CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Isabella throws her head back and laughs. Her cheeks are pink, and she looks absolutely beautiful. It hits me how much like her mother she looks. She'll be just as stunning as Cecilia when she reaches adulthood.

The adult in question spins around and hurls a snowball directly at Isabella. Isabella shrieks and ducks, and the snowball instead hits Samuel in the chest. He glares at his mother but grins underneath his eyes. "Hey!"

"Oh, now you've done it!" Isabella cries. "No one hurts my little brother!"

She and Samuel rush Cecilia, who squeals and covers her face to protect herself from the onslaught of snowballs the two younger children release her way. When they get close, she snarls playfully and tackles both of them to the ground. The children laugh and wrestle with her, and had I not discovered proof yesterday that Cecilia had murdered their father nine weeks ago, I would have thought this the best possible afternoon the children could have.

Elijah stands next to me. He's smiling, but his eyes are hard as stone.

"You should go play with them," I suggest.

"I don't want to," he says.

"I know. But you should."

He looks at me, and I stare intently at him. Cecilia looks our way and calls, "Come on, Elijah! You're not too grown up to play snowball fight with your mother!"

I keep my smile and my intense stare, and he nods. He grins, and thank God, this one is more convincing. "Okay. Just remember you asked for it!"

He picks up a snowball and fires it at his mother. I stiffen as the missile hits her on the shoulder, but it must not have been as hard a blow as I expected. She laughs and returns fire.

They continue to play, and I resist the urge to cross my arms as I look at Cecilia. How could it be true? How could she have done this? It's one thing to be dissatisfied in her marriage, but to kill the father of her children?

Samuel leaps onto her, and Isabella wraps her arms around her and takes her down to the ground. She cries out in mock fear, and all three of them laugh, then squeal when Elijah takes advantage of their vulnerability to launch another assault.

Look how much she loves them. She can't possibly have done this.

I feel a tapping on my shoulder and turn to see Theresa glaring at me. I flinch, not because of her anger but because of the terror behind it. Her voice is terse when she says, "Can I speak with you inside, please?" but her body language is almost as though she's afraid I'll strike her.

Well, to be fair, I have struck her. Instinctively, I flex my left hand, newly freed from its bandages. It's still a little sensitive from the burn, but it's healed nicely. There should be no scarring.

She notices the flex and steps back, paling. "I just want to talk," she says plaintively.

"Yes," I say, "That's fine. I'm not…" I glance over at the family, who still play together. "All right."

We head inside, and Theresa leads me up the stairs to the third floor of the north wing. I frown. Is she taking me to her room?

We reach the third-floor landing, and she spins around and regards me for a moment, arms crossed, lip trembling. We don't say anything for a moment. I debate breaking the silence, but part of me hopes I'm about to hear something that can relieve my suspicion of Cecilia and convince me that someone else is responsible for Johnathan's murder.

I don't know what to do if she is. Should I go to the police? Would taking the children's only surviving parent away help them? She loves them, I can see that. Would—

"I'll give the jewelry back."

I'm so lost in my thoughts that it takes me a moment to remember that I'm talking to Theresa. I blink and say, "Oh."

Very clever, I know.

"I will," she says, the plaintive tone in her voice again. "I'll sell the dresses and put the money in an account for the children. Or… well, I don't know if I can do that, but… I'll give the jewelry back at least, and I'll never steal again."

She's afraid. Deathly afraid. She's white as a sheet, she has her arms crossed in front of her, and she stands well out of striking distance from me. Could I have frightened her that much by slapping her a few days ago?

"That's good to hear," I say. I desperately want to ask what has her so frightened, but I don't want to ruin this healthy fear she has of me. Something tells me it's good that she fears me.

She looks expectantly, waiting for me to say something else. When I don't, her lower lip trembles, and she says, "You don't know what it's like. I've been here for so long, watching them live like royalty. I'm a smart woman. I could have gone to school and gotten a degree. I could have done something noble. Given the right chances in life, I could have made a name. But I'll never have those chances. Meanwhile, the world gets thrown at the Ashfords like it's their right to have it."

She's ranting nonsense, but it's the fear Theresa shows that disturbs me more than what she says.

Finally, I decide I have to ask. "What's happened, Theresa?"

She falls silent and recoils slightly. "What? You…" She blinks rapidly for a moment, then turns beet red. "Nothing," she snaps, humiliation replacing her fear with anger. "Never mind. Go away."

I frown. "You just pulled me away from the outing with the children to confess your desire to return what you've stolen. Then you rant at me about being poor, and now you want me to leave."

"It was a mistake," she says, her voice hoarse. "I'm sorry for it. Rest assured, you and I will never speak again."

