CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

I stride forward, and with an effort close the door. When the howling of the blizzard no longer assaults my ears, I put the phone to my head and say, "Call the police, Sean. The Genthod station. Ask for Detective Laurent Dubois. Tell him that Hugo Van Doren murdered Frederick Jensen and has fled on foot into the snowstorm."

"Seriously?" Sean exclaims. "He did a runner into the storm?"

Behind me, I hear Catherine's voice call, "Hugo? What's going on?"

"Call them," I repeat.

I hang up and place the phone in my pocket just in time to turn around and see Catherine enter the foyer. Her eyes widen when she sees the snow that's rapidly melting onto the floor. "What happened?" she asks me. "Where's Hugo?"

I take a deep breath. This will not be a comfortable conversation. "I'm afraid he's gone, ma'am."

"Gone? Outside? Why?"

There's nothing to tell her but the truth, really. "I've been working with the police, ma'am."

"The police?" she frowns. "Mary, what the hell is going on?"

"I've been investigating your husband's murder."

She blinks. "Murder? But… the detective said it was suicide. He left a note."

I shake my head. "I'm afraid the detective was mistaken, ma'am. Your husband was murdered by Hugo van Doren."

She blinks again. "What? That's not possible. Hugo was with me the entire evening."

"The entire evening?"

"Yes. Other than a few…" her voice trails off. She pales a little, but then shakes her head vigorously. "No. I don't believe it. I would never have wanted that. Hugo wanted me, but…" she blinks, then looks at me as a thought strikes her. "Who are you? Are you police? Interpol?"

"No, ma'am. Just a governess."

"Then what the hell… how do you know anything about murders? How are you investigating a crime? What the hell is going on?"

Her voice rises in pitch as she grapples with the latest upheaval in her life. Ethan pokes his head over the staircase. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

"Go back to the movie," she snaps. "We'll be upstairs in a minute."

Ethan hesitates until I nod and say, "Go on, Ethan." Then he walks back into the upstairs hallway.

"I already told him what to do," Catherine snaps. "You don't need to echo me. I'm his mother, not you."

She's angry, and I understand that. She was ready to begin the new chapter of her life, and my interference has taken that chance from her. "I'm sorry for this, ma'am. I know you weren't expecting to hear this. I certainly wasn't." I don't mention that what I actually expected was to uncover that Catherine had plotted her husband's demise and used Hugo as a tool or perhaps committed the crime herself.

"Who are you?" she repeats. "How dare you… what gives you the right to interfere in my life? You're a servant."

"Your husband was murdered, ma'am," I say calmly. "His killer was going to get away with it. I couldn't in good conscience allow it."

"How do you know Hugo committed this crime? What evidence do you have?"

"Your husband was paying his gambling debts. Hugo approached him for more money last week, and when Frederick refused him, Hugo killed him. I imagine it wasn't planned. He probably fired the shot in a fit of rage and then quickly wrote the note to make it look like a suicide."

"I don't…" she presses her fingers to her temples briefly, then looks at the ceiling and chuckles mirthlessly. "Have you called the police?"

"I have."

"Of course you have." She sighs. "Who else have you told your suspicions?"

She emphasizes the last word, wanting it to be obvious that she considers my opinion just that—an opinion.

"No one yet, ma'am. You can keep it a secret from the children for now, if you like."

"Oh, can I? Thank you so much, Miss Wilcox. I appreciate your permission."

She crosses her arms, then uncrosses them, then lifts them in the air and squeezes them into fists. I wait patiently. I understand that this is a difficult situation for her, and I don't feel a need to make it any harder.

"Oh, God!" she finally cries. "You had no right to do this! Why did you interfere in my life?"

My sympathy wanes somewhat. "The father of your children was murdered, Mrs. Jensen. I didn't want his killer to get away."

"Oh, you…"

She presses her lips together, then looks at me with hate. It's not hate, really. It's anger. Even simpler than that. It's grief. She thought she was finally going to get a life she could love. That chance is gone.

"Okay," she says brittlely. "We'll wait for the police. You can stay here until the storm breaks. Then, whatever you have to tell the police, you can tell them on your way out. You're fired. I hired you to care for my children, not meddle in my husband's death."

"His murder, ma'am."

"What you assume is his murder. Plenty of people have debts and manage to deal with them without killing people. You've known Hugo for all of two weeks. Less than that. You looked at some bank statements and decided, ‘Oh, he must be a killer.' Fuck you!"

"He fled when I confronted him, ma'am."

"Because you accused him of murder! You stupid…" she stops herself. "I want you out of my house. Be grateful that I'm not a psychopath, or I'd throw you out myself and let you fucking freeze to death."

She spins on her heel and storms up the stairs. I breathe a sigh of relief. Mostly because she's not a psychopath and didn't throw me out to freeze to death, something I actually feared she would do.

When the relief leaves, a touch of sadness follows. I've grown fond of the children. I'm not happy that I'll have to leave them. Worse, I truly believe I could have been a help to them. The grief they're navigating is difficult to process, and I know firsthand how debilitating grief can be when one isn't given a chance to process it correctly. I fear that without my guidance, they will have a very hard time recovering.

But it's a sacrifice that I had to make. Allowing their father's murderer to escape justice would have been even worse for them.

My phone buzzes. Sean. I answer, and he says, "All right. I've called Dubois. He'll send men over as fast as he can, but the storm's a nightmare right now. He wants you to ensure the house is locked—doors and windows and all that—and that you and the family are safe."

