CHAPTER TEN

I have been a confirmed spinster for most of my life, but in my college days I dated here and there. One of my boyfriends was a newly minted police officer. He took me on a ride-along, I believe, only because he fantasized about making love to me in his cruiser. Being as silly as any young girl, I am happy to oblige.

I remember asking him about the lights on police cars, specifically why they are red and blue. He told me it's because they are easily visible in the daylight.

I don't know why this comes to mind now. It's after midnight, and that amorous escapade with a college beau isn't the only time I see police lights.

I suppose I fixate on them because they're in front of me right now, and it's easier to think about them than about the scene in the boathouse behind me.

The guests are all clustered in groups. Catherine is with her children. I was with them until an hour ago when they were separated to be interviewed by police officers. I haven't seen them since.

The children, of course, aren't doing well. Olivia weeps nonstop, and Ethan shuts down completely. He stares ahead in shock, and when he's spoken to, he replies with nods and headshakes rather than words.

Catherine is difficult to read. When I tell her what I've found in the boathouse, she is silent for a moment. Then she thanks me and with help from Hugo and Thomas, she alerts the authorities and informs the guests. She sheds no tears, but that's not unheard of when dealing with such shocking news.

Only she doesn't seem to be in shock. Ethan is in shock. He has disassociated utterly from his surroundings. Veronica Baines is also in shock. She stands on the opposite side of the porch with her hands wrapped across her chest, shivering like a leaf, and not entirely from the cold.

Strauss is among the first to be whisked away by the police to be interviewed. I don't get to see her reaction. As for the other guests, they run the gamut from fear to anger to annoyance at the inconvenience they'll undoubtedly have to suffer just for being here.

As for me… well, I'm thinking about police lights.

"Mary Wilcox?"

I lift my head to see a balding man with grey whiskers wearing the uniform of a police inspector looking down at me. He holds a clipboard, and his name badge identifies him as L. Dubois. He looks expectantly at me, and I blink and say, "Yes, that's me."

He extends his hand. "Detective Laurent Dubois of the Geneva Police. May I speak with you for a moment?"

His English is accented but understandable. I nod, but before I stand, my brow furrows. "Why did you take so long to get to me? I discovered the body. Shouldn't I have been talked to first?"

"Yes," he says, "I'm not sure what the hell was going on before I got here."

"So you've just arrived?"

"I was visiting my mother in Bern when I received the call. It's a two-hour drive to get here. I asked my subordinates to begin the interviews, but I'm not sure why they didn't start with you. In any case, that's a problem I can fix. Will you come with me, please?"

I follow him into the house. The police have taken several of the rooms to use for the interviews, and I overhear snippets of conversation as he leads me toward the servants' quarters. I am somewhat disturbed when he leads me into my own room to conduct our interview.

He sits with evident relief in the large upholstered chair in my room. I suppose I am to sit on the bed, so I do.

"Tell me what you saw."

Mother's eyes are lifeless. Annie beats at her arms, but they remain rigid. She stares at her drowning daughter and shows not so much as a—

I shiver and release a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

"Take your time," he says gently. "You've suffered a great shock."

"I'll say." I lift my hand to my mouth and realize to my dismay that I'm motioning as though lifting a cigarette, something I haven't done in decades.

Dubois reaches for the pack in his pocket, but I shake my head. "No, thank you." I take a deep breath, then say, "The children and I were watching movies in the theater. I went to the kitchen for more snacks, but on the way, I was stopped by Mrs. Jensen, who asked if I could go find her husband for her."

"Mrs. Jensen asked you to find Frederick?"

"She did, yes."

"Why you?"

I lift my hands and let them drop. "Hell if I know." I am not a vulgar woman, but I've had a trying evening, so I forgive myself for the curse word.

"She didn't give you a reason?"

"She said that he likes me, and he'll listen to me."

"Do you find that to be true?" he asks.

"That he'll listen to me?"

"That he liked you."

I blink. "I'm not sure what you're asking."

