Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Couldn't Speak
Adrian cleared the room, but he didn't let me leave. Holt was ordered to stay near the front entrance while two other guards checked the cameras. Sophie sat in an armchair with a blanket around her shoulders, watching every adult like she was waiting for another one to lie.
“Start at the beginning,” Adrian said.
I wanted to tell him everything. Instead, I told him the part I could prove. I'd been hired as a temporary housemaid six weeks earlier. That afternoon, someone slipped a note beneath my pantry locker: TAKE THE WEST STAIRS AT 7:10. COME ALONE. I followed the instruction because it was written on stationery embossed with the name of Adrian's late wife, Evelyn.
“At the landing, I heard Sophie call for help. Then I spotted the knife beneath the carpet edge. Holt came around the corner before I could touch the closet door.”
“You didn't tell anyone about the note?”
“The last person who reported something strange here got fired.”
Mrs. Bell, the older housekeeper, stirred in her chair. “That's not fair.”
“Isn't it?” I asked. “What happened to Marta?”
No answer. Marta had vanished from the staff schedule two weeks after telling me she had seen lights in Evelyn's sealed study. Mrs. Bell lowered her eyes.
Adrian knelt before Sophie. “Sweetheart, who gave you the key?”
Sophie rubbed the ribbon around her wrist. “Mommy put it in Mr. Buttons.”
“Your stuffed rabbit?”
She nodded. “She said people might call her crazy. She said Daddy had to see what was in Room Seventeen.”
Adrian rose too fast. His chair scraped the floor. “There is no Room Seventeen in this house.”
I knew that. I'd memorized every floor plan I could find. But I'd also memorized a list my father had written under a picture of that exact knife: KEY 17. VALE STORAGE. DO NOT TRUST THE POLICE REPORT.
I swallowed. “Maybe she meant a room somewhere else.”
Adrian looked at me with sudden suspicion. “How would you know?”
Before I could answer, one of the guards returned with a tablet. “Sir, the camera outside Sophie's door went dark for nine minutes.”
“Equipment failure?” Adrian asked.
“Someone used the administrator password.”
“Whose password?”
The guard looked at me, almost apologetic. “Olivia Reed's.”
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Mrs. Bell once told me the Vale house had more doors than anyone needed. As I watched her smooth Sophie's hair, I wondered how many of those doors were locked because of ordinary grief and how many because someone wanted the truth kept out. Sophie made a tiny tent of her blanket and invited me under it. For thirty seconds we sat together in the dark, two people trying not to be afraid.
I had never been given a password.
