CHAPTER SIX

I received word from Sean sooner than I expected. It's around four that afternoon that my cell phone buzzes. I am sitting on the expansive front porch and enjoying the cool air. I've not seen another living soul since Sophie and I had lunch, so I don't bother concealing my voice when I answer. "Do you have something for me already?"

"Wonderful, Mary, thanks for asking," he replies drily. "How are you? The cold isn't freezing your old bones too much, is it?"

I roll my eyes. "The heat from your fiery wit is more than enough to warm even the most decrepit of my bones. Do you have something for me or not?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Thomas Keller is officially their estate manager, but I wager that he has that title only to hide the scope of his real work."

"Yes, I gathered that already," I reply patiently.

"What you haven't gathered," he says testily, "is that he has been covering up quite a few financial inconsistencies in Jensen Wealth Management's portfolio."

My eyes widen. I sit up straighter in my chair and ask, "Has Frederick been embezzling money?"

"I haven't got all the details yet. But I think Thomas might be somewhat more than just a gopher."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it turns out that Thomas has connections to many different banks around the world. These include banks in the Grand Cayman Islands, Haiti, Switzerland, of course, Kazakhstan, and Taiwan."

"Kazakhstan? Why Kazakhstan?"

He chuckles. "You're so shrewd that sometimes I forget how innocent you are. As I said, I don't have all the details, but I believe a more appropriate title for Thomas than estate manager would be money launderer."

"Goodness!"

"Not the word I'd use. In any case—"

I hear laughter and whisper, "Hush!" I look up and see Catherine walking up the drive arm in arm with a man—not her husband. The children follow behind, and even from this distance, I can see their displeasure. "I'll call you back."

"No need. I'll call you when I have—"

I hang up and put my phone away just in time to avoid detection. Catherine lifts her face to mine, and I note that she wears a genuine smile and appears relaxed for the first time since I met her.

"Mary! I'm so glad I caught you. Allow me to introduce my dear friend, Hugo Van Doren."

Hugo is a tall, classically handsome Dutch fellow with wispy blonde hair—though I suspect at his age the color is no longer natural—and clear blue eyes. He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. "Enchanted. Really, Catherine, you didn't warn me that she would be so beautiful."

"Oh, stop!" Catherine replies, giggling as though the compliment was extended to herself. She slaps Hugo lightly on the shoulder, and I am immediately certain that the two of them are romantically involved.

That explains quite a lot.

"Mary, would you be so kind as to join us for dinner? The children asked if you would. They must like you."

I glance at the children's sullen faces and doubt very much that this was their idea. Then again, Catherine definitely didn't seem to care for me before now, so I doubt it was her idea. "I would love to," I reply.

"Wonderful! You'll meet Dr. Strauss as well." Her face hardens slightly. "And I believe Frederick's secretary is flying in from London as well."

"Oh, how charming," Hugo says, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm. Catherine flashes him a look, and he clears his throat and says—without sarcasm—"We really would love if you'd join us."

I smile sweetly. "I would love to. If it's all right with Mr. Jensen, of course."

He tenses slightly. "Of course."

There's a moment of strained silence between us. Catherine breaks it. "Well, we have a lot to do before dinner, so we'll leave you to it. Children, go upstairs and wash, please."

"But we're not dirty," Olivia protests.

"Wash," Catherine commands.

She rolls her eyes and stomps into the house, slamming the door behind her. Ethan follows, barely more than a wraith, as he opens the door and floats across the threshold. Catherine laughs and flips her hand. "Children have so much attitude at that age, don't you think, Mary?"

There are so many things I want to say, but I restrain myself. "Growing up is a difficult journey."

"Well, put. Anyway, we'll see you there. And don't worry about dressing up. This isn't a formal dinner."

She is American, so she probably means what she says. Still, after Catherine and Hugo disappear into the house, I use the side entrance to head to my room and change into a slightly nicer outfit. Perhaps it's an echo of my British heritage, but I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed.

I must admit, I look forward to this dinner with some excitement. Catherine has brought her lover home with her, and based on the way she speaks of this mysterious secretary, I have a feeling that Frederic is doing the same. I believe I will have a chance to examine more closely the sources of the tension that is dividing this family.

***

I am glad that I changed. The Jensens might be American, but they have the same definition of informal that my British employers had. Mr. Jensen and Mr. Van Doren wear exquisite silk suits, while Catherine and the two other women present wear elegant evening gowns. My sensible blouse and skirt are not so fancy as their dresses, but they are formal enough that I don't feel ashamed or out of place.

