Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A dull throbbing forms between my temples the moment I step into the brightly lit, cavernous room. Dozens of kids are screaming and shouting and bouncing on what must be fifty connected trampolines that compose the length of a football field.

"Ms. Hudson?"

I pull my eyes away from a little boy who is standing over a bag of spilled popcorn and wailing while his mother soothes him. Ashley Brown stands in front of me, wearing an aggressively cheerful blue-and-red-striped jumpsuit, a round pin that says Welcome to JUMP! , and a weary expression on her pretty face.

"Thanks for meeting me, Ashley." I grimace as the cacophony of sounds swells.

Ashley seems immune to it, but she gestures for me to follow her into a side room with a big sign on the door that reads Party Room One . She closes the door behind us, sealing out most of the noise. The room is a disaster: Dirty paper plates rim the long, rectangular table, and crumpled napkins litter the floor. Fruit punch juice boxes lie on their side, their sticky red liquid dripping out onto the paper tablecloth. Streaks of blue frosting coat the back of one chair, and a lifeless pink balloon lies spent on a counter. I don't blame the balloon.

"Someone called in sick, so I don't get a break today. But I can talk while I clean up." Ashley begins tossing used party plates and cups into a big trash bag.

I move to the other side of the table and begin to collect debris, too. Partly it's a technique to put myself on Ashley's level; she'll be more likely to open up if I'm acting like her peer. But it's also because I know what it feels like to be young and working in the food service industry and to have to clean up the colossal messes left by others.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your friend," I begin. "I understand you and Tina were close."

Ashley nods as she slides a plate holding an untouched-looking piece of pizza into the bag. "I'd only known her a year, but yeah, Tina was one of my best friends. It's so messed up that she's gone, you know?"

I wait a respectful beat. "Did she ever talk about her job?"

"Sure. We both nannied for rich families in the area; that's how we met. And we both had weird nights off—Sundays and Mondays, since our bosses wanted to have their weekend nights free. So yeah, we talked a lot."

I frown. Pete didn't mention this detail. "You were a nanny, too?"

"Live-in, so I banked all my checks. One easy boy who was in kindergarten. Then, after Tina died, the news got out she was pregnant with Mr. Barclay's baby, and suddenly the mom I work for tells me I shouldn't wear yoga pants around the house. That she wants me to dress more professionally. She watches like a hawk every time her husband is around, trying to see if he's checking me out. Next thing I know, I get my two weeks' notice."

Ashley rolls her eyes, then moves to a tall stack of Domino's boxes on a side table. "Want some pizza?"

I shake my head. "I just ate, but thanks."

She tips two entire pies into the trash, then tosses the boxes into a recycling bin. "When I interviewed here, they acted like it was a perk: All the pizza you want! Now I can't even stand the smell of it."

I finish clearing my side of the table and dampen a sponge at the sink in the corner so I can wipe the frosting off the chair. Normally I'd center my questions on the relationship between Rose and her parents. But the focus on my investigation has broadened.

"How did Tina feel about Rose?"

"At first? Things were great. Tina felt sorry for Rose because she didn't have any friends. She'd been bullied at her previous school, so she'd had to transfer to Rollingwood."

I suck in a breath. Is this another cover story created by the Barclays because Rose was expelled from that school, too?

Ashley gets distracted by a blob of what I hope is dried chocolate ice cream on the floor. I toss her the sponge, and she bends down to scrub it away.

"You said it was great at first," I prompt.

"Yeah, Rose adored Tina and vice versa. Then everything changed overnight."

I grow very still, focusing on catching every word.

"It was like Rose turned into a different kid. She'd yell that Tina wasn't her mother. She told Tina to leave and never come back. It was so awful for Tina."

It's hard to imagine Rose yelling. Then I remember how Beth Barclay morphed from a cultured, soft-spoken woman into a wild-eyed shouter when she saw the chef use a glass measuring cup in her kitchen. Ian changed, too, when I first questioned him in his study, his genial facade sliding away like a mask to reveal a grim expression. Maybe the ability to flip moods as easily as turning over the cards in a playing deck is a shared family trait.

"Why did Rose turn on Tina?" I ask.

Ashley straightens up and reaches for a broom to sweep the floor. "We had no idea. Tina couldn't figure out what was wrong. Sometimes Rose would be sweet and hug her, then she'd get cold again and tell Tina to leave her alone, that she hated her."

"When did Rose change?"

Her broom swishes as she considers my question. "Umm… maybe a couple weeks before Tina died."

I run the timeline in my head: A flip switched in Rose at about the same time Tina and Ian slept together for the second time. Ian told me it happened in Tina's bedroom—the one Rose liked to sneak into. Could Rose have witnessed her dad and her nanny having sex?

I grab the dustpan in the corner and bend down to capture the pizza crusts and other debris from Ashley's broom; then I toss the contents into the trash bag.

When she speaks again, her voice is weary, and she sounds older. "They used her—Beth and Ian both did. That's what rich people do to people like me and Tina. They hire us to take care of their kids and houses, and they say we're part of the family —that's their favorite expression because it makes them seem down-to-earth—but the minute there's trouble, they cut us loose. Now Tina's gone and I'm here. Working for minimum wage plus tips, except most people don't tip."

Ashley was fired because she is young and pretty. She has every right to be bitter.

"I miss Caleb. He's the little boy I used to take care of. I helped him learn how to read. I had a picture he painted up on my refrigerator. And now I'll never see him again."

Ashley dabs her eyes with a clean napkin.

"I'll never see Tina, either. I bought blue hydrangeas every week at first because they were her favorite flower. She loved to pick them in the garden and put them in her room. Then one day something happened and I went to text her, and as soon as I picked up my phone, I realized I'd forgotten she'd died."

