Part 5
“Mr. Vale was discharged,” he said without preamble. “His initial blood work showed nothing immediately dangerous.”
Evelyn poured coffee. “Because he didn’t drink it.”
“That appears to be Dr. Pike’s view.”
“What happens now?”
“The sheriff has submitted the decanter and packet for analysis. Mrs. Vale has not been arrested.”
Evelyn stared into the cup. “And the slap?”
“Her attorney says she reacted after you endangered Mr. Vale with broken glass.”
“The glass didn’t break.”
“I am aware.”
“Everyone in the room is aware.”
“Awareness and legal argument are often distant relatives.”
She found jam in the refrigerator and opened it. The surface had formed a dark, glossy skin.
“Is this still good?”
“I believe so.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I don’t eat jam.”
“Then why do you own it?”
“My sister bought it.”
“The sister in Vermont?”
“The same.”
They ate in silence.
At eight fifteen, Conrad called Martin. Martin stood by the window, giving short answers. Yes, sir. No, sir. The east gate remained closed. Mrs. Vale was in the west suite. Counsel had advised separate areas of the house. The staff had been told there had been a medical concern and that the dining pavilion was unavailable.
Then Martin looked at Evelyn.
“She is here.”
Evelyn set down her toast.
Martin listened.
“I will ask.”
He covered the phone with his hand. “Mr. Vale would like to speak with you.”
“Does he want me back at the estate?”
“He did not say.”
“Am I still employed?”
“He did not say.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“That he would like to speak with you.”
She took the phone.
“Mr. Vale.”
His voice sounded scraped hollow. “Evelyn.”
Neither continued.
In the background, she heard a door close and the faint murmur of another man.
“I’m told you’re at Martin’s.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
She waited for him to say more.
“I’ve had an unusual night,” he said.
“So have I.”
Another pause.
“My attorney says we should not discuss the evidence.”
“Then why did you call?”
“I wanted to know whether you were all right.”
“My cheek hurts.”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t know whether I have a job or a home.”
“I have not dismissed you.”
“Your wife did.”
“My wife does not control personnel decisions.”
Evelyn thought of every schedule Celeste had changed, every employee she had sent home, every supplier she had blacklisted after a minor mistake.
“She thinks she does.”
Conrad exhaled. “You are on paid leave until this is resolved.”
“Paid leave from the job I may have lost because I prevented you from drinking something your wife put in a decanter.”
“I am trying to handle this responsibly.”
“No. You’re trying to handle it privately.”
Martin turned away, pretending to read the newspaper.
Conrad’s voice cooled. “I have known you for six months.”
“And her for eight years.”
“That is not a defense of her.”
“It sounded like one.”
“You recorded a member of my family without consent and waited until the final second to intervene. I am grateful that you intervened. I am also trying to understand your judgment.”
Evelyn gripped the phone more tightly. “I’m trying to understand yours.”
Martin looked up.
The line went quiet.
When Conrad spoke again, his voice had changed. Not softened, exactly. It had lost its armor.
“I don’t know what my judgment is this morning.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
She could have apologized. The instinct came from years in dining rooms where wealthy anger had to be absorbed before it reached the guests. She could have told him she understood. She could have made herself smaller so he would not regret calling.
Instead she said, “I gave the sheriff a statement. I’m not withdrawing it.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“Not yet.”
She returned the phone to Martin and walked outside before Conrad could answer.
The morning was colorless and cold. Across the street, a man in plaid pajama pants dragged a recycling bin toward the curb while a terrier barked at its wheels. Evelyn stood on Martin’s front steps with her arms folded, breathing air that smelled of wood smoke and wet pavement.
Her father used to say that fear became less impressive once daylight reached it. He had said many things after his cancer diagnosis, most of them untrue. Pain did not make people wise. Death did not arrange families into forgiving shapes. Daylight did not reduce fear. It simply showed the objects fear had been hiding behind.
Martin joined her with his coat unbuttoned.
“You antagonized him,” he said.
“He questioned my judgment.”
“Your judgment was imperfect.”
“I stopped him.”
“Yes.”
“You agree with him.”
“I agree with facts when they are inconvenient.”
She turned toward him. “What fact did you ignore?”
Martin looked across the street at the terrier, which had now cornered the recycling bin and appeared pleased with itself.
“Mr. Vale’s episodes,” he said. “They often followed dinners Mrs. Vale arranged privately.”
Evelyn waited.
“He became disoriented after their February anniversary trip. Again after a charity dinner in March. Twice during the summer when they dined alone in the garden room. Once after a night aboard the boat.”
“You noticed a pattern.”
“I noticed occasions.”
“That is the same thing with less courage.”
“Yes.”
His agreement took the force out of her anger.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I told Dr. Pike that wine appeared to worsen the symptoms.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
He rubbed a thumb over the edge of his cuff. “I have spent most of my adult life preventing private troubles from becoming public disasters. It is a skill for which Mr. Vale paid me well. At some point, I began confusing discretion with goodness.”
Evelyn looked back at the house.
“What was in the other drinks?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who prepared them?”
“Sometimes Mrs. Vale. Sometimes staff.”
“Which staff?”
“I am making a list.”
May you like
Her phone rang.
The caller identified herself as Naomi Feld, an attorney representing Celeste. Evelyn almost declined, then answered because not knowing felt worse.