She spins on her heels and walks into her room, slamming the door closed. A piece of paper falls out of the pocket of her apron and gently settles on the floor in front of her door.

I pick the paper up, then head across the hall to the South Wing. Only when I'm there do I read the note.

I'm glad I don't go back outside. The note draws a gasp from me, and my hand flies to my mouth.

The note is printed, not handwritten, so I can't speculate who might have written it. It reads BEHAVE YOURSELF OR I WILL TELL ABOUT THE JEWELRY.

There's no name. No indication about what BEHAVE YOURSELF might mean. I guess stop stealing based on Theresa's reaction, but Theresa was reacting as though she thought I wrote the letter. Maybe she thought I meant stop snooping on me? Don't threaten me with my (alleged) medical history?

Well, there's no point in wondering what the note doesn't mean. I need to find out what it means. More importantly, I need to find out who sent it.

Oddly, I feel a measure of relief reading this. Who would this mysterious sender tell about the jewelry but Cecilia? If Cecilia was the killer, then she wouldn't threaten to tell herself about Theresa's crime, would she? Perhaps the person who wrote this letter is the real killer.

Or perhaps I'm grasping at straws and hoping desperately that Cecilia isn't involved. Either way, I need to figure out who sent this letter.

The door opens, and I hear a burst of laughter followed by a half-hearted, "Take your boots off! Don't track snow through the house!"

I quickly fold the note and put it into my coat pocket, then head downstairs. I nearly run into Samuel, who's careening up the stairs to chase me. "Mary! Where have you been? You missed the snowball fight!"

"I caught most of it," I tell him. "I'm afraid I needed to use the ladies room." It occurs to me that might have been the best lie I've told so far. Oh, the irony.

"I won!" he announced.

I widen my eyes. "Really? You beat Elijah?"

"Yeah! Even when Mom helped him!"

"That's wonderful!"

"We beat Elijah," Isabella reminds him, coming up the stairs behind her brother. "And you need to get to your room and change or I'm going to pick the movie."

"Eww! You're going to want to watch some gross romance movie."

"I'm thinking Bridesmaids ," she says, walking past him. "Or maybe 27 Dresses."

"Aah!" He sprints toward his room and slams the door behind him.

"No slamming doors!" I call after him.

"Sorry!" he calls back.

I smile and shake my head, then turn around to head back downstairs. I stop when I see Elijah and Cecilia talking quietly in the living room. It's clear they're arguing. Cecilia's arms are held in front of her in a supplicating manner, and Elijah is shaking his head and glaring at her.

A chill runs through me. It's too soon for him to reveal any suspicions. He doesn't know that his mother is one of the suspects, but I don't want it to slip that Elena is one either. If Cecilia confronts Elena, and Elena is the murderer, then the whole family could be in danger.

"Fine. Go have fun. Wear something nice and slutty for him."

Elijah makes no attempt to lower his voice when he says that, and I'm grateful that the other two are behind closed doors.

"That's not what I'm doing!" Cecilia protests, again making no attempt to lower her voice. "I'm just meeting a friend."

"This friend has a dick?"

I decide it's time for me to intervene. As I head downstairs, I smile and call, "All right! Movie night! Shall I order the pizza?"

"Whatever you want," Elijah says, spinning on his heel and stalking past me to the stairs. "None for Mom. She has a date."

"It's not a date!" Cecilia protests. She glances at me and reddens, then folds her arms across her chest and sighs. "Forget it. I'll call… my friend and tell them I'm not coming."

Her careful avoidance of pronouns confirms that it is a date. This is what I fear will happen when the children learn she's dating so soon after Johnathan's death.

She gives me a dejected smile. "Sorry you had to hear that."

I smile in return, but my emotions when it comes to Cecilia are all over the place right now, and I can't muster much in the way of sympathy. I offer the comfort I would give if I was sympathetic, though. "He'll come around. They all will. This transition is hard."

She bites her lip and looks pensively up the stairs. In a quiet voice, she says, "Do you… do you think it's too early?"

I answer honestly. "Yes, dear. For the children, yes."

Her face falls a moment, but she takes the disappointment in good grace. "Yeah. You're right. It's not like I'd be looking for anything serious so soon after Johnathan anyway. It's just… nice to be looked at."

She smiles again, and any response I could have is stifled when Samuel and Isabella rush downstairs in a race to ask permission to pick the movie.

She beams at them, and once more, the love is so evident that I can't imagine her as the woman who killed these children's father.

I need to look into this letter. I hope desperately I'll learn something that can exonerate Cecilia. If finding justice for Johnathan means taking their mother away, I don't know if I'll have the strength to do it.