Ethan dresses nicely as well, but I notice that Olivia wears a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. Catherine glares sharply at her and whispers for her to change. Olivia's response is to offer her mother the teenager's favorite finger.

And now I must step in. I am, after all, her governess. I've been lenient so far, but this is too much. "Olivia," I say quietly. "Please go upstairs and change into something more appropriate for dinner."

You would think I had slapped the girl. She looks at me in shock, and when I hold her gaze, her face reddens, and her lip trembles. She stalks out of the room and slams the door behind her.

The assembled guests do a creditable job of acting like they've noticed nothing. Ethan casts me a reproachful look, and I return a smile. He looks away, clearly angry with me.

I sigh inwardly. I'll have a conversation with the children tomorrow. It was a mistake not to lay some ground rules at the beginning.

"You handled that well," a voice says.

I turn to see the older of the two female guests smiling at me. I say older, but she is probably ten years younger than I am. She is rather plain-looking with short brown hair and an average face and figure, but her gray eyes are sharp as daggers. She extends her hand. "Dr. Eleanor Strauss. I'm the family therapist."

And you're having dinner with the family? How professional of you.

I am woman enough to admit that my dislike of therapists is personal. So, I control my visceral contempt and take the compliment. "Thank you, Doctor."

"I've told Catherine and Frederick for years that the children need a firmer hand. I'm glad to see someone's finally providing it."

"Compassion must include proper guidance," I reply. It's as neutral a response as I can think of.

"Yes, indeed."

Any further conversation we might have is interrupted by Frederick. "Mary! I want to introduce you to someone. She's from England, just like you!"

Imagine that , I think drily. Outwardly, I smile and extend my hand toward the younger woman, who clings nervously to Frederick's side. "Mary Wilcox."

"Veronica Baines." She takes my hand briefly before sliding it back into Frederick's arm.

Her head is so close to his shoulder that she might as well lean on it. For God's sake, these people could at least hide their affairs in front of their children.

"Veronica is the best-damned secretary the world has ever seen," Frederick informs me.

I'll bet she is. "It's a wonderful thing to have good help."

"You can say that again."

He beams at her, and miraculously, Veronica has the good sense to feel uncomfortable at his attention. She pulls away and withdraws her arm. "It's nice to meet you, Mary."

Sophie announces that dinner is served. I notice that her usual ebullience is gone. This is a formal occasion, whatever Catherine might have said earlier, and she is perfectly proper and servile.

We sit down to the meal. I am somewhat surprised when the children sit on either side of me. I am even more surprised to see that Olivia has returned wearing a very pretty silk gown of her own. She's even done her hair.

She notices my appreciation and says impudently. "Is this nice enough for dinner?"

I smile at her. "You look very fetching."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch a small smile from her. Dr. Strauss nods approvingly at me, and I decide I might at least give her the benefit of the doubt before I decide she's an evil demoness from the darkest pit of Hell, like all therapists.

The food is delicious again, but I hardly taste it. I'm too busy watching the four romantically entangled guests. Interestingly, Hugo and Frederick get along famously, laughing and joking like old friends. It's the women who show animosity. Catherine glares at Veronica with naked hate, and Veronica ensures that she's touching a part of Frederick every time Catherine looks their way. His hand, his arm, his shoulder, and even once his thigh.

Catherine is equally affectionate with Hugo, but Frederick doesn't seem to mind that his wife is flirting with another man. This fact clearly angers Catherine further.

A thought forms in my mind. My first impression is that Catherine doesn't love her husband. Now I wonder if perhaps it is Frederick who is straying. Sophie said he was a ladies' man. Perhaps he still is. Sophie and Franz both insist that Fred loves Catherine, but if I had a dollar for every man who cheated on the wife he "loves," I would be wealthier by far than the Jensens. Perhaps Catherine caught on to his affair and is trying to make him jealous. Her resentment could be because he doesn't mind her infidelity. He's perfectly content to keep her as his trophy at home while sowing his wild oats with the younger Veronica.

It must hurt even more that Veronica is mousy and Catherine is statuesque. Veronica is pretty enough, but Catherine is a head-turner. She has made a career out of being one of the most beautiful women on Earth, and this Girl Friday has stolen her husband's attentions.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I must not jump to conclusions. With a leap of joy, I remember that I have help now. I don't need to risk my own neck to learn what I can about my employers. I will call Sean tomorrow and get to the bottom of this mystery. And when I do, I will know what I need to know to help the children heal.

So I tell myself, anyway.