Several days passed without them coming to a decision on where to go. Gretta kept running into roadblocks in trying to get them some traveling money. She suspected Stefania had been sufficiently paranoid to put activity alerts on the twins’ personal bank accounts, so Gretta couldn’t draw on them or transfer money until they were safely out of reach. She hadn’t found any convenient slips of paper containing passwords lying about in her father’s study, and she’d had no luck guessing at what they could be. While she was good with computers, she’d never had a reason to learn how to hack into a bank account. It was harder than it looked in the movies.
Hans found her sitting at the table with a cup of tea and her screen early one morning. He was strapping on the antique pistol and holster.
“Where are you going with that old thing?”
“I saw some pheasants in the woods up the valley yesterday. A change of diet might be good. You should come, get some fresh air.”
She stretched, and yawned. “I need to figure this out. You have fun. Don’t let anyone see you.”
She went back to trawling though a darknet forum, looking for advice. Several hours later she’d just made a fresh cup of tea when she heard the back door open behind her.
“Any luck?” she said, without turning around.
“That depends on what you consider lucky,” Stefania said. Gretta lurched sideways out of her chair, and froze when she saw the gun her stepmother was holding.
“Contrary to appearances, I do keep a close watch on the running of the estate,” she said. “When the electricity readings for the guesthouse shot up, I got suspicious, and came back early. You teenagers do so love your long showers.”
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She studied Gretta, her lip curled. “Trust your pathetic father not to do the job properly. Now I’m going to have to get my hands dirty.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Gretta said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
“And be always looking over our shoulders, waiting for you to blackmail us?” Stefania said, her lip curling. “I think not. Where’s that brother of yours?”
“Talking to a lawyer in town,” Gretta said. “Recording statements, leaving a trail of evidence, that sort of thing.”
Stefania considered her for a moment. “I doubt that. You’re the brains of the outfit. You wouldn’t leave him to do that on his own. Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up.” She motioned with the blaster. “Come. Walk in front of me to the flitter. I’ve just had my nails done and I don’t want to have to lug your body around. If you make a sound or try to run, I’ll shoot you somewhere painful.”
Gretta stared at her, trying to map out a plan of action. Fling her tea at Stefania and dive for the bedroom? Or flip up the table to make a shield?
Stefania sighed. “I can just shoot you here, I suppose,” she said. Then she frowned and began to turn. The back of her head exploded and she slowly toppled over. Hans appeared from where he’d been hiding on one side of the doorway.
“Are you alright?” he asked. Gretta lunged forward and hugged him fiercely. Hans hugged her back. “Is she really dead?” he said. “I don’t want to look.”
Gretta glanced down at the mess on the floor. “Extremely dead,” she said. “Thank you.” Hans risked a look, and made a choking noise. He barely made it out the door before he vomited in the garden. Gretta took a sip of her tea. It was still hot.
Hans had the transponder out of the family flitter and the tamper-proof seals removed in under ten minutes.
“Look at this,” he said with disgust. He’d connected Gretta’s screen to the device. “He didn’t even wipe the trip where he dumped us. Central Traffic Control will have a record.”
“Dear Papa, the criminal genius. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even our biological father,” Gretta said, halting the wheelbarrow next to the flitter. “Give me a hand, would you?” Hans made a face, but took one end of the tarpaulin-wrapped body and helped heave it into the back of the flitter. She studied the sky. “There’s enough cloud cover to block the satellite view. Let’s go.”