Chapter 2
Victoria recovered faster than Caleb.
She always did.
“That tray could have been used anywhere in the house.”
Grace shook her head.
“No.”
Victoria’s eyes sharpened.
Grace continued anyway.
“Mrs. Carter had her initials engraved beneath the handle.”
I pulled the tray forward.
There they were.
E.C.
Evelyn Carter.
My mother.
I felt something inside me go very still.
My mother had spent the final months of her life weak, sleeping badly, eating less each week. Everyone around me called it age, grief, exhaustion.
Victoria had been especially attentive.
She brought breakfast upstairs herself.
I remembered that now.
Toast.
Tea.
Butter.
Always butter.
I looked at her.
“How often did you serve my mother?”
Victoria folded her arms.
“She liked me.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Grace answered.
“Almost every morning when you were away.”
Victoria turned on her.
“You were the housekeeper. Why weren’t you doing it?”
Grace’s face tightened.
“You stopped letting me.”
I looked at Grace.
She swallowed.
“She said your mother needed privacy. Then she changed the pantry keys.”
Victoria laughed softly.
“Because things kept disappearing.”
Grace stared at her.
“No. Because you didn’t want me near the breakfast trays.”
Annie tugged at her mother’s uniform.
“Mommy.”
Grace looked down.
Annie whispered something.
Grace went pale.
“What?”
Annie pointed toward the cabinet.
“The blue cup.”
I looked.
Behind the dishes sat a small porcelain cup.
I recognized it immediately.
My mother’s.
I had not seen it since the week she died.
Annie’s voice became smaller.
“Miss Victoria put white stuff in that too.”
The kitchen went silent.
Victoria snapped, “She’s four.”
I turned toward her.
“Yes.”
My voice dropped.
“And four-year-olds don’t invent cups they were never supposed to see.”
Victoria’s expression changed.
Not guilt.
Calculation.
Then Caleb spoke from the floor.
“Dominic, your mother was already sick.”
I looked at him.
“You weren’t in this house when she died.”
His face tightened.
Another mistake.
May you like
Because Caleb had just answered a question I had not asked.
He knew exactly which morning I was thinking about.
