by Rebecca York
“Can I ask you something?” she murmured.
“Certainly.”
“When Ms. London hired me, she said that Mr. London’s wife had died. Do you know how it happened?”
The housekeeper paused in the act of setting a slice of whole wheat bread on one of the plates. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Well, Dinah seems so shy. I’d like to…draw her out but I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“Yes. I understand.” The woman sighed. “Mrs. London died in an automobile accident.”
“Was she in the car alone?”
“Oh, no. Mr. London was driving.”
Bree’s mouth had gone dry. Troy had told her that Grace was driving the car. “He was driving?”
“Why, yes. It was a terrible burden for him. He became quite distraught. I understand that’s what led to his nervous breakdown.”
“Oh” was all Bree could manage.
“A real tragedy,” the housekeeper was saying. “He was such a young, vital man.”
“Yes.” Bree’s head was spinning. Troy had lied to her. Or maybe in his mind, that was what he thought had happened because he couldn’t deal with the reality. Or maybe the housekeeper had her facts wrong.
She watched the woman cut slices of chocolate cake and set them on smaller plates, then pour drinks. Milk for Dinah and a glass of iced tea for Bree, who added lemon and sugar.
Since Mrs. Martindale seemed to be in a talkative mood, Bree asked the jackpot question, “Uh, where is Mr. London?”
The housekeeper hesitated for a moment. “We don’t know.” She lowered her voice. “He’s disappeared, and we’ve been so worried.”
“Then why did Mrs. Sterling tell me he was locked in his room? Why do I see you carrying food up there?”
“I think Mrs. Sterling didn’t want you to worry about the situation. And about the food—sometimes it’s been eaten when I go back to collect the tray. So I guess he has some way of slipping in and out of his room when he wants to.” She laughed. “Or Abner Sterling is getting in there and stuffing himself.”
Bree mulled that over. “But if Mr. London is at large on the estate, isn’t that dangerous?”
“He’s never been a danger to anyone else as far as I know,” the housekeeper murmured.
That contradicted what Nola had told her, Bree thought as she pressed on. “But isn’t he at risk? I mean, a risk to himself,” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. “If he’s sick, you can’t just leave him wandering around.”
“What choice do we have? He knows this place like the back of his hand. If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. And don’t ask me to set a trap in his room. I had Graves sitting up there for two days a few weeks ago, and Mr. London just stayed away.”
Bree was shocked by the information the housekeeper had revealed. It sounded as though Mrs. Martindale was starting to trust her. But when Bree saw the woman watch her speculatively, she only gave a tight nod.
“We’d better take the dinner up before it gets cold,” she said.
“Yes.”
They both carried covered trays up the back stairs and the older woman led the way to the sunporch. It was a very pretty place to eat, with bright peach-and-yellow cushions on wicker furniture. Wide glass windows gave a panoramic view of the headlands and the ocean. After her conversation with Troy about Grace’s spending habits, Bree saw the room a little differently than she might have earlier. Before, it might have just looked pretty. Now she could see that a lot of money had gone into decorating it.
Unbidden, a terrible thought leaped into her mind. What if Troy had killed his wife because she was bleeding him dry with her overblown spending? As soon as the idea surfaced, she was horrified that she could even have thought it.
Tensely she waited for Mrs. Martindale to leave the room, thinking she was no closer to the truth than before she’d asked her questions. It was like being at a trial where each witness told a different story and there was no way to know who was lying. Well, not yet, anyway, Bree thought as she hurried down the hall. As she stepped into Dinah’s room, she stopped and looked around, and the same thoughts she’d had earlier surfaced again. The bedroom was an expensively created dream room for a little girl, decorated in pink and white with lots of ruffles and a three-tier-high shelf along one wall crammed with toys and books. The whole package had to have cost more than a luxury car.
Stop questioning the details of his marriage, Bree ordered herself as she focused on Dinah who was sitting on her bed, propped up against a raft of pillows. A picture book was open on her lap, but instead of looking at the pages, she was staring across the room toward the flowered wallpaper, her gaze unfocused as though she were lost in a dreamworld of her own.
“Dinah, dinner’s ready,” Bree said brightly.
The girl’s attention snapped to the doorway. She looked embarrassed, as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Bree kept her own expression friendly. “And I have a nice surprise. We’re going to eat on the sunporch.”
The child nodded, set her book aside and scrambled off the bed, where she paused to push her feet into fuzzy bedroom slippers, then grabbed Alice.
In the sunroom, she set her kitten beside her on the chair, then made a face when Bree uncovered the trays. “I hate peas and carrots.”
“Me, too. Let’s not eat them!”
The child looked startled. “You’re saying we don’t have to eat everything?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Grinning, Bree pulled out her chair and sat.
“And I can still have chocolate cake for dessert?” Dinah clarified.
“Absolutely.”
A smile flickered on the child’s face as she took her seat.
