The feeling of being observed clings to me and I hurry to my bedroom. I’m glad to get inside but somebody has been here. The new curtains of a beige velvet and the matching bedspread are welcome additions. The room has been made up and is sparkling clean. I close the door, turn the key and then sink onto the bed. I should feel comfortable in my home and yet it’s as if I’m in a five-star hotel. I’m not sure if I’m happy about strangers going through my belongings and setting things straight. It seems like an invasion of privacy. All the strange happenings since I arrived are unsettling, especially when my phone went missing. It’s as if everything around me is slipping from mycontrol. Is that what Laura felt like living here? Am I starting to parallel Laura’s time in this house?
I remember my mug of coffee and go out to retrieve it. I stand and listen to the creaking of the old house for a few seconds and then turn back to my room. My mind is in turmoil and small insignificant things have become giant problems. This just isn’t like me. I’ve always been strong but, right now, after the conflicting stories about Laura’s death, I don’t know who I can trust. It worries me that Jack gave me the same story as Ruby’s and yet differs on the weather from the original one Ruby told Sue when they returned home that night. So how come they both gave me a different version? A storm at sea is a crucial detail to forget as it offers a rational explanation of how Laura could have fallen overboard—so why the cover-up? Or was Tom involved—if so, why would he want to kill Laura? My attention moves to the bottom drawer of the dresser where I’ve hidden Laura’s laptop. I wonder if Jack knows that Laura wrote a diary. If so, was he aware of the unusual happenings she experienced in the house and just dismissed them? Should I ask him or keep the diary to myself? I stare at the drawer, unable to drag my eyes away. I must discover more about Laura and can tell no one. Someone is lying about that night and I need to find out why.
TWENTY-FOUR
I can’t stop thinking about the diary. It’s becoming an obsession. I need to know what happened to Laura. The diary and what’s inside are like a box of chocolates you keep in the refrigerator and make a rule to only eat one each day, but then you go back multiple times until you take the box and eat them all. I open the laptop and scroll through the pages. After reading for an hour, I’m at the entries written a few weeks before Laura’s death. Unusual things happened to her and I need to spend more time reading every page but, from my quick scan of the entries, I can tell Laura was getting more and more paranoid about everything happening around her, but there’s one thing she mentions that catches my attention. I read it through and then again to make sure I’m not mistaken.
August 1
Is anyone out there reading this? I discovered something disturbing about Jack, before I had Noah. At first, I dismissed it as a bad dream but I’m sure it led to Jack sleeping in a separate room. Although we shared a dressing room, once I mentioned it, Jack never came to my bedagain. You see, Jack talks in his sleep. More than once, he mentioned a woman by the name of Caroline. When I confronted him about her, he was visibly shocked but just said, “She’s someone who died.”
I couldn’t let it go and recalled him mentioning that he kept every newspaper article published about his life in a trunk in the loft, and one day he’d find the time to make them into a book. The loft is a place with way too many family secrets and ghost stories to feel safe exploring but I needed a reason for Jack’s evasiveness. I waited until he’d gone to work, grabbed a flashlight and headed upstairs. Once inside, I found the trunk and then hunted through the newspapers and found Caroline. Now I need to confront him and discover the truth.
Swallowing hard, I sit back in my chair. What had she found? Was it enough to have her murdered? Is my wonderful caring husband a killer? I picture his face and the way he holds me with tenderness and can’t believe it. I suddenly need a drink of water and take my mug to the bathroom, wash it and fill it from the faucet. Meticulously, I scan the last entries but find nothing more about the mysterious Caroline. The following entries are rambling and it’s as if she’d forgotten about her. There’s no option. I need to find the old trunk in the loft.
I check my phone and it’s fully charged. I stand and head back along the hallway and stop dead. The door to the bedroom is now closed and the flowers on the table are missing along with the soiled doily. It was silent in my bedroom and the floorboards creak in the hallway. I’d have heard someone walking by outside—wouldn’t I? I stare at the door, uncertain if I should open it and look inside. Panic rises but I push it down, grasp the doorknob and turn. The door swings open. The room is in darkness and the blinds tightly shut. I close the door and walk back towardmy room. I open the next bedroom door. It’s the same as before. I head downstairs and march into the kitchen. “Sue, who was upstairs just before? They removed a vase of flowers from the hallway outside my room.”
“No one. Amy cleaned your room when you were down here. I don’t recall seeing her with any flowers.” Sue frowns. “She’s been here since you went back upstairs. She just went out to the vegetable garden.”
I nod but confusion cramps my belly. “The gardener for the vegetables. What’s his name?”
“Bill does the kitchen garden as well.” Sue smiles. “He potters around but the landscapers and garden service come by twice a week.”
That doesn’t explain who moved the flowers and why. I frown. “Does he come inside?”
“Bill? No. None of the outside staff come in here. They deal with George. He has an office in the terrace.”
Trying to act nonchalant, I meet her gaze. “The terrace?”
“That’s what we call the line of outbuildings—the staff quarters.” Sue indicates vaguely toward the back of the house.
More confused than ever, I walk back to the stairs. I didn’t imagine the flowers, did I? Were they there when I retrieved my mug of coffee? I can’t recall. I keep my head down to avoid Laura’s piercing gaze and make my way to the second floor. Each step fills me with apprehension. As I get to the hallway, I search the wall with the flashlight on my phone for the hidden panel Jack insists is there on each floor. Euphoria grips me as I find it and pop it open. Inside are light switches and I flick them on. The hallway lights up as chandeliers glisten, their crystal teardrops sending rainbows dancing across the walls.
