The Woman in the Water Knew Why the Brooch Was Missing

“Of course,” Lydia said after a pause. “The blue room.”

Mara came close enough to speak without others hearing. “Security is on the way. I also sent the clip to the foundation’s attorney and copied the original file path.”

“Good,” Adrian said.

Victor looked at her. “You had no authority to distribute private footage.”

Mara’s fingers closed around the phone. “Mr. Vale instructed me to preserve it.”

“He instructed you after you sent it.”

She did not answer.

Eleanor saw Victor notice the silence.

Then he smiled.

It was a small, almost paternal smile that made Mara’s shoulders draw back.

“Be careful, Ms. Quinn,” he said. “Young careers can become complicated over misunderstandings.”

Adrian stepped between them.

“Threaten my employee again, and you leave through the service gate.”

The words were quiet.

Victor’s smile remained, but it stopped reaching any part of his face.

Eleanor wanted to disappear. She wanted to go belowstairs, change into the spare uniform hanging in her locker, collect her handbag, and take the bus home. She wanted the guests to decide she had never been in the pool. She wanted Celeste’s accusation to shrink into something that could be cleaned with towels and disinfectant.

Instead Adrian guided her toward the house while everyone watched.

The blue sitting room overlooked the southern lawn. It smelled faintly of beeswax and the lilies Lydia insisted on placing beneath an eighteenth-century seascape. Eleanor had dusted the room the previous morning. She had straightened the books no one read and turned one chair two inches because Lydia disliked furniture that appeared to drift.

Now she sat in that chair while Mrs. Delaney, the household manager, wrapped a blanket around her.

Mrs. Delaney was sixty and normally moved with a briskness that made sympathy look inefficient. That afternoon her hands shook as she removed Eleanor’s wet shoes.

“I left clothes in my locker,” Eleanor said.

“Someone will bring them.”

“I can go myself.”

“No.”

“I’m not injured.”

“You have a cut.”

Eleanor looked down.

A thin line of blood ran along her left shin where she had scraped it against the pool’s stone edge. She had not felt it until Mrs. Delaney touched the skin with a towel.

Adrian stood by the windows speaking to the head of security. His wet trousers darkened from the knees down. He had not changed his shoes. Mara remained near the door, phone in hand.

Lydia entered alone.

She closed the door behind her.

“Victor and Celeste are in the library,” she said. “They have agreed to remain until counsel arrives.”

“Agreed?” Adrian asked.

“They are guests in our home. We cannot detain them.”

“We can ask them not to destroy evidence.”

“Which is why they are in the library with Thomas outside.”

Eleanor looked up sharply.

“The library?”

Lydia turned toward her. “Is there a problem?”

Eleanor pressed the blanket beneath her chin.

Adrian saw her face. “What is it?”

She wished he had not asked in front of Lydia. She wished she had spoken to Mara that morning rather than telling herself the matter could wait until after the reception.

“There was a courier envelope,” she said.

“What envelope?” Adrian asked.

“In the library. It came before lunch.”

Lydia frowned. “We had several deliveries.”

“This one was from Bellweather Forensic Accounting. Addressed to the Vale Coastal Children’s Fund, care of Mr. Adrian Vale. Signature required.”

Mara looked up from her phone.

Adrian stepped away from the window. “Did you sign for it?”

“No. Joseph at the gate did. He brought it inside with the flowers. I found it beneath the side table when I was checking the room.”

“And where is it now?”

“In the center drawer of your father’s desk.”

Lydia’s expression changed so subtly that Eleanor might have missed it if she had not spent thirty-two years noticing what members of the Vale family preferred not to say.

“Why did you put it there?” Lydia asked.

“Because the library was being used by guests, and the envelope said confidential.”

“You should have brought it to me.”

“It was addressed to Adrian.”

Lydia’s mouth thinned.

Mara crossed the room. “Bellweather is the firm reviewing the rehabilitation-center accounts.”

Victor Arden’s company had recommended Bellweather after a trustee raised questions about delays in transferring restricted donations. The review had been described publicly as routine. Privately, it had already lasted six weeks longer than expected.

Adrian looked toward the door.

“Thomas,” he called.

The head of security entered.

“Go to the library,” Adrian said. “Move Victor and Celeste to the east drawing room. Then secure the desk. No one touches anything.”

Thomas nodded.

Lydia put a hand on his arm. “Do not make a scene in front of the remaining guests.”

“Most of the remaining guests are standing in the hall listening,” Adrian said.

Thomas left.

Eleanor closed her eyes.

The room had begun to feel too warm. Wet hair lay cold against her neck, but heat pressed behind her eyes. She could still hear Celeste telling them to search her bag.

Mrs. Delaney touched her wrist. “Slow breaths.”

“I am breathing.”

“Not usefully.”

It was such a typical thing for her to say that Eleanor almost smiled.

The door opened again. A maid brought Eleanor’s spare dress, underclothes, stockings, and another pair of shoes from the staff locker. She set them on the sofa and left without meeting Eleanor’s eyes.

Not shame, Eleanor thought. The girl was crying.

Adrian came closer. “We’ll leave you to change.”

“Mr. Vale.”

He stopped.

Eleanor had called him Adrian when he was a boy with grass stains on his knees and a habit of hiding under the kitchen table. She had called him Mr. Vale since he returned from graduate school and took his place beside his father at the foundation.

Now neither name felt right.

“I did not take that brooch.”