CHAPTER 22

Well, let's see. I worked for the Wultzes for three years, because Sophie was nine when I started. Now I work for a family on the other side of the neighborhood. No dead bodies yet—wish me luck! I'm sorry. That was a joke. A horrible one. Can we rewind the tape and erase that I said that?

—Madeline Franx, housekeeper

"Mrs. Wultz?" Our maid stood in my office doorway, holding something in her hand.

I pulled open my desk's drawer, scanning the contents until I found the roll of stamps. "Yes?" Peeling a stamp free, I carefully placed it in the upper-right corner of the envelope.

"May I come in?"

I sighed and returned the roll to the drawer. "Yes, Madeline. What is it?"

"I thought you'd want to see this." The older woman stepped forward, her white sneakers silent on the dark-blue Persian rug. Extending her hand, she showed me a stained white cloth.

I moved the envelope to the side and took the cloth. It took me a moment to understand what I was looking at. A pair of panties. Small, Sophie's size. I turned them over, and the question on my lips died.

A bloodstain in the crotch, the mark faded from the wash. I looked up at her. "Where were these?"

"In her hamper. I haven't said anything to her."

"Don't. I'll talk to her." I folded the underwear over on itself, hiding the stain. "Thank you, Madeline."

"I just thought you should know. I mean, she's only eleven but—"

"I got it," I interrupted her. "You can go back to cleaning."

Her face tightened, but she nodded primly and turned to leave, her arms pinned to the sides of her uniform. Grant didn't like the uniform, but he didn't understand what it was like to keep a house—and staff—in line. The uniform was a constant reminder to Madeline of her place in the house, and she needed that reminder. Even with it, she often forgot.

I tucked the underwear in the pocket of my blazer. Here, Madeline had done well. I picked up my pen and wrote the address on the front in neat block writing. Taking my time, I tried not to think about what this development would mean to our family dynamic.

It wasn't good. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, and remembered my own first experience. I hadn't had a mother and had gone to my father for help.

Grant didn't need to know about this. For one, I didn't want to see his reaction. For another, I refused to share him, in that way, with her. What I told Dr. Maddox was the truth: Grant was so nurturing and attentive during my cycle. For him to lavish that attention on Sophie ... screw that. And screw her for trying to take that away from me.

I put the letter in my purse and crossed the hall into Grant's office. It was a room he'd designed, one with a wall of humidors and wine pockets that surrounded the stone fireplace. Between the leather seating, the bearskin rug, and the framed art, it felt distinctively masculine, and was offset by a wall of windows that looked out onto the preserve. I opened one of the french doors and stepped onto the balcony.

From here, I could look left and down to the back lawn, where Sophie had a soccer ball and was lining up to kick it toward Grant. She was in red shorts and a T-shirt, her skinny arms sticking out of the sleeves. She wasn't wearing a bra yet, her chest too flat—but soon that would change.

Another thing I wasn't ready for and couldn't allow to happen—her bloom into womanhood. She was already starting to flirt, testing out sly secret smiles and crop shirts that showed off her impossibly flat stomach. In comparison, I was falling apart, with a doughy midsection, swells of fat protruding from the upper sides of my hips, and cellulite dotting the fronts and backs of my thighs. Five workouts a week barely kept the decline at bay.

The liposuction would help, but it was only one heat in a losing race, and I refused to watch Sophie grow tall and lean, with perky little teenage breasts and a firm ass you could set a cup on. I was already sick of the teenagers at the club, all shiny hair and glowing skin, turning all the husbands' heads.

Even Grant's. He feigned innocence, but I'd caught the flick of his eyes, the appreciation in his stare, the big smile he flashed, and the ridiculous tips he gave. He always hastened to turn to me, reach for me, kiss me—as if proving to himself and me that he was still loyal, but I knew the desire that was deep in his heart. I stood between him and them, keeping watch on every move.

It wasn't fair to do the same with a woman inside my home. It would be an exhausting competition, day after day, for his attention and affection—one I would lose against the youth and beauty that she would become.

When paired with the overwhelming love Grant already had for her, there was only one way to win.

Remove the opponent from the field.

I fished the underwear out of my pocket and examined it. It was a sign, this happening now. A beacon cutting through the fog, reminding me of the direction to go. No deviation. No wiffle waffle. She might not be a problem now, but I'd fix that with the party.

It would be the all-purpose cleaner in my life. Messy now, clean later.