it across the room if the milk-to-teabag ratio wasn’t just so. I never played on weekends, just studied. He’d test me, and if I got any answers wrong he’d put the ‘Princess Dummy’ crown on my head. A plastic diamanté crown Mum had once bought me—I’d begged her for it—and he turned it into a mockery. If he’d been drinking, the belt might come out. He’d regret if afterwards, of course, and beg my forgiveness.”
“Dude, he sounds like a total jerk!”
I realized I’d revealed way too much, but something about Kate made me want to share a part of myself with her. “He’s got dementia now,” I said. “And whatever he did, he’s still my dad.”
Kate looked at me uneasily, not knowing how to react. “You know who designed this house, don’t you?” she said, changing the subject.
“An architect named Lee something-or-other,” I answered. “He did an amazing job.”
“She, she did an amazing job.”
“Why did I always think Lee was a man? How ignorant of me! What else do you know about her? I’d love to know more. I googled that name once but found nothing.”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything. But I’m running real late for work. Get back to this later?”
Kate had me intrigued.
But not long after she left—just a matter of minutes actually—things shifted into a different gear, or rather, my paranoia raised its head again. I had told Kate I’d fluff and fold her clothes, and when I pulled them out of the dryer, I found some loose coins that she’d forgotten to take out of pockets, and sodden clumps of paper mashed together, stained blue from her jeans. They were the bits of paper from Novelist.
The blue reminded me of the note that came with the roses. Where had I left that note? I’d left it—hadn’t I?—in the back pocket of my trousers, in my gray slacks? I went into my bedroom and found my trousers folded on a chair, ready to drop off at the cleaner’s. Dan had offered to take them by on his way to work, but he’d forgotten, and they’d been sitting there for over a week. I emptied out the pockets then searched through other pockets of other clothing, just in case my memory was mixed up. But I found nothing. I rummaged in waste paper baskets, too (perhaps the cleaner had been careless?), but the rubbish had all been emptied, down to the last Q-tip.
No trace of the note.
Had someone taken it? No, I thought, I was being over suspicious, my mind acting like a dirty boot plunging into clear water, kicking up sludge.
Thirteen
A few days later, I braced myself to venture into the woods to check the spot. I had to do it, just had to.
But as I was on my way out, I heard a key turn in the front door. Mrs. Reed, no doubt. Her presence made my palms sweat. I had forgotten it was her day to clean.
“Good morning, Mrs. Trujillo,” she said efficiently. She was dressed in deep mauve and armed with a bag full of things for the house. I had always left it to Mrs. Reed to stock up on cleaning products and decide the way Cliffside should be managed and organized. I was the newcomer—what did I know? Perhaps she had adored her previous boss, the beautiful, smiling blonde—the triplets’ mother—and saw me as an interloper who had no place at Cliffside. Mrs. Reed’s dark, ratty eyes held mine. I looked away nervously.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reed, thanks so much for coming. With all this rain of late it can’t have been easy.”
She brusquely shrugged off her coat and dumped the shopping bags on the floor with an exasperated thump. “Something bad will happen,” she predicted. “This downpour will not let up. God’s punishment, I guess.”
I was about to say, “Something bad HAS happened,” but I replied, “Well you’ve done well to get here, despite the weather.” I had donned my raincoat and binoculars, the Thermos at my hip, my ankle feeling much better. I needed some fresh air. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed, I can’t stay, as I was just on my way out.” I slipped by her while she hung her coat on the rack. I smiled a vapid smile. I needed to get out of the house before I ended up wearing washing-up gloves and scrubbing toilets with her. That had happened before. Delegating had never been my strong point.
“See you in a bit,” I mumbled. “And thanks again for