Chapter 2 - The Second Cup
The following morning, Harper found the medication cup in the library wastebasket.
It might have meant nothing.
Someone could have emptied a pocket. A housekeeper could have moved it. In a house with twenty employees, objects traveled constantly.
Still, she stood looking at it longer than she should have.
“You planning to polish that?”
Harper turned.
Mrs. Aldridge stood behind her, holding the morning assignment sheet.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then the west guest rooms require your attention.”
Harper hesitated.
“Who handles Mrs. Blackthorne’s medication?”
“Her nurse.”
“And when the nurse isn’t here?”
“Dr. Sloane’s written instructions are in the care office.”
Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Mrs. Blackthorne seemed uncertain about her tablets.”
“She is often uncertain.”
The answer was brisk enough to end the conversation.
At lunch, Harper drove to Mercy General.
Her father sat propped against hospital pillows, watching a cooking show with the offended concentration of a man who believed television chefs used too many bowls.
“They’ve dirtied six pans to make chicken,” he said.
“An outrage.”
“Your mother could’ve done it with one skillet and an argument.”
Harper laughed and kissed his forehead.
Gerald Quinn had grown thinner in the past month. His wedding ring hung loose, and his hands trembled when he reached for his water.
She steadied the cup without mentioning it.
He noticed anyway.
“How’s the palace?”
“Still standing despite my efforts.”
“Anyone treating you decent?”
She thought of Evelyn.
“One person.”
“That’s a start.”
A hospital financial counselor knocked shortly afterward.
Harper stepped into the hallway to discuss payment arrangements, keeping her voice low. By the time she returned, Gerald was pretending to sleep.
He had heard enough.
That evening, she accepted an extra shift.
It was nearly nine when she passed the care office and heard Evelyn protesting.
“I don’t want another.”
Miranda’s voice followed.
“You’re making this difficult.”
Harper stopped outside the open door.
Evelyn sat beside the desk. Miranda held a small glass of water. A medication packet lay on the blotter.
“Is everything all right?” Harper asked.
Miranda turned slowly.
“Perfectly.”
Evelyn looked relieved.
“Harper, tell her I already had my evening medicine.”
Harper kept her tone gentle.
“Maybe we could check with the nurse.”
“The nurse has gone home,” Miranda said.
“Then Dr. Sloane?”
“You are employed to clean this house.”
The room became painfully quiet.
Harper felt the familiar urge to apologize and retreat.
Then she saw Evelyn’s hand shaking against the chair.
“I understand,” Harper said. “But I’d be more comfortable calling.”
Miranda placed the water on the desk.
“Your comfort isn’t a household priority.”
“What’s happening?”
Adrian stood in the doorway.
Miranda’s face softened instantly.
“Your mother’s confused about her medication. Harper misunderstood.”
Adrian looked at Evelyn.
“Mom?”
“I don’t want to be sleepy again.”
He glanced at the packet.
Something changed in his expression.
“Leave it,” he told Miranda. “I’ll call Sloane.”
Miranda gave a small, wounded smile.
“Of course. I was only trying to help.”
Harper slipped into the hallway before anyone could dismiss her.
She made it halfway to the stairs before Adrian caught up.
“Quinn.”
She turned.
“If you see something concerning my mother, tell the nurse.”
“I tried.”
“Then tell Mrs. Aldridge.”
“I did.”
He paused.
Harper immediately wished she had sounded less sharp.
“I’m sorry, sir. I only meant—”
“What did you see?”
She described the empty cup the previous evening and Evelyn’s repeated insistence that she had already taken her tablets.
Adrian listened without interrupting.
“Thank you,” he said at last.
It should have reassured her.
Instead, the next morning her schedule changed.
She was assigned laundry inventory, basement storage, and the detached guesthouse.
Nothing in the east wing.
At the bottom of the sheet, in handwriting Harper recognized from invitations and charity place cards, someone had added:
NO UNSUPERVISED CONTACT WITH MRS. BLACKTHORNE.
Harper carried the paper to Mrs. Aldridge.
“Did I do something wrong?”
The housekeeper looked older than she had the day before.
“Follow the schedule.”
At three that afternoon, Harper found an envelope tucked into her coat pocket.
Inside was a photograph of Mercy General’s main entrance.
On the back, someone had written a single sentence.
You have enough people to worry about already.
For several seconds, Harper couldn’t move.
Then she turned the photograph over again.
In the lower corner, barely visible beyond the revolving doors, her father sat in his wheelchair.
May you like
Someone had been close enough to photograph him.
Someone wanted her to know it.
