Chapter 3 - The Box From Richard’s Study
I followed her too quickly.
Vanessa stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Can I help you?”
“The box,” I said.
She looked down.
“What about it?”
“Rosa usually handles anything from the study.”
“Well, Rosa doesn’t own the study.”
Neither did Vanessa.
I kept my face still.
“Those look like personal papers.”
“They’re old papers.”
I knew the cream stationery.
Richard had bought a case of it when Daniel was eight because he believed important things deserved ink instead of a screen.
When he traveled, he wrote letters to our son from hotel desks.
He wrote about ordinary things.
A bad sandwich.
A long meeting.
A bird that kept attacking its reflection in his window.
After he died, those ordinary details became precious.
“Mr. Whitmore may want them,” I said.
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Whitmore doesn’t need to live in a shrine.”
I heard myself inhale.
She noticed.
“You’re very opinionated for temporary help.”
Before I could answer, Rosa entered the corridor.
“Caroline is here for the tasting review.”
Vanessa handed me the box.
“Fine. Put it somewhere out of sight.”
Then she walked away.
I carried the letters to Rosa’s office.
My hands were shaking.
Rosa closed the door.
“Margaret.”
“She was throwing them away.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She was taking them toward the disposal area.”
“Then ask Daniel what he instructed. Don’t turn a concern into a conclusion before you have the facts.”
I stared at her.
Seventeen years of my household management, and she had apparently learned to manage me too.
I sat down.
“You’re right.”
She folded her arms.
“You need to stop this.”
“I will. Tomorrow morning.”
“Why tomorrow?”
Because I wanted one more piece.
Because I had begun treating every new cruelty as justification for continuing a plan I should never have needed.
Because admitting Rosa had already given me enough would also mean admitting I had made the wrong choice.
I did not say any of that.
I said, “Daniel will be here.”
Rosa looked disappointed.
It was harder to bear than anger.
That night, I returned to the guesthouse and removed the wig.
My face in the mirror looked tired and ridiculous.
I called Daniel.
He sounded distracted.
“How was your trip?”
“Fine.”
The lie tasted unpleasant.
“Did you ask Vanessa to clear your father’s letters from the study?”
Silence.
“No. Why?”
“Please check where they are tomorrow.”
“Mom, what happened?”
“Nothing has been lost.”
“Then why are you making it sound ominous?”
I almost told him everything.
Instead, I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He exhaled.
“Please try with her.”
After the call, I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about the women who had asked me to try with them.
Rosa.
Lidia.
The agency supervisor whose complaint I had forwarded without following up.
I had spent more time arranging a disguise than answering their original concerns.
The following morning, I dressed as Mary for the last time.
I carried a small recorder for the final conversation I intended to document under the arrangements my attorney had reviewed. The household’s disclosed security cameras also covered the public foyer.
I would speak to Daniel as soon as he came downstairs.
That was the plan.
Then Vanessa appeared with a silver photograph frame in her hand.
The glass was cracked.
“This was on the console yesterday.”
I looked at it.
A photograph of Daniel and Richard on a fishing trip.
“I haven’t touched that frame.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Her expression hardened.
“Of course you don’t.”
She ordered me to clean the marble foyer again.
When I explained that Rosa had already approved the work, she stepped close enough that I could smell her perfume.
“You people always hide behind each other.”
I straightened.
“You can ask for work to be redone without speaking that way.”
Her face changed.
There was no audience to impress.
No Daniel to charm.
Just a woman in a faded uniform who had dared to correct her.
She reached for the bucket beside the service door.
I had enough time to understand what she intended.
Not enough time to believe she would actually do it.
Then the water hit me.
Cold and filthy.
For a moment, the only sound was the bucket striking the floor.
Vanessa laughed.
“You look disgusting.”
I wiped my eyes.
My thumb found the recorder and marked the recording before saving it.
May you like
Then I lifted my head toward the staircase.
“Daniel,” I called. “Could you come down here, please?”
