Chapter 7 - THE HOUSEKEEPER'S KEY
Her name was Mara Bennett.
She had worked for my family since I was nine.
She found me sitting alone in the kitchen at three in the morning.
"Your mother used to sit there."
I looked up.
Mara placed coffee beside me.
"You knew."
She didn't pretend otherwise.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Eleven months."
I laughed bitterly.
"Apparently everyone knew my mother was alive except me."
Mara sat.
"Not everyone."
"Enough."
She nodded.
I liked that she didn't defend herself.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your mother asked me not to."
"And you obeyed."
"Yes."
"Do you regret it?"
"Every day."
That stopped me.
She folded her hands.
"Mrs. Hale believed someone inside your father's household was still sending information to the Cross family."
"Who?"
"We never proved it."
Mara reached into her apron.
She placed a brass key on the table.
I stared at it.
"What's that?"
"Your mother's."
"To what?"
"The old wine cellar."
I almost smiled.
"This house doesn't have a wine cellar."
Mara looked at me.
"The Cross family spent fourteen years believing that too."
We went downstairs.
Behind a shelving unit was an old steel door.
The key opened it.
Beyond was a narrow room that smelled of stone and dust.
A desk sat beneath a single light.
Boxes lined the walls.
Mom's handwriting covered them.
Cross Atlantic.
Malcolm.
Hale Foundation.
Price.
Damian.
I turned.
"What is this?"
"Your mother built her case here."
"Inside the mansion?"
"For six months."
I stared at Mara.
"She was in this house?"
"At night."
The thought made me furious.
Mom had stood beneath the same roof while I slept beside Damian.
Then I saw a box labeled CLAIRE.
Inside were photographs.
My wedding.
My birthdays.
My office.
Coffee shops.
Doctor appointments.
My anger returned.
Until I noticed the dates.
Some photographs were older than eighteen months.
Three years.
Five.
Eight.
Fourteen.
"These aren't Mom's."
Mara shook her head.
"No."
"Whose are they?"
"We don't know."
Someone had been watching me almost my entire adult life.
I found an envelope.
Inside was a picture of me at twenty-two.
A man stood behind me in the reflection of a storefront window.
Nathan Price.
Another photograph.
Twenty-five.
Nathan again.
Another.
My wedding rehearsal.
Nathan.
Always nearby.
I suddenly understood.
"Nathan wasn't working for Damian."
Mara's face tightened.
"No."
"He was watching me before Damian and I were married."
"Yes."
"Then who was he working for?"
A sound came from the hallway.
Mara shut off the light.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone stopped outside the hidden door.
I held my breath.
The handle moved.
Locked.
Then a man's voice spoke from the other side.
"Claire?"
Dad.
I exhaled.
Mara opened the door.
Victor stepped inside.
He saw the boxes.
Then the photographs.
His face drained of color.
"Where did you get those?"
"Mara."
He picked up one picture.
Nathan outside my college dorm.
Dad whispered, "I know why he was watching you."
I stared.
"Why?"
Victor looked at Mom's boxes.
Then at me.
"Because Nathan Price wasn't Malcolm Cross's attorney."
May you like
A long pause.
"He was Evelyn's."
