CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I take the children around the side of the house to the garden, careful to avoid letting the boathouse in sight. Since it is mid-January, none of the flowers are in bloom, but there is a small stand of young spruce trees on one end of the garden that look absolutely enchanting covered in snow, and in the daylight, the ice and snow covering the garden's other fixtures arranges itself in interesting shapes. The air is cold but no longer biting now that we've been outside for several minutes. The soft sound of our footfalls provides a soothing background to the trek, and I feel a sense of peace settle over me.

I don't say anything to the children. In my experience, grieving children must not be pushed to speak. Nudging them to physical activity is a good thing. They must not be allowed to wallow. But they must not be made to verbalize their pain either. Forcing them to confront their feelings can injure them, especially in so fragile a time as this. When they're ready to speak, they will. I just need to be there for them when they do.

For a while, they are content to remain silent. The garden is organized so that the footpaths that meander through it give an impression of greater size than the two acres it covers. From the other side of the spruces, it is even possible to forget that we are on the estate if one doesn't look too hard in the direction of the house.

I find myself grateful for the silence. I don't realize until now how trapped I feel. Not just here but everywhere. It seems as though ever since I left my teaching post in Boston, I am… compressed is the word that comes to mind. Like I am surrounded by walls on all sides, and they close in on me inexorably regardless of any action I take to change that. Even the satisfaction I get when I solve a murder and bring justice to someone who otherwise wouldn't receive any justice does little to alleviate the constant pressure I'm under.

But I don't dwell on that now. Today isn't about me. It's about the children. I study their faces. Ethan's shell has softened. He looks wistfully at the trees, and a small smile plays at the corners of his lips. Perhaps he remembers walking in this garden with his father.

I look at Olivia, but I see only anger on her face. Anger is a very common reaction to tragedy, and one of the more well-documented stages of grief, so it's understandable, especially considering her mother's flippancy over her father's death and the law's reluctance to solve his murder.

Still, I feel sorry for her. I hate that she's forced to grapple with this emotion. I can only hope that she will speak to me about how she feels soon enough.

"Why were you spying on me?"

I'm so stunned by her choice of words that it takes me a moment to realize she's actually spoken. It's not until she turns to look at me that I realize she has actually said what I thought she said. I look around for Ethan and see that he's stopped to examine the frost patterns on a dormant rose bush. He doesn't seem perturbed by the fact that Olivia and I have walked on for several yards.

I turn back to Olivia. "You mean in the study? I wasn't spying on you. I was just exploring the house."

"Exploring the house?" Her voice drips with contempt. "Why?"

"I was curious. You have a lovely and unique home. I've never seen anything like it."

"Is that what you do? You just snoop places you don't belong?"

So she's chosen to make me the target of your anger. This is a difficult situation. I don't want to condescend to her, nor do I want to act defensively and escalate this into a conflict. At the same time, I don't want to validate her actions and give her the impression that this is a healthy way to approach her grief.

I keep my response brief and to the point. "I wanted to get my bearings. This is a large house, and I need to know where everything is if I'm to properly care for both of you."

"I'm sixteen years old. I don't need you to care for me."

"You certainly don't need babysitting the way a young child would," I concede, "but I am charged with your education and your safety, and it's useful for me to know where I might find you if you're ever missing."

"So you snooped around Dad's library so you could win hide and seek with us?"

"I suppose that's one way to look at it."

"Yeah, or you're a nosy bitch who doesn't know when to keep out of other people's business."

Now, I must rebut. I choose my words carefully. "You have every right to be angry, but you do not have the right to attack me."

"Why? It's true, isn't it? You have to know everything there is to know about someone so you can feel like you're better than them."

"That's not true. I—"

"Mary?"

I am startled to hear Catherine's voice. I jump and spin around to see her approaching. She has one hand on Ethan's shoulder. Ethan has a wary look on his face as he allows his mother to lead him.

When Catherine is close enough that she doesn't need to raise her voice to be heard, she says, "I'm taking the children with me to the funeral home to make arrangements for Frederick. You're welcome to stay here."

That is her barely polite way of saying that I'm not welcome to join them. I look at Olivia. She is still angry, but she's withdrawn back into her shell. "Would you like to go with your mother?" I ask.

Catherine frowns. "What do you mean? Of course she wants to go. This is for her father's final arrangements."

"Yes," I acknowledge. "And she may prefer not to be involved in this part of those arrangements."

Catherine's frown deepens. She's not happy with me challenging her authority before she can retort, however, Olivia answers. "I'd like to go."

She steps to her mother and turns to me with a hateful expression. Triumph flickers across Catherine's face, but she doesn't gloat. She only smiles at me and says, "I told Sophie we'll probably get dinner out, but if that changes, I'll call you. Thank you for taking them for a walk. I'm glad we're getting them out of the house."

