Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Something evil lurks in the plastic house.

Whenever I'm there, its tendrils creep out and twine around me, making me feel as if I'm moving through quicksand. I don't know the source of it, but a sense of urgency tears through me, compelling me to search Rose's room.

She is at the epicenter of whatever is happening.

I'm driving down River Road toward the Barclay estate, struggling to keep from speeding. I've texted Harriet to let her know I'd like to stop by for a chat. Though I haven't received a response, I'm planning to wait in the area for as long it takes.

I need to see what Rose is hiding behind the Anne of Green Gables book jacket.

And I need to see what she did with the shard of glass and the box cutter I'm certain she stole.

A stoplight ahead of me turns red and I slam on my brakes, stopping just before I skid into the intersection.

Harriet spends most of her time at home, since her damaged knee prevents her from driving all but short distances. If she isn't there now, she will be soon.

I've just crossed into the Potomac suburbs when her reply pings on my phone: That's fine. I'm free all afternoon.

My stomach twists.

I can't shake an image of Tina, terror filling her soft brown eyes, smashing through the glass as jagged shards cut into her skin.

And I can't help wondering why, when no detail or expense was overlooked in renovating the Barclay estate, the death trap of the low window was never considered worthy of attention.

I drive another half mile, and the familiar imposing iron gate comes into view on my left. There's no name on it, just the house number. If you were passing by, you'd never know this was the entrance to the Barclays'.

I press the intercom button. It's answered by a woman whose voice I don't recognize.

"This is Stella Hudson. Harriet is expecting me."

"One moment, please."

I presume she's a housekeeper or another employee, and that she's checking with Harriet. I stare at the intercom speaker and notice just to the left of it is the tiny, unblinking eye of a camera.

Is someone watching me right now?

I pull my gaze away to assess the fence. It would be possible to climb it if someone was fairly athletic and determined to do so.

The gate begins to sweep backward. As soon as the opening is wide enough, I drive through.

I pass the grazing horses and notice the deep groove marks Pete's wheels made in the grass have already been repaired, like he was never even here.

I steer around another curve, and the grand stone house comes into view, its front porch with four pillars accenting its proud bones. The Barclay estate reminds me of a beautiful rock that you turn over to reveal wet, rotting leaves teeming with wiggling bugs stuck to the underside.

My heart flutters in my chest. I want to turn around and drive away from this strange place and its deceptive occupants, but I force myself to pull into my usual parking spot.

I check to make sure I have everything I need. After I met with Detective Garcia, I swung by home to change into thick, soft socks and slip-on sneakers. Then I stopped at a CVS kiosk to print out the photograph of Rose tending to the baby squirrels, which I tucked into an envelope.

Just as I lift my hand to knock on the front door, Harriet opens it. She's wearing navy slacks and a cable-knit turtleneck sweater. Her polished wood cane is in her left hand, as always.

"Stella. I'm glad you texted. Come in."

I step into the foyer.

The heavy darkness folds in on me like weighted shadows. I suppress a shudder. I don't want to be here; my instincts are shrieking at me to leave.

"I've been wanting to apologize for the scene you witnessed between my son and Beth," Harriet says. "And we didn't even properly meet. I don't know where my manners were. I just wanted to get Rose away from the argument as quickly as possible."

I take a deep breath, hoping my voice doesn't shake.

"You did the right thing. Divorce is difficult, and it isn't uncommon for me to see parents have disagreements," I tell her truthfully. "But I'm glad you and I have a chance to meet now."

"Would you like to sit down?" she offers. "I can make us some tea."

I've prepared for this. I need to get Harriet as far away from the house as possible for my plan to work.

"I understand the vegetable garden is your pride and joy. I was hoping you could show it to me while we talk."

Harriet's eyes sharpen. I can't read her thoughts.

She's an independent woman, stoic and hardworking. Devoted to her granddaughter. Despite her physical limitations, she exudes a kind of steely strength.

"Of course. It's a beautiful day, and it'll be nice to go outside."

I follow Harriet down the long hallway to the kitchen, glancing in various rooms as we pass them. The house seems empty, other than a housekeeper I see dusting in the living room. Harriet moves more slowly than my natural pace. But even with her jerky gait, her posture is upright and proud.

When we reach the doors to the backyard, I touch my Apple Watch. It starts ticking off the seconds.

Construction is ongoing, but the patio demolition is now done. Several workers, all in long-sleeved shirts with Ian's company logo, are busy leveling the land. Harriet calls out a friendly hello as we pass by, greeting the workers by name. I wonder if she's always this pleasant to the employees, or if she wants me to think she is.

"Have you always been interested in gardening?" I ask Harriet as we head toward the vegetable beds. The stopwatch on my wrist hits the one-minute mark.

"It's more of a recent hobby. It started when Rose was little, and I bought a pumpkin vine for her so that we could grow her own and turn it into a jack-o'-lantern. It turned out so well that the next year, we planted asparagus, which is her favorite vegetable."