Tears glisten in Ashley's big brown eyes.

"I didn't buy hydrangeas last week. She's fading away in my memory."

I don't repeat any of the empty platitudes I heard when my parents died. Instead, I try to acknowledge Ashley's grief by bearing witness to it.

"Isn't that awful? That I'm forgetting?" Her voice breaks on the final word.

I shake my head. "Grief can consume us, so it's a natural protective mechanism to get distracted by other things. Just because you sometimes feel happy or angry or you don't think about Tina as often doesn't mean you are dishonoring her memory. It means you're trying to survive."

Ashley nods. After a moment she resumes her work, removing the soiled, soggy tablecloth and stuffing it into her garbage bag, then squirting cleaner over the surface of the table. I grab a few paper towels and help her wipe it down.

A loudspeaker overhead crackles; then a slightly manic voice blares: "Attention, Jumpers! Emily's party guests, gather in Party Room One for pizza and cake in ten minutes!"

I don't have much longer to get information. Though I can always talk to Ashley later, she's in a raw, revealing state right now. She might not be as open next time. "Pete told me strange things happened to Tina in the house. Did she ever mention that to you?"

Ashley pulls a fresh paper tablecloth out from a cupboard, and I help her spread it over the table. "Oh, yeah." She shudders. "If Tina hadn't been so into Ian, she would've quit and moved out. That house was like Rose—so perfect at first, then all the bad stuff started happening."

"Can you tell me about any specific incidents?"

Ashley looks up and to the left—which people commonly do when recalling a memory. Some researchers believe people who are lying look up and to the right. Of course, anyone who knows this hypothesis can beat the test.

I have no reason to doubt Ashley, but I can never forget what Charles told me when I began my career: Everyone lies.

"It started with little things. Sometimes Tina's stuff went missing. But like, only one of her favorite hoop earrings. As if someone was messing with her, trying to make her wonder if she'd lost it or if it had been taken. Things were a little off in her room—different from how she'd left them. She was sure someone was going through her stuff. And then it got spooky. She swore sometimes late at night she heard her grandpa's voice saying her name. But he died a couple years ago."

"That would unnerve anyone," I comment.

Ashley grabs a stack of paper plates and napkins from the cupboard and begins circling the table, setting down place settings as she moves.

"And this one time Tina was getting ready to go out. She was trying to look hot so she could walk past Ian and make him want her. She tried on two dresses—one black and one red. She sent me selfies of her in both. I told her I liked the black and that's the one she wore."

Ashley is across the table from me now, putting down a plate and napkin in front of the miniature chair at the head of the table. "When Tina came home a few hours later, there was a note on her bed."

The heavy sense of dread that infused me in the house descends, as if its vapory, clutching fingers have followed me here and are wrapping around me. "What did the note say?"

" You should have worn the red one. "

My heart stutters. Someone was watching Tina when she thought she was alone in her bedroom.

"Who wrote the note?" I ask.

"It was printed on computer paper, so it could have been anyone."

Ashley puts down another place setting, circling the table. She's coming closer to me.

"Tina thought it might have been Rose. Because Rose used to like to watch her get ready. Tina would give her a dab of lip gloss and do her hair and they'd take selfies. So Tina figured maybe Rose was just watching her and left the note playfully. But it creeped her out. Why type and print it? It felt… sinister."

I think about the sense I had at the house that eyes were on me even when I couldn't see anyone.

"Did Tina ask Rose?"

"She planned to. But Rose was acting so hot and cold. She couldn't find the right time … You know, I really think Tina would've moved out if it hadn't been for Ian. She hoped he'd leave Beth for her once he found out she was pregnant."

"When was she going to tell Ian about the baby?" I ask.

Ashley moves a step closer to me and sets down another plate. "The day she died. That's what we were talking about—she was going to tell Ian that night and ask him to get divorced. And then, right after she told me her plan, she tripped or fell or… someone snuck up and pushed her."

The party room is sparkling clean. The table is set. Through the clear glass door, I see a guy carrying a stack of Domino's boxes heading our way.

I ask one final question.

"Is there anything else that comes to mind—even if it doesn't seem relevant—that you feel like you want to tell me?"

This is the question that often gives people the freedom to mention the detail or bit of intuition they've dismissed. It's amazing how often people save the most relevant pieces of information for the end of my interviews.

"There is one other crazy thing," Ashley says. She has finished setting the table, and she's standing just inches from me. I can smell the spicy notes of her perfume and see the tiny sparkling chip embedded in the light blue polish of one of her fingertips.

"Tina had a feeling Beth might know about the affair. She got the sense Beth was watching her more closely. And Beth started to get on her. Like she said Tina was messing up, picking up Rose at the wrong time from school one day. But Beth never told her about the time change. Then Beth and Ian and Harriet and Rose suddenly decided to go away for the weekend."

Ashley shudders again. "Can you imagine being in that huge house at night? Tina asked me to spend the weekend with her, but I had to work. She was pulling away from Pete because she had fallen in love with Ian. So in the end, she stayed there alone."

I can imagine what that must have felt like for Tina. The creaky floors and dark shadows nibbling at the corners of every room. The hiding places behind heavy furniture and drapes. The sharp, prickly sense that she might not truly be alone, after all. That someone was watching her.

"In the middle of the night, Tina woke up and thought someone was breaking in. She heard men shouting. She completely freaked out. She was about to call 9–1–1 when she realized it was the police at the door."

All the breath whooshes out of my lungs. I'm stunned to my core.

With Ashley's next words, it gets worse.

"Someone called the cops and said they heard a woman screaming for help in the Barclay house at, like, 3 a.m. But no one else was there. Tina said she thought someone wanted to scare her. To let her know how vulnerable she was."