Chương 8
She left before I could answer.
I sat alone beside a breakfast I had not touched.
The eggs had gone rubbery.
I ate them anyway.
Mrs. Alvarez returned ten minutes later and looked at the empty plate with satisfaction.
"You see?" I said.
"I can be trained."
"I remain skeptical."
"Where's Clara?"
"Downstairs."
"Ask her to come back up."
Mrs. Alvarez studied me.
"I spoke to her."
"About leaving?"
"About today."
"And?"
"I want her paid through the next two weeks whether she works or not."
"You already approved that yesterday."
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
She straightened a stack of unopened mail.
"I approved it."
"You can't approve payroll."
"I called payroll and said you had approved it."
"You forged executive authorization?"
"I used your standing household account."
"That is not better."
"She has rent."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Mrs. Alvarez."
"If you wish to fire me, do it after lunch."
I looked at the stack of mail.
"You're impossible."
"Your mother said the same thing."
That ended the argument.
She walked toward the door.
"Clara is in the laundry room."
"I thought you were sending her home."
"She refused."
"Why?"
Mrs. Alvarez shrugged.
"Ask her."
The laundry room was on the first floor beyond the service corridor.
I had not been inside it since I was fourteen and spilled black paint on a rug.
Getting there in the wheelchair required using the narrow staff elevator, which smelled faintly of detergent and onions.
Clara was folding sheets when I entered.
She glanced up.
"Mr. Cole."
"I heard you refused to go home."
"I have work."
"You've resigned."
"I still have work today."
I rolled closer.
"You don't have to prove anything."
She smoothed one corner of the sheet.
"I'm not."
"Then why stay?"
"Because leaving suddenly feels like I did something wrong."
That answer made sense in a way I wished it did not.
"Mrs. Alvarez arranged your pay."
"I know."
"You're angry about that?"
"No."
"You look angry."
"I'm folding fitted sheets."
"Fair."
That got a small smile.
I stopped near the table.
"I owe you an apology."
Her hands slowed.
"For what?"
"For closing the door upstairs."
"You opened it again."
"I shouldn't have closed it."
Clara finished the fold.
"Okay."
"I also shouldn't have questioned you like an employee who owed me evidence."
She looked at me.
"Mrs. Alvarez talked to you."
"Mrs. Alvarez threatened me through breakfast."
"That sounds like her."
We were quiet for a moment.
A dryer buzzed.
Clara ignored it.
"Do you want to know why I resigned?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I heard Mr. Daniel arguing with someone in your study."
"Tuesday."
She nodded.
"Then I found the badge."
"What happened before Vanessa grabbed you?"
Clara leaned against the table.
"I followed Mr. Daniel downstairs because he dropped it."
"You were trying to return it."
"At first."
"What changed?"
"He got a phone call."
"What did you hear?"
"Not much."
She glanced toward the corridor.
"He said, 'He won't make Monday.'"
The words settled between us.
My hands tightened around the armrests.
"Exactly that?"
"I think so."
"You think?"
"He might have said, 'It won't make Monday.'"
That difference mattered.
Clara looked frustrated.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I've been trying to remember."
"Memory gets worse when people pressure it."
She nodded.
"I know."
"What happened next?"
"I called his name."
"Daniel's?"
"Yes."
"He turned around."
"And?"
"He saw the badge in my hand."
Her face tightened.
"He looked scared."
"Did he take it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Miss Vanessa came in through the side hall."
That fit.
"Daniel left?"
"He went out the front."
"Did Vanessa speak to him?"
"I don't think he saw her."
"And then she grabbed you."
Clara rubbed her wrist unconsciously.
"She asked what I had."
"Why didn't you give it to her?"
"I didn't know whose it was."
"That doesn't answer me."
She looked at me.
"No."
It didn't.
"I thought she was afraid of it."
"Why?"
"Because she wasn't looking at me."
"Where was she looking?"
"At the badge."
Clara picked up another sheet.
"And because she said, 'He was supposed to get rid of that.'"
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
"She said that?"
Clara nodded.
"Then she asked where I found it."
"Did you tell her?"
"Yes."
"What did she do?"
"She told me to give it to her."
"And when you refused?"
"She grabbed me."
I looked toward the open laundry-room door.
"You didn't mention that upstairs."
"She apologized."
"That doesn't change what she said."
"No."
Clara unfolded the sheet and started over because one edge had slipped.
"I didn't know if I remembered the words right."
"Do you now?"
"I remember that part."
"Why?"
Her hands stopped.
"Because after she let go, she said something else."
"What?"
Clara stared at the white fabric.
"She said, 'If Adrian finds out before Monday, everything gets worse.'"
I felt the room tilt without moving.
Vanessa had sat upstairs less than an hour ago and acted surprised by the badge.
"Did she say who 'he' was?"
"No."
"Did she mention Martin?"
"No."
"Daniel?"
"No."
"Why didn't you tell me immediately?"
Clara's expression hardened.
It was the first time I had seen anger directed at me.
"Because you were in the hospital."
"Rehabilitation center."
"Because everyone said you couldn't walk."
I went still.
She continued before I could speak.
"And because people in this house were already talking about who would control the company if you couldn't come back."
"Who?"
"Your uncle."
"Martin talked about that in front of you?"
"They talk in front of us all the time."
The sentence landed harder than any accusation.
"They think staff is furniture."
I had probably done the same thing.
Clara folded the sheet.
"I heard your uncle tell Miss Vanessa that the board couldn't wait six months for a recovery that might never happen."
"When?"
"Last week."
"Where?"
"Dining room."
"What did Vanessa say?"
May you like
"She told him he was moving too fast."
That did not fit the version of Vanessa I had been building.
