Chương 10
Celeste wore a cream sweater and no jewelry. Without the velvet dress and makeup, she looked younger and more tired.
“For how long?” she asked.
“Until the inquiry is complete.”
“That could be months.”
“Yes.”
“This is my home.”
“It is Mother’s home.”
“I have lived here eighteen years.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at the oranges.
Celeste laughed softly. “You always look at objects when you want to pretend a conversation is happening to someone else.”
“I want you to stay at the apartment in Georgetown.”
“The apartment we keep for donors?”
“It’s empty.”
“How elegant.”
“Celeste.”
“No, say it correctly. You want your wife removed from the family house so the staff will feel safe.”
“Yes.”
She flinched.
Andrew had prepared a gentler answer. He abandoned it.
She folded her hands. “I did not hit her.”
“I know.”
“I did not intend to.”
He said nothing.
“You believe the maid.”
“I believe Mother was afraid.”
“She has been afraid of losing control since before I met you.”
“That does not make every fear false.”
Celeste stood and walked to the window.
“Do you remember Peter’s first overdose?” she asked.
Andrew’s shoulders tightened.
“You were in Chicago. Your phone was off during a dinner. I sat on the bathroom floor while he vomited into a towel because the ambulance dispatcher told me to keep him on his side. Your mother stood in the doorway and said this kind of weakness did not happen in her family.”
“She apologized.”
“Three years later.”
“I know.”
“I stayed. I cleaned him. I took him to treatment. I lied to the board when he stole from the foundation account. I sold my mother’s jewelry to pay the restitution before anyone noticed.”
Andrew stared at her.
“You told me the money came from your trust.”
“I did not have a trust.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were already ashamed of him. I could not survive your shame turning toward me.”
He stood slowly. “How much?”
“Forty-eight thousand.”
“Celeste.”
“He paid some back.”
“This is why you wanted control of the house?”
“This is why I understand that families are maintained by people willing to do indecent things quietly.”
The sentence seemed to frighten her after she said it.
Andrew walked to the other side of the table.
“What did you do?” he asked.
She looked at him.
“What did you do with Mother’s medication?”
“Nothing that Dana did not consider medically acceptable.”
“That is not an answer.”
“She was agitated.”
“Did you give her the sleep aid?”
“Once.”
“How many times?”
“Once that I remember.”
“That you remember?”
“I am tired too, Andrew.”
“Did you cancel her calls with Marjorie?”
Celeste looked away.
“Did you take the red folder?”
“No.”
“Did you replace the December authorization?”
“Kessler revised it.”
“Did Mother approve the revision?”
“She would not discuss it rationally.”
“Did she approve it?”
“No.”
Andrew gripped the back of a chair.
Celeste’s voice broke. “You told me we had until Friday.”
“I told you to ask her.”
“You told me the foundation would fail, the credit line would be called, and the press would discover you had guaranteed it without board approval.”
His face went still.
“You left that out when you confessed to the housemaid, didn’t you?” she asked.
Andrew released the chair.
Celeste saw the answer.
“You gave me a fire,” she said. “Now you’re shocked that I used water from a dirty bucket.”
“You drugged my mother.”
“I helped her sleep.”
“You isolated her from counsel.”
“I stopped a frightened old woman from being agitated by documents she could not follow.”
“You tried to take her house.”
“I tried to save yours.”
They stood on opposite sides of the table, the softened orange between them.
Andrew said, “Leave today.”
Celeste nodded.
Then she sat down and began to cry without covering her face. The sound was quiet, almost irritated, as if her own grief had become another task she resented.
Andrew did not touch her.
That afternoon, Celeste packed two suitcases.
Before leaving, she went to Evelyn’s bedroom while Beatrice watched from the doorway.
Celeste opened the wardrobe and removed a navy coat. From the pocket she took a key.
Beatrice recognized it as the old desk key.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
Celeste looked at it as if surprised to find it there.
“Evelyn gave it to me months ago.”
“Why was it in your coat?”
“I forgot.”
Beatrice held out her hand.
Celeste placed the key in it.
“Search the coat,” Beatrice said.
Celeste stared at her.
“I am not authorized,” Beatrice added. “I am asking.”
For a moment, the old order returned. Celeste’s chin lifted. Beatrice’s shoulders drew in.
Then Celeste removed the coat and handed it over.
The pockets contained tissues, a receipt from a pharmacy, two peppermints, and a small brass button.
No folder.
Beatrice returned the coat.
Celeste put it on. “Are you satisfied?”
“No.”
“Neither am I.”
She walked out without saying goodbye to the staff.
The pharmacy receipt was dated January 21 and listed the sleep aid found in the blister pack. Celeste had paid cash.
Kessler explained that she had picked it up for Evelyn after Dana mentioned difficulty sleeping. The pharmacy confirmed the prescription was valid but old. The purchase itself was not illegal.
Again, the evidence created suspicion without providing a clean ending.
The first major break came from someone no one had considered important.
Jamal Reed, a twenty-two-year-old maintenance assistant, approached Beatrice on a Monday morning and asked whether he would be fired for taking trash home.
“What trash?” she asked.
He produced a red expanding folder from his backpack.
The edges were bent. A strip had been torn from one corner.
Beatrice sat down.
“Where did you get that?”
“Recycling room.”
“When?”
“Last Thursday.”
The day after the confrontation.
“Why did you take it?”
“My sister needed something for her tax papers. It was empty.”
Beatrice opened it.
May you like
It was empty.
She called Andrew and Howard. They photographed the folder and asked Jamal to explain exactly where it had been.
