Chương 3
“You think she knew what was in the report?” Julian asked.
“She knew enough.”
“She asked you to postpone.”
“Twice.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“You were already fighting with her.”
“That would have been useful information.”
The irritation in his voice was quiet, but it struck harder than volume would have.
Evelyn withdrew her hand from his. “I didn’t think she would pull a bench out from under me.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You said I should have told you.”
“I said it would have been useful.”
“Those are the same sentence in your family.”
Julian stood and walked two steps away, though the curtained bay barely allowed it. He placed both hands on his hips and looked down at the polished toes of his shoes.
The monitor kept tracing the baby’s heartbeat.
After a moment he said, “That was unfair.”
“It was accurate.”
“Both can be true.”
Evelyn turned toward him. “You’re angry at me because you can’t be angry at her in here.”
“I am angry at everyone in here.”
“There are two nurses and a man without shoes.”
“He has asked seventeen times.”
“His shoes are missing.”
Julian’s mouth moved despite himself. The almost-smile made him look younger and more tired.
He returned to the chair.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She let her hand rest between them on the sheet. He covered it after a few seconds.
Evelyn’s phone rang inside her bag. Julian found it and showed her the screen.
Celeste.
They watched it ring until it stopped.
A message appeared almost immediately.
I am so frightened for you. Please tell me the baby is safe.
Evelyn read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
I would never hurt either of you. The bench moved when I tried to catch it.
Julian took the phone from her without asking.
“She’s already changing the explanation,” he said.
“The first explanation was that it slipped.”
“And now she tried to catch it.”
“She may be panicking.”
“She should panic.”
His restraint did not make the sentence gentle.
Evelyn looked at him. “What are you going to do?”
He stared at the messages. “Get the camera footage.”
The camera had been installed three months earlier after a bronze wall sconce disappeared during a fundraising reception. Briarwood’s old security system covered exterior doors and public galleries, but not the entrance hall. Celeste had objected to visible cameras, saying they made the estate feel like a bank. Malik Shaw, the contractor, suggested hiding a small motion-activated dome inside one eye of the bronze eagle above the staircase. Celeste had approved the design herself.
“She looked at it,” Evelyn said.
Julian lifted his eyes. “When?”
“While you were beside me. The red light came on.”
“You saw that?”
“From the stretcher.”
“The light activates when it records.”
“I know.”
Julian called Ruth.
She answered on the first ring.
“Mr. Julian.”
“Is Celeste still there?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the blue sitting room with Mrs. Hale.”
Mrs. Hale was Julian and Celeste’s aunt Helena, the board chair, who had arrived for the dinner while the ambulance was leaving.
“Has anyone touched the bench?”
“No, sir.”
“The security equipment?”
Another pause.
“Ruth?”
“I do not know.”
He stood. “Lock the office beside the gallery. The camera recorder is in the cabinet under the desk.”
“I am aware.”
“Do you have the key?”
“Yes.”
“Lock it. Keep the key.”
Ruth lowered her voice. “Miss Celeste asked for it.”
Julian’s face changed.
“What did you say?”
“That I could not find it.”
“Good.”
“I have worked in that house a long time,” Ruth said. “I know where the keys are.”
Julian glanced toward Evelyn.
“Do not give it to anyone,” he said. “Not Helena. Not Celeste. No one. Malik is coming.”
“Have you called him?”
“I will now.”
“You should know something first.”
Julian waited.
Ruth’s breath made a faint sound against the phone. “The little red light is off.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It stayed on after the ambulance left. Then Miss Celeste went into the gallery office. She was there only a minute. When she came out, the light was off.”
“Did you see her enter?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have a key?”
“She has keys to everything.”
Julian walked to the edge of the curtained bay. “Do not confront her.”
“I have no intention of confronting anyone wearing those shoes.”
Even now, Ruth could produce a line dry enough to survive disaster.
Julian ended the call and contacted Malik. The contractor answered from his daughter’s middle-school orchestra concert, whispering while violins tuned badly in the background. He agreed to drive to Briarwood as soon as the performance ended.
“Now,” Julian said.
Evelyn watched him.
Malik’s voice became firmer. “My daughter has practiced for nine months.”
Julian closed his eyes.
“Of course,” he said after a moment. “After the concert.”
He hung up.
Evelyn reached for the water cup. “You can’t order everyone out of their lives because your sister may have committed a crime.”
“I was not ordering him.”
“You used the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that makes people remember your last name.”
Julian handed her the cup. “I don’t have a voice.”
“You absolutely have a voice.”
He sat down again. “The footage could disappear.”
“It may already be gone.”
He looked at her sharply.
She took a sip. “And if it is, we still have what happened.”
“What happened will become four versions before midnight.”
“It already has.”
Dr. Patel returned an hour later and found no sign of placental separation or early labor. She wanted Evelyn monitored until morning. Julian arranged a private room only after asking the nurse whether doing so would inconvenience another patient. Evelyn heard the question and loved him for it, though she was still angry.
May you like
At nine, Helena Hale arrived carrying a paper bag from the hospital café and an expression arranged for grief.
She was sixty-eight, silver-haired, narrow, and capable of making concern feel like an agenda item. She kissed Evelyn’s forehead and set the bag on the bedside table.
