Chương 2
Elena had taken the job anyway.
Fear did not pay rent. Fear did not cover preschool. Fear did not replace the income of a husband who had died in a warehouse fire two years before the investigator assigned to the case stopped returning calls.
Adrian set down the glass.
“Why is your daughter here?”
“Her preschool closed for a plumbing problem. Mrs. Donnelly gave me permission to bring her as long as she stayed upstairs.”
“And did she?”
Elena looked at the paint on his face. “No.”
Lily tugged at her skirt. “Mama, I’m hungry.”
Elena closed her eyes for one second.
Adrian’s mouth almost moved again. “Take her to the kitchen.”
“I’ll gather our things afterward.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “I assumed I was dismissed.”
“I haven’t dismissed you.”
He turned toward the window, presenting them with his painted profile.
“Not yet.”
Elena took Lily upstairs. She did not run, though every nerve in her body urged her to. In the kitchen, she sat her daughter at the long pine table and spread peanut butter on crackers with hands that would not stop trembling.
Lily swung her legs.
“Mr. Adrian is nice.”
“His name is Mr. Romano.”
“He let me paint him.”
“He did not let you. You started while he was sleeping.”
“He wasn’t sleeping.”
Elena’s knife stopped.
“What?”
Lily bit into a cracker. “He opened one eye before you came.”
“Are you sure?”
“He said don’t get paint in his ear.”
The knife slipped from Elena’s fingers and struck the plate.
Lily giggled.
Elena picked it up slowly. Adrian had known what was happening. He had allowed her daughter to continue. That should have comforted her. Instead, it produced a different kind of unease. Men like Adrian did not tolerate what they could not control. If he had permitted the painting, then the moment had served some purpose she could not see.
Mrs. Donnelly entered carrying a stack of folded napkins. Her gray hair was pinned so tightly it seemed to pull the irritation upward from her face.
“Why are Mr. Romano’s guards asking whether we keep mineral spirits in the house?”
Elena stared at the crackers.
Mrs. Donnelly’s gaze moved to Lily’s paint-stained fingers.
“Oh, dear God.”
“He didn’t get angry,” Lily said.
Mrs. Donnelly set the napkins down with painful care. “That does not improve the situation.”
“I’m aware,” Elena said.
“No one is ever aware until after something has happened.”
“That sentence doesn’t make sense,” Lily observed.
Mrs. Donnelly looked at her. “I am not discussing grammar with you.”
She turned to Elena.
“Mr. Romano wants to see you in his office at four.”
Elena glanced at the wall clock. It was one twenty.
“Did he say why?”
Mrs. Donnelly gave her a tired look. “People generally don’t ask him.”
By two, the rain had strengthened, flattening the bare branches in the garden and turning the stone terrace black. Elena finished the upstairs rooms with Lily beside her, handing over towels one at a time and narrating a long story about a rabbit who had lost its shoes.
At three fifteen, Mrs. Donnelly appeared with Rosa, who had returned from her dentist appointment and denied ever agreeing to watch Lily.
“I said I could keep an eye on her until one,” Rosa insisted.
“You said after lunch,” Elena replied.
“I eat lunch before one.”
“No one knows that.”
“Everyone knows that.”
Mrs. Donnelly pressed two fingers to her forehead. “This is not a criminal proceeding. Rosa, take the child to the kitchen. Elena, wash the paint from your cuffs.”
Lily wrapped both arms around Elena’s leg.
“I want Mama.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“To speak with Mr. Romano.”
Lily considered this. “Tell him the butterfly needs dots.”
Rosa led her away with a promise of hot chocolate.
Elena washed her hands in the staff bathroom. The cuffs of her cream blouse were stained pink and blue. She rubbed them with soap until the skin across her knuckles reddened, but the color only faded.
At four, Marco escorted her to Adrian’s office.
He had cleaned most of the paint from his face. Yellow remained in the hollow beside his nose, and the red heart had faded to a pale mark near his temple. He sat behind a dark walnut desk with a tablet in front of him and a folder open beneath one hand.
The office overlooked the side garden. Books lined the walls, most of them on history, finance, architecture, and Italian art. Elena had dusted the room every Thursday, always under supervision. The bottom drawer of the desk required a separate key. She had noticed because noticing locked things had become a habit after Mateo died.
Adrian gestured to the chair.
She sat.
Marco remained inside.
Adrian looked up. “How long have you worked here?”
“Six months.”
“Before that?”
“Restaurant manager. Before that, bookkeeping for a dental group.”
“Your application says your husband died.”
“Yes.”
“Warehouse fire.”
The room seemed to tilt by a fraction.
Elena kept her hands folded. “Yes.”
“Lakeshore Freight Storage, South Deering.”
Her eyes met his.
Adrian did not look away.
“That company belonged to my family,” he said.
“I know.”
Marco’s posture changed behind her.
Adrian leaned back. “You knew when you applied.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t mention it.”
“It wasn’t a secret. It was in the newspapers.”
“That isn’t the same as mentioning it.”
“No.”
Rain ticked against the windows. Elena could feel her pulse in the base of her throat.
Adrian closed the folder. “Why did you take this job?”
“Because I needed a job.”
“Half the city needs a job.”
“Half the city wasn’t offered this one.”
“You expect me to believe coincidence brought you into my home?”
May you like
Elena had rehearsed versions of this moment during sleepless nights, but rehearsed courage belonged to a quieter room. Sitting in front of him, she felt the distance between suspicion and proof.
“My cousin knew Mrs. Donnelly’s sister. I heard there was an opening. I applied.”
