Chương 8
Rachel looked toward Sophie’s bassinet.
“Or when it isn’t hers.”
“Yeah.”
They lay quietly.
After a while Rachel said, “That doesn’t excuse what she did.”
“I know.”
“But it explains why you thought bringing her here was help.”
Nathan turned his head.
“Maybe.”
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
At two thirteen, Sophie woke.
Nathan got up first.
Rachel started to rise.
He put one hand out.
“I’ve got her.”
Rachel hesitated.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then she lay back down.
She did not sleep.
But she stayed in bed while Nathan changed their daughter.
It was a beginning too small for anyone else to notice.
Three days later, Nathan’s cousin Mark called.
He wanted to apologize for crawling under the table.
Rachel stared at her phone.
“That is the stupidest reason anyone has called me this week.”
Mark laughed.
“I panicked.”
“You retrieved a bottle.”
“I felt like I should have said something.”
“What would you have said?”
“I don’t know. ‘Hey, Aunt Eleanor, maybe don’t attempt a hostile takeover of a baby during dessert?’”
Rachel laughed despite herself.
“See? That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
They spoke for twenty minutes.
Then Mark mentioned something that changed the week.
“Did Nathan tell you about the key?”
Rachel stopped rocking Sophie.
“What key?”
Silence.
“Mark.”
“I assumed he knew.”
“What key?”
Mark exhaled.
“Aunt Eleanor asked me two weeks ago whether you’d changed the locks on the side door.”
Rachel stood.
“Why?”
“She said hers wasn’t working.”
“She had a key?”
“I thought she was staying with you.”
“She had a code.”
Another pause.
“She had a brass key.”
Rachel looked toward the mudroom.
The side door was an older exterior door they had planned to replace. It had a keypad deadbolt and a physical override.
Only Rachel and Nathan were supposed to have keys.
“Where did she get it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did she ask you?”
Mark thought.
“Sunday before last.”
Rachel’s mind moved backward.
Sunday before last.
She and Nathan had taken Sophie to Megan’s house for lunch.
Eleanor had claimed she was visiting Susan.
Rachel thanked Mark and called Nathan.
He came home from the office thirty minutes later.
They checked the key drawer in the study.
Nathan’s spare was gone.
He stood looking at the empty hook.
“I never noticed.”
“Why would you?”
“I should have.”
Rachel did not answer.
Nathan opened the security footage.
The side door itself was outside the active camera angle, but the living room camera showed anyone moving between the mudroom and the staircase.
They searched the Sunday Mark had mentioned.
At 12:42, Eleanor entered the living room.
She wore jeans, loafers, and a gray sweater.
She was supposed to be across town.
She walked directly upstairs.
Twenty-seven minutes later, she came down carrying nothing visible.
Nathan paused the video.
“What the hell?”
Rachel’s palms went cold.
“Keep going.”
At 1:16, Eleanor reappeared carrying the portable photo printer.
Nathan looked at Rachel.
“The picture.”
They watched her return upstairs.
Five minutes later she came down again.
This time she held the printer against her chest and slipped something into her sweater pocket.
A photograph.
Rachel stood.
Nathan said, “I’m changing the locks.”
“Now.”
He called the locksmith.
Then Rachel did something she would have been incapable of doing a week earlier.
She called Eleanor.
Nathan looked up.
“You sure?”
“No.”
The call rang once.
Eleanor answered.
“Rachel.”
No surprise.
No hello.
Rachel said, “Where did you get the key to our side door?”
Silence.
Then:
“I’m not discussing private household matters while you’re upset.”
Rachel almost laughed.
“I’m not upset.”
“You sound upset.”
“I asked where you got the key.”
“I stayed in that house for six weeks.”
“You had a code.”
“And there was a backup key.”
“Where did you get it?”
Eleanor sighed.
“Nathan gave it to me.”
Rachel looked at Nathan.
He shook his head.
“No, I didn’t,” he said loudly enough for the phone.
Eleanor paused.
Rachel put the call on speaker.
“Nathan,” Eleanor said.
“Answer her.”
“I’m not participating in an interrogation.”
Nathan’s voice hardened.
“Where did you get my spare key?”
“You gave me access to the house.”
“The code. Not the key.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Rachel looked at Nathan.
There was the instinct to argue.
To prove.
She shook her head.
He understood.
Rachel said, “We have video of you using it when you said you were at Susan’s.”
Eleanor became silent.
Rachel continued.
“We also have video of you bringing your photo printer upstairs.”
Nothing.
“You took the picture of Sophie.”
Eleanor finally spoke.
“I took photographs of my granddaughter. Call the police.”
Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
There it was.
The deliberate narrowing.
Not why were you in the house?
Not why did you lie?
Just photographs are normal.
“Why did you print one?”
“I like printed photographs.”
“Why was it in your hand when you told me to leave my baby?”
A longer silence.
Nathan stared at the phone.
Eleanor said, “You are constructing a story because you need someone to blame.”
Rachel felt the old reflex rise.
Defend.
Explain.
Prove she was rational.
Instead she said, “Maybe.”
Nathan looked at her.
Eleanor sounded wrong-footed.
“What?”
“Maybe I’m constructing a story. That’s why I’m asking questions.”
“Rachel—”
“Where did you get the key?”
Eleanor hung up.
Nathan stared at the screen.
Rachel put her phone down.
Her hands were shaking.
He noticed.
“Sit.”
She gave him a look.
“Sorry.”
He held up both palms.
The locksmith arrived forty minutes later.
He changed the side-door cylinder and reprogrammed the keypad.
When he asked whether they wanted the same code, Rachel said no before Nathan could answer.
They chose a new one.
Rachel watched the locksmith test it three times.
That evening, Eleanor sent Nathan another message.
You are allowing an anxious woman to isolate you from your family.
Nathan showed Rachel.
She read it.
Then she handed the phone back.
“You going to answer?”
“No.”
May you like
“You want to?”
“Yes.”
