Chapter 335

I didn’t understand. “Talk about what? I just want to read the paper while I drink my coffee.”

“That’s the thing, sweetheart.” Victor stood and crouched next to me. “You need to be prepared for something in the morning papers.”

“You’ve got me worried,” I said. “Tell me what you’re talking about before I make it worse in my mind.”

Victor sighed and took my hand. “There are several letters to the editor in both The Denhurst Chronicle and The Denhurst Gazette. The authors of the letters are twisting events to make you look bad.”

My heart leaped in my chest. “Let me read these letters.” How bad could it be?

Victor handed me a copy of The Denhurst Chronicle. I started to open it to look for the letters to the editor, but they were splashed across the front page.

“Why would they print letters to the editor on the front page? I mumbled. But the letters were there, exactly where my article had been published a few days ago.

Bracing myself, I began to read.

“This is outright slander!” I cried. “How can people get away with saying these things about me?”

My stomach felt heavy as I read the lies that had been printed about me.

The anonymous letters called me a college dropout who used non-Alphas to concoct a story that got them fired from their jobs.

They claimed I twisted my sources’ words or made things up to get my article published without considering how it would affect their lives.

They also said I caused such intense trouble at Frampton University that other Alphas were expelled, and I caused disturbances in the classrooms that kept other students from learning.

Professor Malory, my ex-history of journalism instructor, was quoted in one letter as saying, “Daisy was trying to start trouble from her first day at Frampton. She uses people without any regard for their lives.”

The other dozen letters were more of the same type of nonsense. One accused me of picking a fight with two Alpha football players and then laughing when they got in trouble and couldn’t play a game that week.

The shock was gone, and I felt numb. “People must think I’m a terrible person. Who would want to spread these lies about me?”

“If you don’t mind my opinion, Miss,” Benson began, “All the letters seem to have the same voice. I believe the same person wrote them.”

I compared the letters and agreed. “I think you’re right, Benson. Why didn’t the editors of the newspapers see it?”

“Because the letters go perfectly with the other headlines on the front page,” Victor scoffed.

I scanned the front page and saw what he meant. Coverage of the riots because of the new laws took up the rest of the page.

“But look on page eight,” Victor said. “It’s at the top of the page.”

I went to page eight and folded the paper to read what was on the page.

My mouth dropped open when I saw what Victor was talking about. “Shane wrote an article about the riots,” I sighed. “Did he lie about me too?”

“No,” Victor assured me. “His article is truthful. Maybe that’s why they buried it in the middle of the paper.”

“What about The Gazette?” I asked.

“They printed the same letters to the editor, but they’re on page six where the letters to the editor usually are,” Victor replied. “They put the riots on the front page, although the coverage is more factual without interjecting any opinions.”

I began reading the front page of the Gazette and sipped my coffee for the first time. It was almost cold, but it made me feel more awake and ready to fight this newest threat.

Benson poured more hot coffee into my cup. “Perhaps a few friends should write letters in your defense, Miss. I’d be glad to help.”

“I think we should ignore it,” Victor insisted. “The less it’s mentioned, the better. Whoever wrote those letters wanted attention. Don’t give it to them, and they’ll stop.”

“Do you think so?” I asked. “The things they said about me were horrible. I want to sue them.”

Victor shook his head. “No, Daisy, trust me. Just ignore it. Bringing more attention to those letters will make people talk about them longer.”

I frowned into my coffee cup. “Benson, please don’t mention this when you talk to my father. It would worry him and ruin his trip.”

“I won't say a word, Miss,” Benson promised.

After we finished breakfast, Victor left for work, and I drove to Tony’s Mom’s home to look into the disappearance of the artifact.

Mrs. Basil lived in a nice neighborhood on the outskirts of Denhurst. Each home had a large, fenced-in backyard and small, well-manicured front lawns.

It looked like an excellent place to raise a family.

Mrs. Basil answered the door and ushered me inside to her living room. Sitting on the beige couch, I noticed short black hairs on the upholstery.

Mrs. Basil had white hair. Who left the black hairs on the furniture?

The question was answered when a black Labrador ran into the room. The dog barked twice and sat at my feet, staring at me with soft brown eyes.

“This is Buddy,” Mrs. Basil said. “He wants you to pet him.”

“I haven’t been around many dogs.” I chuckled nervously and reached out to pet the dog’s smooth head.

“He’s been my companion ever since my husband died and Tony moved into his own home,” she explained. “We go on long runs together in the hills.”

I lost any fear of Buddy when he cocked his head and started wagging his tail.

“Tell me about the missing artifact, Mrs. Basil,” I requested.

“Certainly, but you must call me Lucy,” she said.

“Okay, Lucy.” I smiled. The name suited this sweet, older Luna.

“Have you heard of the mask of Nyctimus?” Lucy asked.

“Yes,” I replied as I searched my mind for the details. “It’s several millennia old, and it’s thought it was used in a ritualistic ceremony that was rumored to bring werewolves back to life.”

“My, you are a history buff,” Lucy said and poured me a cup of tea. “I was commissioned to clean the mask. But the day after Tony brought it from The Association, it disappeared from my workroom while I was in the bathroom.”

I thought about Lucy’s words and watched Buddy leave the room. A few seconds later, I saw him through the window. He was in the backyard. A balding man on the other side of the fence called Buddy to him and stroked his head.

Lucy noticed me watching. “That’s Don Cheatle. He simply adores Buddy.”

“This is a nice neighborhood,” I said. “Did Tony grow up here?”

“Yes,” she said. “My husband and I bought the house when it was new, thirty-five years ago.”

I sipped my tea. “Did anyone know you had the mask here?”

“I don’t think so,” Lucy responded. “And I never open the workroom safe unless the deadbolts are engaged in both the front and back doors.”

Lucy looked like she was going to cry. “I don’t know how a thief could have gotten in and out of the house without breaking a window during the minute I was in the downstairs powder room.”

“Will you show me?” I asked.

“Of course.” Lucy got up and motioned for me to follow her.

“This is my workroom,” she said as I followed her into a large room lined with countertops and cupboards. The far wall had a narrow door that looked like a closet.

A double sink was in one corner, and a large table with stools was in the center of the room.

Lucy opened the closet door and revealed a large, heavy safe.

“I took the mask from the safe and placed it on the table. Then I retrieved the tools and chemicals I needed before realizing I had too much tea that morning.”

“I left everything where I put it and went to the powder room next to the kitchen.” She crooked her finger at me and left the workroom.

The bathroom wasn’t far from the workroom. How did someone get into a locked house and steal the mask in one minute without being seen or heard?

I followed Lucy back to the living room. We sat on the couch, and she poured more tea.

She looked at her watch and clicked on the TV. “My favorite news show is on,” she explained. “I hope they didn’t find out about the mask disappearing.”

Lucy had nothing to worry about. The lead story was about the riots.

I choked on a sip of tea moments later when a news anchor began a special report. As photos and a video of me flashed across the screen, all I could do was watch the TV in horror.