CHAPTER EIGHT

The rest of the week progresses smoothly. I gradually introduce a new routine to the children. On Wednesday, we open with a short reading then a discussion. Since Ethan is reading A Tale of Two Cities , I select that for the discussion.

On Thursday, I include a social studies lesson after lunch. The children aren't enthuses to the idea of school in the afternoon, but they relent when they see I won't budge.

On Friday, we separate each subject in their pamphlet. I give a short lesson, answer questions, then issue the homework for each subject. This carries our day to two hours after lunch, and when I warn them that Monday will begin the new, full curriculum, they groan.

Still, their protests are refreshing, especially Ethan's. The more involved I am, the more like children they become. Olivia, perhaps, is a bit too childish for a young woman of sixteen, but I can't imagine she's had many chances, so for the time being, I tolerate her immaturity. Both of them seem to like me, and that's what really matters.

As for their education, they're both very bright. Olivia has excellent language skills and an impressive talent for poetry. Ethan is mathematically brilliant, and I believe I can start him on college-level trigonometry without straining him.

Gradually, my concerns regarding their parents lessen. Sean doesn't call back during those three days, and when my emotions subside, I admit that he's right. I'm too concerned with their private lives. I've been poisoned by my past experiences with wealthy families and forgotten that most scandals are petty. It's unfortunate that Olivia and Ethan must endure their parents' childishness, but the more I get to know them, the more I am reminded that children are resilient. With some guidance and stability, they can lead perfectly fulfilling lives regardless of Frederick and Catherine.

And there is no murder for me to solve here. No one's blood cries out to me from the ground for justice. No one but my sister.

So perhaps I will turn my attention away from the Jensens and back toward Annie. Or rather, I will allow Sean to turn his attention back to Annie while I focus on the children whose care has been entrusted to me.

On Saturday, the children go out again with their mother. I chastise myself further when I realize that this is the second time that Catherine has chosen to take the children out. If she truly didn't care for them, why would she spend her free time with them?

Only one concern remains powerful in my mind: Frederick and Thomas's illegal activities. Surely this behavior is common, if not ubiquitous, but Sean described Thomas's activities as money laundering. If he is involved in illegal behavior like this, then he could be putting the children at serious risk. They could lose their home, their lifestyle, their family—everything.

So upon further reflection, I decide to keep Sean focused on Thomas. I'll pull him away from the affairs, but I must know if I should expect some sort of fallout from Jensen Wealth Management's less aboveboard activities.

I head to my room for my phone when I hear a familiar voice call, "Miss Mary. May I speak with you a moment?"

I turn to see Doctor Strauss walking through the hallway. My brow furrows. "Doctor Strauss. I didn't realize you were visiting today."

"I'm staying the weekend so I can conduct private sessions with the family," she informs me. "I've just finished speaking to Frederick, in fact. I understand that Catherine and the children are out, so I thought I might speak with you instead."

The cynic inside me wonders if that is the real reason for Catherine's outing with Olivia and Ethan. Either way, I am not interested in a psychoanalysis, so I say, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite fine."

"This is about the children," she says. "Not you."

I'm not entirely reassured, but I can't think of a good reason to refuse. Besides, she may have information that can help me. "All right. Shall we go to the porch?" I don't want her in my room.

"Wherever you'd like."

I lead her to the porch, half-hoping to run into someone else. No one comes, and I resign myself to what will surely be an uncomfortable conversation.

When we sit, Dr. Strauss asks, "So how do you find the children so far?"

"They're cautious," I reply. "It's taking me a while to get them to open up, but I am making headway. They're exceptionally bright. Ethan in particular might be near-genius in mathematics."

"Yes, he is. Not near genius. Well above. He will enjoy a very fulfilling career in academia."

How can she be so certain of this when Ethan has never interacted with other students? His social skills are very deficient.

God, I hate therapists. A smug lot, all of them. Still, I am not in the mood to argue right now. I need the information Dr. Strauss possesses. "Olivia is very creative as well," I add.

"She is. She's an excellent poet. You should have her read some of her work to you when you have a chance."

"I'll do that. Thank you."

She leans back and cups her chin with her hand, and I brace myself for the interrogation I should have known was coming. "Have you gone out on the lake yet?"

I blink. I didn't anticipate that question. "No, not yet. It's the middle of winter."

"What about the pool? It's heated."

My brow furrows. "Yes, it is. But… well, no, I haven't gone swimming. I'm not much of a swimmer."

"So you still fear water."

"No, I…"

An image flashes in my mind. Annie flailing in a pool. Annie screaming, or was it me.

"I'm sorry," I say. "Why are we talking about this?"

