Daniel watched Ethan, his arms crossed over his chest.

“He’s lying to you, Megan,” Daniel said. “Claire isn’t helping him. She’s using him to do the dirty work.”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouted, swinging the gun toward Daniel again.

The movement gave me the chance to slide my finger across the phone screen inside my pocket, hoping the line was open.

I needed the operator to hear everything.

“Sign the paper,” Ethan growled at me, pointing to the rickety wooden table.

On the table lay the quitclaim deed, its pages damp from the humid attic air.

A blue plastic ballpoint pen rested beside it.

“I can’t sign this, Ethan,” I said, keeping my voice loud and clear. “It’s not legal.”

“It’s perfectly legal once your signature is on it,” Ethan said. “Sign it, or I swear I’ll make sure none of you leave this attic.”

“And then what?” I asked. “How do you explain three bodies in the attic of Waverly Lane?”

“The men downstairs will take care of it,” Ethan said, a desperate edge in his voice. “They don’t care about this house. They just want their money.”