Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

I always take the stairs, but that's not the only reason I'm climbing the three flights to the Chinese tutor's apartment. There's no other option.

This low-slung redbrick building in a humble neighborhood in Rockville lacks an elevator. My mind didn't register that detail as significant at first.

I knock on the door of apartment 406, inhaling the scent of spicy curry coming from down the hall, and hear soft footsteps approach. There's a pause I suspect means Mrs. Li is looking out the peephole, then the sound of a safety chain rattling as it disengages from the sliding lock.

The second clue hits me the moment I step over the threshold.

This shabby apartment is studded with shiny pieces of glamour, like a weathered rock flecked with bits of mica that glitter in the sun.

The worn couch faces a big-screen plasma television. On the chipped laminate kitchen counter sits a gleaming Vitamix—the Cadillac of blenders. I inhale and smell eucalyptus, then find the source. A three-wick Nest candle is burning on the coffee table. I know those candles retail for around eighty dollars because I've seen them in stores.

Mrs. Li's place is a puzzle with a missing piece.

She ushers me into the living room and offers me lemonade. When I see she already made a pitcher, I accept.

"It's fresh," she assures me as she clinks ice into a glass. She's maybe five feet if she stands on her tiptoes, with smooth skin and salt-and-pepper hair. I pull my gaze away and scan the living room, taking in the gorgeous glass vase, delicate-looking as a butterfly's wing, on a table next to a photograph in a cheap metal frame.

An antique-looking curio cabinet in the corner has clear panes that reveal treasures inside: a set of wineglasses with goblets for red and more slender bowls for white, a trio of sculptures of horses in glass, a large crystal bowl. The juxtaposition is bewildering.

I'm used to asking probing questions, but I can't think of a graceful way to word the one at the forefront of my mind: How in the world do you afford all these little luxuries?

Mrs. Li hurries over, her movements quick and graceful, and gives me the glass.

It feels heavy and almost regal in my hand.

A sense of d é j à vu sweeps over me. This moment is exactly like one I experienced in the Barclays' kitchen, when Beth handed me a glass that was the opposite of what I expected.

It's almost as if the two households switched drinking glasses.

My head swims as I realize it's more than that: This apartment is like a photo-negative of the plastic house.

It's filled with glass objects.

The clues tally in my mind into a realization. It fuels my first question.

"You've been friends with Harriet for a while, right?"

"Yes, for several years. We met shortly after I moved in."

I figure they were friendly enough that when Beth ordered the removal of all glass items from the estate, Harriet sent a few pieces here.

"How did you meet?'

"Harriet lived just down the hall." Mrs. Li points to her left, and I mask my surprise. This is the building without an elevator—my first clue—which meant Harriet struggled to climb the three flights after her knee surgery. It's why Ian and Beth invited her to stay in their lower level.

I start to lower myself onto the sofa.

"No, no, take this chair please. It's more comfortable." She gestures to the recliner.

I move to it and sit down. I need to tread carefully; Mrs. Li is going to be loyal to Harriet.

"It's obvious Harriet adores Rose," I start. "She's a wonderful grandmother."

Mrs. Li nods. "Yes. She loves Rose so much."

I know I'm not going to get anything but praise for Harriet, so I pivot.

"How do you teach Rose Chinese when she can't speak?"

"Right now we focus on written language. Rose is learning characters. She's very smart. She understands so quickly."

"Does Rose ever communicate any information about either of her parents?"

Mrs. Li shakes her head even before I finish. "Never. She's a good girl and she works very hard."

We go around and around for a while longer. I write only a handful of words down on my yellow legal pad: lesson payments , gifts , loyalty .

I've seen a lot of hostile witnesses on the stand in court, and Mrs. Li reminds me of the best, the ones who have been well coached by lawyers to avoid giving away anything while appearing cooperative.

Finally I thank Mrs. Li for her time. I don't miss the look of relief that flashes across her face. She can't seem to get me out of there fast enough: Before I've even stood up, she has collected my lemonade glass and is walking toward the kitchen. When I stand to follow, my pen rolls off my legal pad and lands on the wall-to-wall carpet.

I bend down to get it, and as I straighten up, I catch sight of a slim, rectangular object on the floor, directly beneath the chair I was sitting in.

I think I know what it is. But I have to be sure.

I glance at Mrs. Li. She's putting the dishes in the sink. She'll turn around in a few seconds, wondering why I haven't followed her into the kitchen.

I decide to risk it.

I duck down again, fast, and confirm the object is what I thought I saw: an iPhone.

A white circle for the speaker function on the screen is lit up. Someone is listening.

It isn't hard to guess who; Harriet has essentially been in the room with us the entire time.

I straighten up fast, keeping my face neutral. Mrs. Li is still rinsing our glasses in the sink. She didn't seem to notice me bend down.

Harriet clearly put Mrs. Li up to this so she could gauge the tenor of my questions. Perhaps she thought she'd get a hint about which parent I seem to be favoring for custody.

I can use my discovery to my benefit. I can misdirect, lie, and plant false doubt in Harriet's mind. I can do all of the things the Barclays have been doing to me.

"Actually, there is one other thing I'd like to talk about. I was debating whether or not to say this, but I think it's important."

Mrs. Li's head whips around. She hurries over to me, as I knew she would. She doesn't want me far away from the open phone line.

"Beth is a good mother. And Ian seems like such a devoted and caring father, even though he did hurt his whole family by sleeping with the nanny."

Mrs. Li looks frozen, as if our conversation has veered wildly off course—which it has.

But I'm not talking to Mrs. Li now. I'm talking to Harriet, trying to convince her I'm an ally.

"Rose needs compassion and consistency after Tina's terrible accident," I continue. "That big old attic window—in retrospect, it seems surprising no one tripped and fell through it before Tina."

My choice of words is precise. Harriet needs to believe I'm convinced it was an accident. With any luck, she'll convey that information to Beth and Ian.

But I need to go even further. I'm convinced Harriet alone knows what happened during those ten or so minutes when Rose was supposedly picking tomatoes. If she lets down her guard, I may be able to get her to slip and reveal something.

"I need to spend more time with the Barclays before I submit my decision. But I know that Harriet is a wonderful influence. She clearly cares very much for Rose. I hope she stays involved in Rose's life no matter who gets primary custody."

"Harriet would do anything for Rose," Mrs. Li tells me.

That's what I'm worried about, I answer silently.