"I just find it fascinating that you agreed to a job at a lakeside estate with a quad Olympic swimming pool. Considering your history, it's very surprising."

"My history?"

"Yes. During your commitment, you exhibited an extreme aversion to bodies of water to the point that you refused to bathe and had to shower in the hospital's gymnasium."

My heartbeat quickens. My vision narrows, and my throat constricts. I recognize the symptoms of a panic attack, but it's not fear that prompts this response. "You looked at my medical history?"

"Of course. Mrs. Jensen wanted to ensure you were well enough to care for your children. As I am the only one in the family's circle able to access mental health records, I reviewed your history."

My breathing starts to quicken, and I force myself to remain as calm as possible. "I wasn't told this."

"No doubt Mrs. Jensen didn't want to offend you."

"And you simply don't care if you offend me?"

My voice is brittle with anger now. I won't be able to remain calm much longer.

"I apologize. We'll leave your fear of water aside. It seems well-managed, anyway. However, I am concerned about your penchant for snooping into the private business of your employers."

My stomach turns, and I feel the blood drain from my face. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"In three of your four previous postings, you became embroiled in scandals that had nothing to do with you. You investigated the murder of Johnathan Ashford and were nearly killed when you confronted Cecilia Ashford. When you worked with the Carltons, you fixated on the disappearance of a young woman who vanished a year before your arrival on the estate. And when you worked for the Greenwood family in Savannah, you campaigned to have Mrs. Greenwood's senile mother arrested for an alleged murder that happened over fifty years ago."

"Perhaps your information was incomplete," I say frostily. "I solved the murder of Johnathan Ashford and brought his killer to justice. I brought to light the murder of an innocent, pregnant young woman by her lover and his jealous paramour, a murder that was covered up by the family's patriarch. And Mrs. Greenwood's mother was not only far less senile than she seemed to be but was also a murderer. She did murder Deirdre McCoy. And whatever the official story is, the Greenwoods covered up the murder of Lila Benson. Did you forget about her? Most people did. That happens often, wouldn't you say? People look the other way when powerful people murder powerless people."

"Who have the Jensens murdered?"

"No one. And I haven't accused them of murder. And I haven't embroiled myself in their scandals." I can only hope that she doesn't pick up on the lie in that last sentence.

"It's true that you've solved some cases that would otherwise remain cold. But you've also robbed the Ashford children of their last remaining parent, a mother who by all accounts loved them very much."

"So much that she murdered their father," I snap.

"I'm not saying that what you did was wrong, only that there were more consequences than you considered. In the Carlton case, Sebastian's incarceration caused his business to collapse. Hundreds of people lost their jobs, and the disruption in communication caused when the company shut down its operations is estimated to have cost twenty million dollars."

"So Minerva Montclair's life wasn't worth twenty million dollars?" I challenge.

Strauss ignores me. "Elizabeth Greenwood suffered a mental break and was committed to a mental institution. Johnathan was arrested for fraud and sentenced to six years in prison. Elizabeth's mother now resides in a nursing home, and she is very much senile now however she may have appeared months ago. Christopher lost his job and as nearly as I can tell now works as a shift supervisor for a fast-food restaurant."

"So because others were hurt when I told the truth, I should have kept it to myself? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that in your quest to rid yourself of the guilt you feel over your sister, you've taken it upon yourself to expose the secrets of the wealthy, secrets that your own wealthy parents carried to their grave."

Her words call to mind a memory I've suppressed for decades.

"Vera? What are you doing?"

Mother flinches and lifts Annie's head from the water.

"She's not moving!" I cry. "Annie's not moving!"

I leap to my feet. "Fuck you!"

Strauss flinches and stares at me in shock. I'm sure my expression mirrors hers. I take a breath, then say in a far more controlled voice. "I didn't give you permission to look into my medical history, and I didn't give you permission to psychoanalyze me. I'm not your patient. I'm here to care for those children, and believe me now, if I learn that you're harming them in any way with your quack science, I'll make it my mission in life to destroy you. You seem well versed with how capable I am of destroying people, so keep that in mind the next time you want to twist someone's mind for your own sick amusement!"

I spin on my heel and stalk back into the house. It takes all of my willpower to keep from sprinting to my room, and when I finally reach it and lock the door behind me, I have used all of my reserves. I collapse on the bed and weep bitterly.

Images of my sister's still body after my mother lifts her from the pool flood my mind. It's a memory I've suppressed for forty years, and I hate Strauss for bringing it back. I hate her for reminding me why I hate swimming. I hate her for laying bare how fragile my own mental state is. I hate…

I'm too tired. I can't think right now. So I only weep.