CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Once more, instinct seems to guide my actions. I stand and carry the picture to the desk. I set it on the desk and pull the crossword puzzle from my pocket. I unfold it and smooth it out on the desk, then take a seat in front of it.

I stare at it for a long moment before reaching for the pen and inkwell. The pen is an old Waterman, an 1892 according to the engraving on the feed. I can't determine if the nib is an original. If it is, it's been equisitely maintained to be free of pitting or corrosion after over one hundred thirty years. Or perhaps this is simply an excellent reproduction.

I realize I'm stalling and return my attention to the puzzle. One of the clues I leave blank before is the third to last down clue. It's eight letters, and the clue is first across the finish line.

I assume that it refers to an actual footrace or perhaps a college friend who graduated before Johnathan. Another, rather crude but more pertinent meaning occurs to me.

First, across the finish line could refer to the first to experience all of Cecilia. I don't care to be any more graphic than that, even in my own thoughts. Besides, sex isn't the focus of this investigation.

I fill in HOLLOWAY and stare at the puzzle.

The pieces begin to fall into place. His dislike of the children. The violence in his eyes when he stares at Isabella. His jealousy of them as reminders of the man who may not have been first across the finish line but who escaped with the gold medal anyway.

And Cecilia…

My eyes are drawn to her expression in the picture with Detective Holloway. She looks so happy, but it's not only the joy that strikes me. It's the squaring of her shoulders, the swell of life in her chest, the jaunty swing of her gait. She's young. She's free. The world lays at her feet. She is no bird in a gilded cage. She is a bird taking wing, ready to seize all that life has in store for her.

Johnathan's cause of death was suppressed. Who could have suppressed it if not the lead detective investigating his death? Cecilia couldn't have suppressed it herself. She must have had help. Richard clearly had a motive to help.

I take my phone out and look up public information on the case. Like many people my age, I am not usually reliant on technology. I hold the old-fashioned belief that the less time people spend on phones and computers and the more time outside interacting with others and with nature, the better.

But there is no denying the usefulness of having nearly all of the world's information at one's fingertips. I kick myself for not doing this sooner. Imagine how much time I could have saved by looking up this information sooner.

As I suspect, Cecilia is the one who calls nine-one-one. The children are visiting their aunt and uncle when she finds Johnathan in their dining room dead. Emergency responders arrive and quickly pronounce him dead.

And at the head of those first responders is one Detective Richard Holloway. The coroner determines that the cause of death is a massive ischemic event. A little note indicates that the cause of death has been revised, but when I click to see what the original cause was, a note informs me that record has been sealed by the court.

No matter. I know exactly what that record is. It sits upstairs in a box in Cecilia's closet. Or perhaps now in Detective Holloway's hands.

It hits me suddenly that my life might actually be in danger. I blanche when I realize that I've all but accused Cecilia of murder. And now I'm alone in the house with two murderers present.

I need to get out of here.

I quickly put the photograph and the crossword puzzle in my pocket. I rush from the study to the library, thinking of what my next move should be. I don't need anything in my room. I can follow my original plan and take one of the cars. Anything I need immediately, I can purchase in Buffalo. From there, I can return to New York City and find a place to rent for a few weeks while I go to the authorities with what I know. I still believe that Cecilia won't allow harm to come to her children. I believe that Richard is capable of killing them based on what I've seen, but he won't act without Cecilia's blessing. He won't risk losing her.

I leave the library and nearly run directly into Cecilia. I yelp and jump backwards into the arms of Detective Holloway.

I shriek and pull away, facing him warily. He frowns quizzically at me. "You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Cecilia gives me a more searching look, but Richard doesn't seem to suspect anything. She hasn't told him of my accusation yet.

"No," I finally say. "I mean, yes. I'm all right. You just startled me."

"What were you doing in the library?" Cecilia asks.

"Oh. I'm sorry," I say. "I've been having trouble sleeping, and I've taken to reading a delightful novel of yours."

"Which novel?"

Of course, she would ask that question. Very good job, Mary. Way to hide your activities.

"Wind in the Willows ," I reply.

Richard frowns. "The children's book?"

"Yes." I laugh. "I've spent most of my life caring for children in one capacity or another. I suppose I've developed a fondness for children's literature. Could you believe I've never read Wind in the Willows before?"

