Chương 3
The physician looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “Humor is fine. Screens are not.”
Dana drove her home shortly after two in the morning.
Helena lived in a narrow brick townhouse on a quiet street where the trees had outgrown the sidewalks. She had bought it seven years earlier because the kitchen windows faced east and because the previous owner had installed bookshelves without leaving gaps above them. She disliked decorative gaps. They collected dust and made rooms look unfinished.
Dana entered first, checked each floor, and returned to the foyer.
“You have someone you can call?”
“Yes.”
“Someone you will call?”
Helena set her handbag on the small table beside the stairs.
“I’ll call my sister in the morning.”
Dana waited.
Helena took out her keys, placed them in the ceramic dish, and removed her heels. Her left foot had a blister near the smallest toe.
“I don’t need company,” she said.
“Most people don’t need company until the door closes.”
Helena looked at her.
Dana handed her a temporary phone. “The number for the overnight team is programmed. Someone will remain outside. Do not open the door for Mr. Locke, his mother, his father, anyone employed by the family, or anyone who claims to be delivering flowers.”
“Flowers?”
“Rich people send flowers when they want access without admitting they want access.”
Helena glanced at the black handbag.
“They do.”
Dana left.
The door closed with a soft click. Helena locked it, then stood in the foyer without moving. Her house smelled faintly of lemon oil and the basil plant she kept forgetting to water. A red light blinked on the alarm panel. The refrigerator motor started in the kitchen.
She went upstairs, changed out of the midnight-blue gown, and hung it on the outside of the closet door. Near the left shoulder, Adrian’s fingers had left no visible mark. She pressed the fabric anyway, feeling for damage that was not there.
In the bathroom mirror, the cut looked almost trivial.
That angered her more than the pain.
It was narrow and clean, the sort of injury people would call lucky. A photograph might make it appear cosmetic. Adrian’s attorney would describe it as incidental contact with debris. Vivian would remember only a broken glass. Samuel would remember the driveway.
Helena leaned toward the sink. Her breathing had become shallow.
She put both hands flat on the marble and counted the grout lines between the tiles until the room settled.
At three seventeen, the temporary phone rang.
The caller identification showed Samuel Locke.
Helena watched it ring until it stopped.
A voicemail appeared.
She listened without putting the phone to her ear.
“Helena, I’m sorry. I did not know Adrian would react that way. There are things we need to discuss before morning. Please call me.”
His voice was low and measured. The same voice had once told her that her partnership vote would pass unanimously. It had not. Two partners had objected to promoting a thirty-four-year-old woman whose largest client was personally loyal to her. Samuel had responded by moving the Locke account to another firm and hiring Helena as outside general counsel.
At the time, she had mistaken retaliation on her behalf for courage.
She played the message again.
I did not know Adrian would react that way.
Samuel had known Adrian was coming to dinner. He had known the security cameras were off. He had known Helena had been threatened. He had stood at the doors before the glass broke, watching the empty driveway as though waiting for a result.
Helena saved the voicemail.
Then she sat on the closed toilet lid and began to shake.
Her sister, Mara, arrived at seven in the morning carrying two coffees, a paper bag of egg sandwiches, and the furious expression she usually reserved for contractors who underestimated her. Mara was four years younger, broader through the shoulders, and wore her red hair cut close to her jaw. She taught chemistry at a public high school and possessed no patience for people who hid insults inside polite language.
She entered, saw Helena’s face, and put the coffee down too hard.
“He cut you.”
“A fragment did.”
“Because he threw a glass.”
“Yes.”
“So he cut you.”
Helena removed one sandwich from the bag. “You’re going to damage the table.”
Mara stared at her. “That table came from a hotel liquidation sale.”
“It’s still a table.”
“Good. We’re discussing furniture. That means you’re doing great.”
Helena sat.
Mara paced once through the kitchen, stopped at the window, noticed the security vehicle outside, and turned back.
“Was he arrested?”
“Detained. His attorney will seek release this morning.”
“Will he get it?”
“Probably, with conditions.”
Mara swore.
Helena unwrapped the sandwich. The smell of warm egg and pepper made her stomach tighten.
“You don’t have to eat,” Mara said.
“I know.”
“You’re holding it like evidence.”
Helena set it down.
Mara pulled out the chair opposite her. “Tell me what happened without translating it into lawyer.”
Helena looked at the thin steam rising from the coffee.
“Samuel told me he had the original maintenance reports from the Northwind.”
“The ship where the engineer died?”
“Yes. He said he would give them to me if I came privately. No board members, no investigators, no firm counsel. He said Vivian knew, and Adrian was in New York.”
“But Adrian was in the dining room.”
“He arrived twenty minutes after I did.”
“And no one warned you?”
“Samuel said nothing.”
Mara’s jaw shifted. “Why did you stay?”
That was the question Helena had avoided in the hospital.
She folded the sandwich wrapper into a smaller square.
“Because I wanted the reports.”
“You had security outside?”
“Five minutes away.”
“That is not outside.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you leave when Adrian walked in?”
Helena pressed the crease flat with her thumbnail.
“Because he smiled.”
May you like
Mara waited.
“He walked in smiling as if nothing had happened in the garage. As if the messages were jokes. As if I had misunderstood. And I wanted him to say something in front of Samuel. I wanted Samuel to see what he had spent years pretending not to see.”