“And you can pick up your pieces of chicken, if you want. That’s what I like to do.” Demonstrating, she grabbed a chicken leg and took a bite.
Dinah followed suit, then asked, “Where did you live when you were a little girl?”
“In Greensboro, North Carolina. My mom was a schoolteacher.”
“Like you.”
“Yes.”
“What about your daddy?”
“He…left us when I was very small. I don’t really remember much about him.”
“Oh. Do you still live with your mom?” Dinah asked.
“She died a few years ago.”
“And that made you sad.”
“Of course.”
“My mom died,” Dinah murmured.
How did she die? Bree wanted desperately to ask, but she didn’t so as not to bring back painful memories. Instead she said, “I know. That must have been so hard on you—especially if your daddy was very sad and he didn’t want to spend a lot of time with you.”
Dinah shifted in her seat. “Who told you about that?”
Bree thought for a moment about what she ought to say. Up till now she’d been cautious about asking Dinah too many probing questions, because their relationship was new and she didn’t want to come across as prying. But now it felt right to try to get some information. Still, there was another consideration. Was there any chance that someone could be listening to their conversation? She decided to assume that speaking freely was all right in this room, since it wasn’t a place that anyone regularly frequented. If somebody had gone to the trouble of bugging it, then the whole house would be bugged.
“Your aunt Helen,” she finally answered. “She and I met when we were in college at Chapel Hill. And we became very good friends.”
“I haven’t seen Aunt Helen for a long time.”
“Neither have I, because she’s out of the country. But she called me and said she was worried about you and your daddy. She wanted me to find out how you were doing.”
Dinah nodded gravely, then said in a low voice, “Daddy said I could trust you. But I wasn’t sure it really was Daddy.”
Bree’s head jerked up. “He talked to you—but you’re not sure it’s him?”
The child averted her face. “I never see him or touch him. But sometimes we have conversations. Then I don’t know if it was a dream.”
“You talk to him at night?”
“Yes. When it’s dark.”
Bree dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for telling me,” she said.
“I couldn’t tell anyone else.”
“Did your daddy say why he’s…hiding?”
“No.” Dinah’s voice quavered.
Bree pushed back her chair, came around the table and knelt beside the girl’s seat. Earlier she’d been shocked by Mrs. Martindale’s revelation and was still hoping the part about Troy’s nervous breakdown wasn’t true. Maybe he had good reasons for hiding out. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
But she was pretty sure what it must be like for Dinah to catch snatches of the adults’ conversation and worry and wonder.
Reaching out, she gathered her close. Dinah held herself stiffly and Bree fought a wave of disappointment. Then the child relaxed against her. Bree shifted her hold, picked Dinah up and moved to one of the wicker chairs, where she sat and cradled the girl on her lap, feeling her narrow shoulders begin to shake.
Feeling as if a barrier had fallen, Bree held her, rocked her, stroked her, while she cried softly the way she hadn’t been able to do out in the garden a few days ago. Finally the tears stopped and Bree found a tissue in her pants’ pocket.
Dinah blew her nose. Still with her head tipped downward, she whispered, “At night, I’m scared. So sometimes I pretend that Daddy’s with me.”
“I understand.
“And sometimes during the day, too,” she admitted. “Nobody here is nice—except Mrs. Martindale. And sometimes she’s in a bad mood, too.”
“Well, I hope I’m nice.”
“You are! I didn’t mean you.”
Bree hesitated for a moment then said, “We shouldn’t tell anyone we talked about your aunt Helen or your daddy. If he’s hiding out, then we should keep it a secret.”
“I tried to tell Mrs. Martindale once, but it made her be in a bad mood.”
“All the more reason not to tell anyone—even her. Okay?”
The girl nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
Bree softened her voice. “Were you pretending that first time you saw me in the front hall? When you told Mrs. Sterling that your daddy had said I was coming.”
Dinah looked down. “Yes,” she whispered. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not. I understand.” She put a gentle finger on the girl’s chin and raised her head. “Let’s eat some more of our dinner and our chocolate cake. Then I can read you a story, if you’d like.”
Again the girl nodded. But as she ate her cake, Bree sensed that she was restless.
“Did you want to ask me a question?” she asked.
Dinah pressed her lips together, then blurted, “Do you think my daddy loves me?”
“Of course he does!”
“Then why won’t he let me see him?”
Bree considered several possible answers. None of them seemed quite right, so she finally said, “I guess he has his reasons. I guess we’ll find out when he’s ready to tell us.”
That seemed to satisfy Dinah, who took another bite of cake.
“Do you have a favorite book?” Bree asked when they were almost finished with dessert.
“Daddy got me Harry Potter. We were reading it— until he stopped being here during the day.”
“I love Harry Potter. I’d love to finish reading it to you.”
“That means you’re going to be here a long time.”
“Yes.”
Bree spent the rest of the evening with Dinah, even overseeing her bath and getting her ready for bed.