He nods, a little confused. "Yeah, it's a good book."

"Why don't you take it up to your room to read it?" Cecilia asks.

"Oh." Yes, Mary. Why don't you do the most obvious act of any sane person instead of sneaking to the library at odd moments to read the book? "Well… I was afraid that I might not be allowed."

God, I'm terrible at this. How is it that I can lie so well some moments and be utterly incompetent at it others?

Of course, knowing that the two people in front of me murdered a man and successfully covered up his death impacts my emotional state. It would be nice if some of my old boldness could return.

Or maybe not. Something tells me now's the wrong time to confront them.

"You can take it," Cecilia says, a little irritably. "I'm not going to murder you for reading a book."

I laugh at that, a little too nervously. "Thank you, ma'am."

They stare at me a moment, and then Cecilia says drily, "You could even take it now if you wanted."

"Oh… right."

Now which one of the several hundred titles might be the book I've been claiming to read for the past three plus weeks?

"Mrs. Ashford?"

When I hear Theresa's voice, I nearly weep with relief. We all turn to see her approaching. She stops and pales when she sees me, but I smile sweetly at her to let her know she has nothing to fear from me.

She pales further, so I don't think my smile communicates what I want it to, but she can't exactly run off, can she? "Um… I was wondering if we might talk in private?"

My eyes widen in amazement. Is she planning to come clean?

"Now? About what?"

"It's…" she glances at me again. It occurs to me that she may have tried to frame me for the thefts. I hardly think she's going to confess to her own crimes.

I would be angry with her, but I've already decided I need to leave this house, so if she gives me an excuse to do that before I'm killed, then so be it. "Please, Theresa," I say, "don't hold back on my account."

She looks at me a moment longer, then sighs and nods. She turns her gaze back to Cecilia, squares her shoulders and says, "I'm resigning my position. Effective immediately."

I'm sure I'm as stunned as Cecilia. "You are?" she says. "Why?"

"I've…" she looks at me again, and I realize that she's looking at me for encouragement. I don't know if I provide that since I'm too stunned to think clearly, but whatever she sees in my face must suffice. She meets Cecilia's eyes and says, "I've been stealing from you and from Mrs. Emily before you. I've taken jewelry from you, and I've stolen cash from your safe that I've used to commission fine dresses. I am so sorry for the pain and distress my actions have caused you."

Richard looks at me, and I shake my head, pretending I have no idea what prompted this. Cecilia looks at Theresa and lifts her hands, confused. "I… what?"

"You'll find the jewelry on your bed, ma'am, along with the dresses and shoes."

"Shoes?"

"Yes. I've purchased fine shoes as well. I am sure you can sell those and the dresses and recoup any money that isn't also returned. Oh yes, I forgot to mention I've left the remaining cash and as much money as I could withdraw from my checking and savings accounts on the bed with the jewelry. I…" tears come to her eyes. "I was just so jealous, ma'am. I see the life you live and… well, I'll never have that life. I'll never be rich. I hated that, and I thought you wouldn't miss the less opulent of your jewels." She smiles gratefully at me. "But Miss Mary reminded me of how ungrateful it was of me to treat you like that. You've given me a home and a wonderful job, and I've spurned your kindness. I'm so sorry. If you wish for Detective Holloway to arrest me, I'll go quietly, and you certainly have the right to do that. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me and allow me to leave with a dignity I don't deserve, then I would appreciate it forever. I know it's a lot to ask, but if—"

"Fine," Cecilia says, slicing her hand through the air to cut her off. "Sure, you can leave, I'll…" she runs her hands through her hair. "Just… Javier's back in the garage, I'm sure. Have him take you to Buffalo, and good luck."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" Theresa cries. "Thank you so much!"

She moves to embrace Cecilia, then thinks better of it, and instead bows. She turns to me, and for a terrifying moment, I'm afraid she'll try to embrace me . Instead, she just bows as well, then rushes from the house.

The three of us watch her leave. When the front door closes behind her, Cecilia throws her hands in the air and says to no one in particular. "What the hell is in the air today?"

"Can't find good help these days," Richard empathizes. "Am I right, Mary?"

I manage a smile. "Very right."