"They keep the doors locked unless they're leaving," I reply, "and I've locked the front door already. The family's watching a movie, so they're as safe as they can be. Honestly, Hugo's in more danger than we are right now."

"Your confidence is admirable, but I would very much like to suggest that you check the doors and windows."

"I am," I say, moving from the foyer to the side foyer.

"Well, then why didn't you just say yes?" he growls. "Honestly, Mary, you're the most frustrating woman I've ever met."

"That explains why you're single."

"Yes, it does, actually." He sighs. "That being said, good job."

I smile. "Thank you."

"How did you land on the gambling debts, anyway?"

"Sophie told me. The cook. She is a wonderful person, Sean. We've become fast friends."

I move down the hallway toward the garage, confirming that the pool door is locked as well. I glance out the window, but with the storm so thick, it's impossible to tell if Hugo is somewhere close by.

"Yeah? Well, that's wonderful. You two can form your own detective agency. The Spinster Sleuths."

I roll my eyes, but I can't be too irritated at him right now. "How clever of you."

"Hold on."

I frown. His tone has changed markedly. "What is it?"

"Frederick didn't refuse to cover his debts."

I stop a few yards from the door to the garage. "What?"

"Hugo arrived Monday, the day after you arrived, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, on Friday the prior weekend, he lost fifteen thousand dollars betting on horse and cart races in Brussels. Then he spent ten thousand dollars on first class travel to Geneva. Fast forward to Monday, he arrives at the Jensen's house. On Tuesday, Frederick Jensen wires forty thousand dollars to his account."

I blink. "Tuesday?"

"Yes. Let me check something. I'll call you back."

He hangs up, and I stand stock still, trying to process this new information.

Frederick didn't refuse to pay Hugo's debts? But if that's true, then Hugo would have no reason to kill him. Well, there's Catherine, but if he had Catherine's affection anyway and Frederick was still paying for his lifestyle, then it wouldn't make sense.

But… he ran off. Isn't that as good as a confession?

Because you accused him of murder!

Catherine's voice echoes through my head, along with her stifled jab at my intelligence.

I hate it, but she could be right. He was accused of murder, and his association with Catherine makes him seem very suspicious. It wasn't wise of him to run into the snow, but he was probably not thinking clearly—guilty or not.

Have I ruined an innocent man's life?

If not him, though, then who?

I turn and head back the way I came. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I need to move, and I'm no longer convinced that a threat waits for me outside those doors.

But… it seemed so right.

Just like Strauss seemed so right.

A kernel of doubt—or perhaps of understanding—grows in my mind. Sophie is the one who tells me of Doctor Strauss. She hands me notes that she admits to stealing. I am all too ready to believe that Strauss is responsible for driving Frederick to suicide, but when I confront her, I learn that she was talking to the children when he was killed. In fact, she seems to show a great deal of care to the children when she's here. She makes a point to talk to each of them each time she visits. And those notes Sophie gives me are mundane. Everything he confesses in those notes he has also confessed to Catherine, or at least not hidden from her. He's well known to be a rake. Thomas even mentions it, so it's not like he was hiding his reputation from his office. Hell, he was parading his secretary around like a trophy.

And as for Hugo… why wouldn't she mention his debts earlier? That seems like even more damning evidence than her suspicion of blackmail. Why would she wait until after it was proven that Strauss and Veronica were both innocent? I can believe that she also mistrusted Strauss because I had the same prejudice, but why wouldn't she have told me both pieces of evidence?

I can't believe that Sophie is lying to me, but…

But it's starting to seem like she is. Even before Strauss, she was the one who told me that Catherine and Frederick fought. She told me that Frederick was cheating and that Catherine resented him. She told me that even before Frederick's death. That was the source of my suspicion of Catherine, a suspicion that lingered throughout my investigation.

These are all suspicions that could be arrived at simply by being nosy or by having worked with them for so long, but…

But she knew I was investigating the case. She claimed to be helping me, but why did she never step in or speak up? Why did she let me put myself at risk when she had this information all along and remained silent? I can't believe it's timidity. She handled Veronica Baines as though she were nothing more than one of the farm animals she grew up with. She scolded Frederick and Catherine to their faces, so I can't believe she's afraid of them.

My eyes go back to the night of Frederick's death. Sophie is, in my experience, constantly in control of herself. But that night, she is frazzled and irritable. When I mention that Catherine has sent me to look for Frederick, she stares at me blankly, then grouses that she doesn't know where she is. I never ask if she does, but she defends herself anyway.

Again, that could be explained by being stressed about the party, but…

I look up and realize that I'm standing in front of Frederick's study. Just before I can enter, my phone buzzes again.

"Hello, Sean," I say numbly.

"Yeah, I've confirmed it. I talked to Thomas Keller pretending to be Frederick's banker and asked him about the transaction. He said that Frederick insisted on helping a friend even though it was more money than his friend needed. I don't know if this changes things about Hugo, but he definitely didn't cut the man off."

I swallow thickly. "Thank you, Sean."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get to the police station as fast as you can. I need you to tell Dubois everything we've been working on. We need to come clean to him and hope that we haven't ruined everything."

"Jesus. All right. I'll see what I can do."

He hangs up, and I stare at the door to Frederick's study.

I need to know. I need to know for sure that the terrible suspicion growing in my mind is false. I need to find something that tells me that Hugo is Frederick's killer.

Or I need something that proves to me that my friend is not the woman she seems to be.

I take a deep breath and step inside.