Part 17
He stared at the champagne stain.
“No.”
It was barely louder than the candles.
Celeste’s face did not break. Only the hand nearest her gown tightened until the satin gathered in her fist.
Evelyn rode to the sheriff’s office in the back seat of Ortiz’s cruiser because her phone had to be copied and formally logged. Martin offered to drive her, but Ortiz preferred to preserve the device without unnecessary stops. Conrad left with Dr. Pike. Celeste remained at the estate with Dwyer until her attorney arrived.
As the cruiser moved through the stone gates, Evelyn looked back at the glass pavilion. From the drive, it glowed among the dark trees like a lantern set down by someone who had forgotten the way home.
Ortiz glanced at her in the mirror. “Do you have somewhere else to stay tonight?”
“My apartment is on the property.”
“That may be inconvenient.”
“That apartment is part of my employment.”
“Are you employed?”
Evelyn touched her cheek. “I don’t know.”
Ortiz turned onto the coastal road.
The heater made a dry ticking sound. A paper coffee cup rolled beneath the passenger seat whenever the cruiser curved.
“You did the right thing stopping him,” Ortiz said.
Evelyn watched spruce trees blur past the window. “I should have done it sooner.”
“Probably.”
The bluntness surprised her.
Ortiz continued, “Doing the right thing late is still different from not doing it.”
At the station, Evelyn sat beneath fluorescent lights while a technician copied the original video, recorded its metadata, photographed her phone, and asked her to sign forms she read three times. The clip was seven seconds long. It had no dramatic sound, only the faint rattle of ice in a distant sink and Celeste’s thumbnail scraping the packet.
Evelyn had watched it perhaps twenty times in the pavilion. At the station, she could not look at it.
Ortiz photographed the mark on her cheek. The skin had darkened from pink to red near the cheekbone. Evelyn felt ashamed of how little it looked like. She had imagined evidence should display pain accurately. Instead, the photograph showed a tired young woman with a tidy bun and one side of her face slightly flushed.
“Any dizziness?” Ortiz asked.
“No.”
“Ringing in your ears?”
“No.”
“Do you want medical care?”
“No.”
“Are you saying no because you don’t need it or because you don’t want the bill?”
Evelyn almost laughed. “Both.”
Ortiz sat across from her. “The county can document the injury without charging you for an emergency-room visit. But I won’t make you go.”
“I’m fine.”
“People say that a lot in this building.”
Evelyn signed the assault complaint at one thirty in the morning.
Martin arrived twenty minutes later with a small suitcase.
He set it beside her chair.
“I packed essentials from your apartment,” he said.
“You went through my things?”
“Only the bathroom cabinet and the left side of your wardrobe. I asked Elise from housekeeping to supervise.”
“That doesn’t make it normal.”
“No.”
She looked at the suitcase. It was the expensive leather one her mother had bought her when Evelyn earned her first sommelier certification. She had never used it because the wheels squeaked.
“Why can’t I go home?”
“Mrs. Vale’s attorney objected to your presence on the property.”
“It isn’t his decision.”
“No. Mr. Vale agreed that everyone should remain separated tonight.”
The wording stung more than she expected.
“Mr. Vale agreed.”
“He is at Pen Bay. Dr. Pike says he will remain there until morning.”
“And he had time to discuss where I sleep?”
“His attorney raised it.”
“Of course he did.”
Martin removed a cream envelope from his inner pocket. “There is cash for a hotel.”
She did laugh then, a small exhausted sound that drew a glance from the desk sergeant.
“You brought me hush money in an envelope?”
“It is not hush money.”
“It looks exactly like hush money.”
“It is three hundred dollars from the household emergency fund.”
“That phrase doesn’t improve it.”
“I did not think you would want your personal card charged for accommodations created by the Vales.”
She pushed the envelope back toward him.
Martin did not take it. “Evelyn.”
“I’m not taking their money.”
“Then take mine.”
“That’s worse.”
“Only because you’re tired.”
“No, it will still be worse tomorrow.”
He sat in the plastic chair beside her. For the first time that night, he looked his age. His shoulders lowered, and the lines around his eyes deepened.
“There is a guest room over my garage,” he said. “It has clean sheets. The shower takes several minutes to warm. My sister stores Christmas decorations in half the closet, though she has not lived with me in eight years.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You have a sister?”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“She lives in Vermont. There is rarely operational need to discuss her.”
Despite herself, Evelyn smiled.
Martin’s expression softened by a fraction. “Come home with me. We will decide what is improper in the morning.”
His house stood in a modest neighborhood outside Rockport, twenty-five minutes from the estate and far enough inland that the air smelled of damp leaves rather than salt. The garage apartment had sloped ceilings, a brass bed, and a ceramic lamp shaped like a lighthouse. Three plastic bins marked CHRISTMAS occupied the closet exactly as promised.
Martin left a glass of water on the dresser.
“Do you need ice?”
“I had enough ice at the station.”
“That answer makes no sense.”
“I know.”
He lingered in the doorway.
“Why were you in the corridor?” Evelyn asked.
“At the pavilion?”
“Yes.”
“I had returned from checking the generator. Mrs. Vale insisted the candlelight remain uninterrupted if we lost power.”
“You saw her near the drinks table?”
“I saw her leave it.”
“And you didn’t think that was strange?”
“She lives there.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Martin looked at the floorboards.
May you like
“No,” he said. “At the time, I did not permit myself to think it was strange.”
Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed.
