Chương 4
"At me?"
"At everything."
"That's vague."
"I'm allowed to be vague sometimes."
"Not about this."
She stood.
"See?"
I almost pushed again, then stopped.
She picked up her phone.
"Monday is going to be bad."
"For whom?"
"Everyone."
"That sounds like Martin."
"I told you, Martin didn't tell me anything."
"You looked at him twice tonight after speaking to Daniel."
Her expression shifted.
It was small, but enough.
"You were watching me?"
"I was sitting in the center of the room."
"That's not an answer."
"Neither was yours."
She slipped the phone into her purse.
"You should rest."
"That's what everyone says when they want to leave."
She reached the door.
"Adrian."
I waited.
Her hand remained on the knob.
"If things change at the company, don't assume everyone who supports a transition is betraying you."
There was the warning.
Carefully wrapped.
Almost kind.
She left before I could answer.
I sat motionless for another minute, though no one remained to fool.
Then I stood and walked to the hall door.
I did not open it.
Her footsteps faded toward the east wing.
I called Owen.
"She knows about Monday."
"So does half the board."
"She used the word transition."
A pause.
"That is more specific."
"Find out who has been using it."
"Already searching."
"And Owen?"
"Yes?"
"Don't assume she's the architect."
"You sound disappointed."
"I sound careful."
"You sound like a man who still loves his fiancée."
I hung up on him.
At seven the next morning, I was back in the chair before the household staff began moving through the upper hall.
Mrs. Alvarez brought coffee herself.
She had managed this house since before my mother died and possessed the unnerving ability to express accusation through the placement of a saucer.
She set mine down too firmly.
"You had people here past midnight."
"I noticed."
"Miss Vanessa left at twelve twenty."
"I noticed that too."
"You need breakfast."
"I'm drinking it."
"Coffee is not breakfast."
"It has calories."
"Not enough."
She opened the curtains.
Morning light filled the sitting room.
I squinted at it.
She had known me since I was nineteen, which meant my authority had never impressed her.
"Clara gave notice," I said.
Mrs. Alvarez stopped touching the curtain.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You should ask Clara."
"I'm asking you."
"And I am telling you to ask Clara."
I studied her back.
"You know."
"I know many things."
"That's becoming a popular answer in this house."
She turned.
"She is leaving at the end of the week."
"Three days' notice?"
"She offered two weeks."
"And?"
"Miss Vanessa told her yesterday that she could leave immediately if she was unhappy."
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
"Vanessa doesn't employ her."
Mrs. Alvarez's expression sharpened.
"I am aware."
"Did Clara tell you what happened?"
"No."
"You believe something happened."
"I believe a young woman who has worked here three years without missing a shift does not suddenly resign because she dislikes polishing silver."
I set the cup down.
"Where is she?"
"Kitchen."
"I want to speak with her privately."
Mrs. Alvarez folded her arms.
"Privately for whose benefit?"
That caught me.
"What does that mean?"
"It means Clara is an employee, Mr. Cole, not evidence."
The rebuke was deserved.
I looked away.
"You're right."
Mrs. Alvarez waited.
"I still need to talk to her."
"Then talk to her."
She moved toward the door.
"And if you frighten her, I will know."
"You make me sound terrible."
"You are occasionally very efficient at it."
After she left, I remained by the window with my coffee growing cold.
At eight fifteen, Clara entered carrying a breakfast tray.
She looked surprised to find me alone.
"I can come back."
"No."
I gestured toward the small table.
"Please."
She set down scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, and a folded napkin.
Her movements were precise but not relaxed.
"Mrs. Alvarez said you wanted breakfast upstairs."
"She staged an intervention."
Clara almost smiled.
"She does that."
"You've been on the receiving end?"
"Everyone has."
She poured orange juice.
The bruise on her wrist was easy to miss.
It sat just above the cuff of her uniform, yellow at the edges and darker toward the center.
I had seen her catch the glass against that wrist the night before.
This bruise was older.
"Clara."
Her hand stopped.
"Why are you leaving?"
She looked at the pitcher.
"I found another position."
"Where?"
"I haven't accepted one yet."
"So you didn't."
She put the pitcher down.
"I don't think this is a good place for me anymore."
"Because of Vanessa?"
Her eyes rose too quickly.
Then she looked toward the open doorway.
I reached for the remote and closed it.
Her face tightened.
That was my mistake.
I reopened it immediately.
"Sorry."
Clara swallowed.
"It's fine."
"No."
I rested both hands visibly on the arms of the chair.
"Keep it open."
For a few seconds she said nothing.
Then she touched the bruise on her wrist as though only just realizing it was exposed.
"What happened there?"
"I bumped into a cabinet."
The lie was smooth.
Too smooth.
"Clara."
"Mr. Cole, please."
Something in her voice stopped me.
Not fear of me exactly.
Fear of what might follow the conversation.
I changed direction.
"Did you hear anything about Monday's board meeting?"
Her gaze flicked toward mine.
This time she did not answer.
"Anything involving Martin?"
Still nothing.
"Daniel?"
Her fingers tightened around the juice pitcher.
That was enough to change the shape of the problem.
"Clara."
She set the pitcher down carefully.
"I shouldn't be talking about this."
"About what?"
She looked toward the doorway again.
Then, in a voice barely louder than the air-conditioning, she said, "Mr. Daniel wasn't supposed to be in your study Tuesday night."
Every muscle in my back tightened.
"Tuesday?"
She nodded.
"Who was with him?"
"I don't know."
"You saw him?"
"I saw him come out."
"At what time?"
"After eleven."
That matched the access log.
May you like
"What were you doing upstairs?"
"Changing the guest towels."
