" I asked.
"The police are talking about Friday."
Two days away. "Will you let me know either way?"
"Definitely. Although I'm not sure I want to go back with a maniac still running around. Aren't you nervous about being there on your own?"
Being the only person at Daylesford Hall hadn't bothered me until that point. Perhaps because I'd never truly been alone. But Martha was right—if the police hadn't managed to find whoever killed Helene, I'd need to stay on my guard in case he decided to make a reappearance. But was I nervous? Not really. More tense. Death came to all of us in the end, and I knew exactly what to expect.
But I could hardly tell Martha that. "Yes, I'm a bit nervous. Do the police have any idea why she was killed?"
"Not that I've heard. But you know, the Westons are really rich. Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong? Or a botched attempt at kidnapping?" Martha gave a nervous laugh. "Forget what I said about being on your own. I'm sure you'll be fine."
***
I tried to block out Martha's words as I walked up the driveway to Daylesford Hall on Friday. England was supposed to have been the start of a new life for me. A safe life. A life where I didn't wake up each morning wondering which side would drop bombs next or how many more tethered souls I'd have to deal with as I tried to find something to eat that day.
