Next, I checked the kitchen and found Noah standing in front of an open cupboard mixing up the condiments and spices.
“Why are you doing that?” I questioned curiously, keeping my voice quiet. Noah shut the cupboard and turned around, casting me a glance like he found my anxiety adorable. He picked up an apple, took a bite then placed it back in the fruit bowl.
“During the Soviet era, some say the KGB would break into people’s homes and switch things around just to fuck with their heads,” he answered.
“So, you’re trying to fuck with Principal Hawkins again?” I surmised, hands on my hips. My pulse spiked for every minute we spent not getting the hell out of there.
“He didn’t accept my invitation to Vee’s party,” Noah said, like that explained it.
“And? He said he had plans. Besides, just because someone declines an invitation doesn’t mean you break into …” He arched an admonishing eyebrow. “Okay, it doesn’t mean you enter their home uninvited.”
“If you haven’t already noticed, I’m not like most people.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re not like most people. I think you might be mildly deranged.”
Noah gave a chuckle. “Only mildly?”
“Highly deranged then.”
He moved by me and over to the lounge area, eyeing a brown leather chair closely before plopping down into it. Noah ran his hands along the arms, as though enjoying the feel of the leather. “Bastard owns himself an Eames lounge chair,” he commented before settling his feet on the accompanying footstool, leisurely crossing them at the ankle as he brought his hands up and clasped them behind his head.
“It’s a nice chair,” I said with a shrug.
Noah eyed me pointedly. “Have you any clue how much one of these can cost? Well into the thousands. Hawkins did well out of my father.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Victor was an investor. He made a lot of money for his friends when he was alive. You certainly don’t own a chair like this on a school principal’s salary.”
“Oh. Well, I guess there are worse things to spend your money on,” I said. “How do you know so much about chairs anyway?” I remembered his comments about the new chairs at the private club where he worked.
“I read a book about designer furniture once. The chair sections were my favourite.”
“You are so odd.”
“No, I’m not. People don’t realise the importance of a comfortable chair. Life is fucking shit without one. Believe me, I know,” he said, then rose and slipped back out into the hall. I was momentarily struck by his curious statement, before recalling where we were. My panic returned. He was already halfway up the stairs.
“Noah, please don’t go up there,” I begged, but he didn’t listen. I swore under my breath and went after him, finding him in the principal’s bedroom. Noah picked up a picture of Hawkins and his wife that sat on the nightstand and turned it upside down. Then he opened the wardrobe and sifted through the principal’s wife’s clothes. I watched as he pulled out a Swiss army knife, the same one I found in his bag when I’d snooped in his bedroom. He found a sleeveless purple dress with sparkly tassels and tore it right down the middle with the knife.
“Noah,” I hissed. “Stop that. It’s destruction of property.”
He glanced at me as he grabbed another one, tearing it down the middle, same as the last. “But it feels so satisfying. I like the sound it makes,” he said, and goose bumps tightened my skin at the flash of madness in his eyes.
He was about to slice through another one when I hurried over and caught his hand in mine. “Stop,” I whispered. “Please.”
His green gaze latched onto me, and the madness faded. His grip slackened, and I took the knife. Just to be on the safe side, I slotted it in my jeans pocket and thought of what Aoife said about Noah being “psychopath adjacent.” I wondered if she might’ve been onto something. It was worrying that the thought didn’t scare me. Instead I felt even more drawn to him.
There was a pull to his unpredictability. An alluring thrill in the mystery of how his mind worked. The fact that I’d followed him in here instead of walking away could attest to that.
Noah went over to the dressing table, where a selection of Hawkins’ wife’s make-up was lined against the mirror. Noah picked his way through the small tubs and containers, finding a tube of lipstick that appeared to be brand new. He pulled off the sticky plastic seal and motioned me over.
“Come here,” he said, uncapping it and twisting to reveal the ruby red shade.
Wariness filled me. “Why?”
He levelled the full intensity of his gaze on me and used the low, husky tone I was weak to resist. “Estella.”