"It's not a trick question."

I stare into his impassive eyes and wonder how to respond. I don't like the way this interview is going. "I suppose he liked me well enough for a servant."

"How do you mean?"

I lift my hands again. "I don't know. I knew him for all of a week, and we only spoke a handful of times. I thought Catherine picked me because she didn't want to go herself or bother her guests."

He nods. "What happened after she asked you to find him?"

"I went into the kitchen and asked Sophie if she'd seen him."

"Sophie Lacroix?"

I blink. I realize I don't know Sophie's last name. "The cook, Sophie."

He nods. "Sophie Lacroix. What did she say?"

"She said she had barely seen him that evening."

"So she didn't know where she was?"

"Clearly," I snap.

He doesn't react to my emotion. "What happened after you left the kitchen?"

"I asked Thomas Keller—that's the estate manager—if he had seen Frederick. He told me Frederick had gone to the boathouse for a smoke. Evidently he had a habit of doing this to hide his smoking from his wife."

"According to whom?"

"According to Thomas."

Dubois leans back and rubs his chin. "Did you see Thomas leave the party at any time?"

"I wasn't at the party," I remind him. "I was watching movies with the children, and I left to get more snacks. I didn't see anyone for longer than thirty seconds."

"So you didn't see Frederick at all before discovering him in the boathouse?"

"No. Not today."

He rubs his chin some more. "Have you noticed anything unusual in Frederick's behavior since you started here?"

I blink. That's another question I'm not sure how to answer. "I don't know what's usual or unusual for them. I've only been here a week."

"Your best guess."

I feel irritation rise and remind myself that he's only doing his job. "Um… they were fighting a lot."

"Who?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Jensen. Catherine and Frederick."

"What was the nature of their fighting?"

"The nature?"

"Were either of them violent?"

"Oh. No, not violent. Just … tense."

"Did they engage in verbal altercations in your presence?"

"Um… not exactly. It was more their body language and tone of voice with one another."

"So you can't be sure that they were fighting."

I frown. "I… suppose not. I am sure that they were unhappy with each other."

"Why?"

I feel myself growing irritated again. "One doesn't need to be a detective to tell when two people are unhappy in each other's company."

"So there was nothing specific that pointed to conflict. You just assumed there was based on their behavior around one another."

There are many specific things that point to conflict. Frederick's affair with Veronica, Catherine's affair—emotional if not more—with Hugo, their tension and snappishness around each other, the children's behavior around them… all clearly suggest that the couple are unhappy.

But I don't share them. Someone murdered Frederick Jensen, and not knowing who that person is, I can't risk making myself or the children a target.

"No. Nothing specific."

He nods. "Did Frederick behave in a way that suggested to you he might have suicidal ideations?"

"Suicidal ideations? No, of course not!"

"So you don't think he killed himself?"

"No! Why would he?"

"You seem quite confident given you've only known the man for a week and believe him to have been in an unhappy marriage."

"I…" I am very irritated now. "What makes you think he killed himself?"

"The note in his handwriting that states that he killed himself."

I am shocked into speechlessness. Dubois holds my eyes with his half-lidded gaze and waits for me to find my voice. When I do, I can only say, "Really?"

"Yes. He states that he can't go on anymore. He claims that his marriage is a sham, his children don't love him, and his business is falling apart. He apologizes for his weakness and claims everyone will be better off without him."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'd like your thoughts."

"My thoughts? My thoughts…" Someone killed him. That someone is in this house. "I don't know! I've only been here a week!"

He holds my gaze long enough to make sweat break out on my forehead. Then he asks, "Will you remain here?"

"As long as I'm still employed as governess to Olivia and Ethan Jensen, yes."

He nods, then stands. "Thank you for your time."

He leaves the room without another word. I stay where I am for a long moment, trying to process everything that's just happened.

This is what I was afraid of. This is exactly what I feared would happen. The secrets that plague this family have resulted in the death of one of its members.

And once more, it falls to me to ensure that justice is done.