By the time she’d tucked the child in, she was tired— but pleased. She’d worked hard at making friends with the girl, and it looked as though her efforts were paying off. She wanted to help Dinah, but she was also thinking that she might get some vital information from the girl— information Dinah might not even know she possessed.
Back in her room, she lay down with her clothing on since she was planning to get up later. Outside she could hear the waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs. But from time to time she was aware of creaking noises that made her wonder if someone was out in the hall.
In the darkened room she dozed, floating on a current of fatigue. The texture of her unconsciousness changed subtly and a hand touched her hair. And warm breath flirted with her ear.
“Thank you,” Troy murmured.
“For what?” she asked, her voice sleepy, her eyes closed. In some part of her mind she was thinking that after that conversation with Mrs. Martindale, perhaps she should be afraid of him. But he’d never hurt her. And he’d had plenty of chances.
“Thank you for making friends with Dinah,” he answered. “You’re good for her. She needs…someone who cares about her.”
“I do!”
He kissed the tender line where her hair met her cheek and she drifted, enjoying the sensations.
“Mrs. Martindale is okay, but I don’t trust her,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked, holding her breath, waiting for him to give her some reason to discount the housekeeper’s disturbing story.
“Sometimes I think I know why. Other times…it’s just a feeling.”
She sighed. She wanted to ask him about the car accident. Perhaps she didn’t because she was afraid to hear the answer. She might have reached to turn on the bedside light, but she remembered what had happened before when she’d tried to get a good look at him. He’d simply vanished. And she didn’t want that now. So she lay quietly in bed, enjoying the feeling of being close to him.
Still, she couldn’t simply remain passive. “Troy,” she murmured, “something bad happened in this room. I…heard it when I was in the bathroom. Then I came bursting through the door and nobody was here. And I decided that I wasn’t really hearing something that had just happened. Instead it was something that took place earlier.”
When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Did you make me hear that? Did you remember being attacked and picked that way to tell me about it? Do you have… special powers?” she said, wondering if he’d admit it to her.
“Special powers? What do you mean?”
“You can do things—like that trick in the grove of making the pine needles and stuff swirl. How did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I just did it.”
She felt a surge of victory. He’d admitted that much to her, even if he wasn’t going to tell her how he’d accomplished the feat.
Encouraged, she went back to her previous topic. “Then this afternoon you brought me the sound images of a confrontation here.”
“Yes.”
“How did you do it?”
“It’s like the pine needles. I just do it.”
“Who was here with you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see it. I can only hear it.”
“Thank you for telling me. It makes me feel closer to you.”
His voice turned urgent as he said, “If you want to do something for me, get Dinah out of here.”
He’d said that before, which meant it must be weighing on his mind.
“What about you?”
“It’s too late for me.”
“No!” Her eyes snapped open and she reached out a hand to grab him. But in the shaft of moonlight coming from the edge of the billowing curtains, she could see she was alone.
Had Troy come to her, or had she just imagined the whole conversation?
On the floor below, a grandfather clock struck midnight, reminding her of the decision she’d made earlier.
Troy had told her to get out of here and to take Dinah. But it was clear she wasn’t going to do it without help.
Hoping it was late enough to make an assault on the office, she pulled on slippers and stepped into the hall, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
On the steps, she trod lightly, but every time one of the old risers squeaked, she froze. Finally, she made it to the main floor and breathed out a little sigh.
Feeling like a thief in the night, she tiptoed toward the kitchen and retrieved the flashlight from the cabinet where Mrs. Martindale kept it.
She was about to step into the hall again when the sound of voices made her freeze in her tracks.
It was Nola and Abner, heading toward her, just around a bend in the hallway.
She had only seconds to find a hiding place or to come up with an explanation for her presence down here.
She chose stealth. Slipping behind the kitchen door, she pressed her shoulders against the wall.
Abner came clomping down the passageway. Nola’s quick, nervous little steps accompanied him. They were speaking in harsh whispers, but their voices carried easily to Bree’s hiding place.
Lord, what if they were coming to the kitchen? She froze, trying to blend into the walls, knowing that if she moved, they would discover her.
She waited for the pounding of her heart to give her away. It sounded to her as loud as the drumming noise she’d heard in the grove of trees.
Their steps slowed and she felt her throat close. Then they made their way past the doorway and she eased out the breath she’d been holding.
Nola began to speak. “You know what I wish? I wish Helen had never invited us here. If I’d known she was going to give us all those damn directions about what we could and couldn’t say, I would have told her to shove it.”
“You had a better suggestion?” Abner asked. “We were flat broke and the invitation was a godsend.”
Bree didn’t hear her answer. She was still focused on the woman’s previous statement. Had she heard that right? Helen had invited them?
Surely that must be a mistake. Helen had told her that the Sterlings were distant cousins down on their luck and that Troy had allowed them to move in—over her veto. She’d said she was worried about what the Sterlings might have done since arriving because Troy wasn’t paying enough attention to the world around him.
