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Shiloh
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“Shiloh?” Mrs. Steel says as I continue looking at her, my heart racing while taking in her grim expression instead of replying to her question.
“Yes, you may come in. I’m sorry,” I mutter, stepping out of the way and she thanks me and enters. She sits down and invites me to sit next to her on the sofa and I do, my feet heavy as I walk over.
“There has been changes in our plans,” she starts, and that churning sensation in my stomach intensifies. Of course, there are. She’s angry at me now. I expect her to say that, but she doesn’t; instead, she says something far sad: Mr. LeClaire passed away this evening.
She says it looks like a heart attack, but the postmortem is yet to confirm. I’m shocked by the news and ask if he had heart conditions, to whic