"Asparagus?" I echo. "Don't most kids consider that torture?"

Harriet smiles. "Rose has adult tastes, which Beth encourages. Sometimes I wish Rose would dress more like the other kids her age and run around and get dirty. At least she likes to work in the garden with me. After I moved in, Ian and Beth had these beds created for me as a Mother's Day present."

I realize the reason for the waist-high beds when we reach them. Harriet doesn't have to bend over or get down on her knees to garden. Here, the vegetables rise up to meet her.

"What a thoughtful gift," I comment.

I touch my watch again. Two minutes and fourteen seconds. That's how long it took us to get from inside the house to this spot at Harriet's natural pace.

"I think it was actually Beth's idea," Harriet confides. "She's a very considerate woman. Ian typically just gets me a card for Mother's Day."

It seems like a dig at her son. I recall Ian's comment about his mother blaming him for destroying the family, and wonder how deep her resentment goes.

I shift slightly so I can clearly see Harriet's expressions and body language.

"I know Ian and Beth both want Rose to live with them," I begin. "Do you have any thoughts about what the custody arrangement should be?"

Harriet leans over and plucks a dead leaf off a plant. She rolls it between her thumb and index finger, crushing it.

"I think Beth should be given custody," she tells me. "She's a very good mother."

I mask my surprise. Perhaps Harriet's assertion is the product of her generational viewpoint, which usually defaults to mothers as the caretakers for children.

"Ian seems like a devoted father," I offer up mildly.

"He loves Rose, of course he does. But Ian is selfish. He got my ex-husband's looks and charm. Unfortunately, my ex was a serial cheater. Ian also inherited his father's weak character."

Harriet drops the pieces of leaf onto the soil. "Did you know leaves are meant to crumble into the earth and nourish it? Mother Nature knows what she's doing. I explained this to Ian, but he still has his workers come remove them every few days. Appearances are more important than doing the right thing by his land."

Harriet doesn't just blame Ian. She's furious with him.

"If it were me deciding, I'd give Ian ample visitation time with Rose, but Beth should be the day-to-day caregiver," Harriet continues. "Why should Beth be punished when Ian is the one who destroyed our beautiful family?"

Harriet is being remarkably candid, so I move in from a different angle. Ian claims he and Beth weren't truly a couple. I want to know if Ian lied about this, too.

"Were they happy, Ian and Beth?"

"In the beginning, very. Do you know the story of how they met?"

I've read about it, but I say, "I'd love to hear it."

"Ian was twenty-two and working for a landscaping crew that serviced the grounds of Beth's parents' estate in Upperville, Virginia. Beth was a year older and engaged to the son of a family friend. She'd studied at Yale, you know. Anyway, Beth was home that summer planning the wedding. But secretly, she was having doubts. Then one day Ian heard something while he was working in the gardens. A woman crying. He went to investigate, and there was Beth."

It's like a fairy tale: The beautiful heiress, engaged to the wealthy suitor, is rescued from a loveless life by the handsome, kindhearted laborer.

"Then Ian decided he wasn't happy, even though Beth gave him all this." Harriet stretches out her hand to encompass the grounds, her voice rising with emotion. "This beautiful home. This beautiful family. He just threw everything away!"

"Do you think Beth fell out of love with Ian, too?" I ask. "Or was it one-sided?"

"Beth doesn't confide in me. And I don't pry. I know my place."

I glance back at the house. I think I see a flash of movement in the third-story window, like someone ducked away when they saw me turn. But it could just be a trick of the light, or the housekeeper cleaning the upper level.

I wrap my arms around myself. "Is anyone else home now?"

"Beth is working in her office, and Rose is with her," Harriet tells me.

"Is Tina's old room ever in use?" I ask. "Like, as an extra office or something?"

Harriet frowns. "No, no one goes in there. Even when Tina lived there, Rose understood she wasn't allowed to go up to the third level. It was Tina's private space."

An image slams into my mind: Rose, sneaking up behind Tina in her third-floor bedroom on the video.

I glance up at the window again. No one is there.

It's now or never, I tell myself. I may not get this chance again.

I reach into my purse for my cell phone and frown at the screen. It's blank, but I keep it out of Harriet's line of sight. "I'm sorry, it's Judge Morton—she's overseeing this case—and she's trying to reach me," I lie. "I don't know how long this is going to take, so would you mind if we continued chatting later?"

"Of course," Harriet says.

"I'm coming to take Rose to dinner tomorrow night, so I'll see you then." I take a few steps away as I speak.

Then, as if I've just remembered, I pull out the envelope from my purse. "Oh, I have a photograph I took of Rose the other day. I'll just leave it for her in her room before I go."

I continue moving away, putting space between me and Harriet. "I'll see myself out!"

I have two minutes and fourteen seconds before Harriet will make it back into the house—maybe even less if she hurries.

Not nearly enough time for me to search Rose's room.