Chapter 3
Blair“This is the place,” I said, pointing to the entrance to my mother’s mansion. Two wrought iron gates were tipped in viciously sharp spears. An intercom was attached to the stone wall beside it.
A curved gravel drive led past a stone fountain. The rose bushes were bare of leaves and flowers, now. Slate roof tiles above the seven-bedroom home I’d grown up in, pale stone walls, marked by wooden beams, and a terracotta entrance.
It was opulent, and the tree my mother kept especially for Christmas grew in its same spot – just outside the front door. She hadn’t decorated it yet. She always left it to the last minute.
Everything was lit up in the night by bulb lanterns, their glow steady in the dark.
“Knock, knock,” Samson said, rapping his knuckles on the wheel of the Audi. “