"Yes. You're welcome."

They leave, and I watch the children as Catherine leads them away. She puts her arm around Olivia, but Olivia shrugs it off. She might have been grateful to be rescued from my company, but that doesn't mean she's on good terms with her mother.

Ethan permits his mother's arm to remain around his shoulder, but he turns around and gives me another wary look. My brow furrows. He looks almost as though he's trying to warn me, but whatever message his gaze is supposed to convey, it's lost on me.

Eventually, he turns away, and I am left standing alone. It appears I will have the evening to myself. I wonder what I will do to fill the time.

An idea comes to mind, and as soon as it coalesces in my head, I can almost hear Sean begging me to reconsider.

But what could be the downside? Catherine will be gone, and so will the children. I haven't seen Hugo all day, so it's safe to assume he's left, at least temporarily. The servants here all keep to themselves, save for Sophie. I might enjoy keeping her company later, but for now, I have something more pressing to attend to.

I make my way back to the house at a leisurely pace. I want to give Catherine and the children plenty of time to put some distance between themselves and the estate before I reach my destination. When I see the gate open and watch their sedan pull onto the road, however, I quicken and reach the house at a near jog.

In the Ashford home, I found the evidence that eventually leads me to identify Cecilia as her husband's killer hidden in a box in her bedroom. In both the Carltons' home and the Greenwoods', I found clues in the mistresses' bedchambers. Perhaps here, I will learn something that will give me an answer to Frederick Jensen's death as well.

I make my way to the bedroom unseen, and when I find it unlocked, my heart leaps with excitement. A quick inspection shows me I'm alone in the room. I'm not sure what I'm looking for at first, but when I open Catherine's desktop computer, I see an application named Systec Security.

I open it and find the family's security camera footage. This is a gold mine! If I can access past footage…

I can! This could be the evidence I need!

I search for the footage during the evening Frederick is killed. It's quite a lot, and I'm not sure where to begin. I start by looking for footage from the boathouse, but alas, I'm not that lucky. They don't have security cameras there. Perhaps they believe that the yacht's security footage will be enough. The yacht is impounded by the police, so I don't have access to that footage, but if those cameras were active, the police already have it, so they should learn soon enough if there's any incriminating evidence to be found.

Without being able to see the yacht, I check the external cameras. Again, I come up empty. The cameras cover the front of the house and the side entrance where Franz brings me the day I arrive, but there are no cameras at the rear of the house covering the path that leads to the boathouse.

I begin to feel anxious. Could this footage simply have been removed? Could they have truly been so incompetent as to leave such major gaps in their security system? Or is this just more evidence that Frederick Jensen's murderer is someone familiar with the security layout of the home?

I flip through the interior cameras and try to follow Catherine's movements throughout the evening. It's painstaking work. She moves quite a bit during the earlier part of the evening when I am watching a movie with the children. She begins the evening in the living room, then heads to the pool. I watch her slowly strip down to her bathing suit, taking care to put on a show for Hugo and several other guests who watch without making any attempt to hide their lust.

Well, I knew her character already, so that's not surprising. She swims for a half hour or so, then leaves the water and heads to her bedroom. Hugo tries to follow her, but when he leans in for a kiss, she rebuffs him. Then she enters the house alone.

And turns left. Toward the back door, not right toward the stairway that will lead her to her bedroom.

I check the timestamp. This is about thirty minutes before she asks me to look for Frederick. My heartbeat quickens. I fast-forward the footage and wait for her to reappear. She does twenty minutes later, dressed in the gown I see her wearing when I meet her in the dining room.

Hugo meets her near the foyer, and she wraps her arms around him and kisses him deeply. Then they walk to the dining room together, and shortly after, I come to the kitchen and am waylaid by her to go search for her dead husband.

How interesting. Hugo tries to kiss her when they are alone, and she rebuffs him. Then she leaves through the back door. Twenty minutes later, she returns and kisses him like a lover.

Did she kill her husband during those twenty minutes? Did she want to make sure he was dead before she risked acting on her feelings for Hugo?

I take a video of the footage with my cell phone and email it to Sean. Just as I finish, I hear footsteps approach and quickly close the computer. I rush to the closet to hide, but the footsteps pass by without entering.

Still, I've spent enough time here. It's been three hours since the children left with their mother. They could be home at any second, and if I'm caught here, there's nothing I can say to excuse my presence.

And anyway, I've gotten what I needed. If Catherine was responsible for her husband's death, the truth will soon come out.

I head downstairs and join Sophie for dinner. She lifts her eyebrow when she sees me and comments, "You seem in a chipper mood."

"I had a good afternoon with the children," I tell her. "I think we've begun to heal."