I make my way to the stairs in the middle of the floor. The light hasn’t penetrated this far and I use the flashlight app on my phone and take the stairs. Cold penetrates my clothes, raisinggoosebumps on my flesh. This time I stop and use my light to search for the source and discover a mesh grid on each side of the staircase. I don’t enjoy going into dark dingy places but I must; I open the door. I find the light switch easier this time, and placing the chair under the door handle again to keep it open, I search the room.
It’s huge but I figure the oldest things are at the back. I discover that the boxes are divided into personal effects. The children have boxes filled with old toys and pictures from kindergarten. It seems that either Laura or Jack kept everything. I find an area belonging to Jack and discover boxes with items relating to his childhood. Under a stack of suitcases, I spot an old trunk. This must be the one mentioned in Laura’s diary. Dust billows around me as I move each suitcase to another spot in the well-organized mess. I drag the trunk under the light and sit on the dusty floor. The lid opens easily enough and inside I discover stacks of newspapers, each inside a plastic cover.
It isn’t too difficult to find the newspapers containing articles on Caroline. Each plastic cover has a notation across the front. I collect the four newspapers and, with care not to damage them, spread them out on the top of the trunk and go through each one. I estimate the dates on the newspapers come from around the time that Jack attended college. Even then with his family background he made the social pages of the newspapers. From what I’m seeing he and heiress Caroline were college sweethearts. As I go through each one, I discover more. They were engaged and then—Oh, my God! They were married?
I can’t believe my eyes. My hands tremble and my pulse thumps in my ears as I turn the pages. The wedding has a full spread and I see Ruby right there with the guests. My heart races. Why didn’t Jack tell me about Caroline? Maybe he believed I’d think twice about marrying him if I’d known the truth—Hell yeah, I would. I’d want to know every small detail.I’m no fool and he likely knows it even after only being with me for a short time. I pull the next paper from the plastic and turn the pages like a maniac, heedless of the damage now. I swallow hard at the headline sprawled in bold letters:
WIFE OF JACK HUNTER FOUND FLOATING IN RIVER
Unable to breathe, I scan the report of Caroline’s death. She fell from a trail and went over a waterfall during their honeymoon. I read the article twice and then find the report on her funeral. It’s depressing and the young woman’s smiling face on her wedding day dances through my mind. A shiver runs through me as I fold the newspapers slowly and return them to the trunk. I cover them with the other items I’d found. As I push the trunk back into place and brush the dust from my hands, I stare at my wedding ring. My husband had two wives, and both died in accidents. I lift my gaze and meet my reflection in the cracked mirror. Will I be next?
TWENTY-FIVE
My first instinct is to confront Jack but by the time I get back to my room and take a shower, I’ve devised a different plan. Maybe it’s better if I keep my discovery to myself for the time being, and ask Jack more information about himself. I’ll ask him about college and his sweethearts. I figure that would be a normal topic for a couple to talk about. In the meantime, I need to make a list of everything that’s happening around me. The way Laura did so she could keep track of everything. I need to talk to people to discover the truth. I realize how isolated I am in this house. If I want to leave I can’t. I don’t have a vehicle or phone numbers of anyone apart from Jack, Ruby and of course my family, but they’re in LA. My only form of online communication is my phone unless I use Jack’s computer in his office—but any emails I send can be read by Jack or Ruby. No doubt she knows his passwords. He trusts her with everything. I sit at my dressing table, brushing my hair, suddenly feeling trapped. There are people I would like to speak to. Jack’s friends who were on the yacht the night Laura died, and Tom Bates. I need to know if any of them met Caroline and what was the true story behind her death? Will any of them tell me the truth?
My attention moves to the bottom drawer where Laura’s laptop is hidden. Now I know the secret of Caroline, I’ll be able to understand the entries in her diary. She would be feeling the same turmoil as I am but I guess she wasn’t as strong-minded as me. I lock my door and pull out the laptop. Moments later I’ve found where I left reading. I can feel Laura’s confusion in every word.
August 6
I went to see the psychiatrist today. Her name is Doctor Ladley and she is quite nice but I don’t trust her. After our sessions I hear her whispering to Jack in the waiting room. This gives me no confidence in her confidentiality. I always believed what was said between a doctor and a patient was sacrosanct, but she gives him instructions on how to keep me medicated. I haven’t been taking the meds that Jack thrusts into my hand each night but lately I’ve been sleeping like death and waking up with a mouth so dry I can hardly speak. My brain isn’t working right and it takes me most of the day to wake up. Someone in the house is drugging me. Last night at dinner, the moment Sue placed my plate in front of me, I asked Jack to go and look outside because I was sure I saw someone looking at me through the window. It was a lie, of course. I just needed him out of the way for a few seconds so I could switch our plates.
When Jack didn’t come down for breakfast, I knew I’d been correct and Sue or Pierre are involved in drugging me. I can’t trust anyone. I don’t have any friends and my parents live overseas and wouldn’t believe me if I told them. I need to take my life into my own hands. I can’t leave. I’ve got nowhere to go and I’m watched every second of the day but I do have a debit card and this laptop. I plan onordering meals from my favorite restaurants and having them delivered. It’s the only way I’ll be able to survive.
I stare at the entry and push both hands through my hair, clutching my aching skull. I’m not sure what to do. Am I reading the ramblings of a woman who is mentally ill, or is she the victim of a coercive husband? I consider my time with Jack. The honeymoon was bliss and we spent every moment together but since he’s been back at work, I’ve been literally housebound. Okay, so I don’t have any friends to go visit but I should have a vehicle of some description. Most people in my position wouldn’t be content to sit at home every day. I need a car to go visit the local stores, go shopping and drive around the neighborhood to get the feel of it. Am I slipping slowly under his coercive control without realizing? I think over my time since I arrived. I’ve spoken to most of the staff and they’ve been very co-operative with me and, in fact, I can’t find fault with them. Although I do find them a little intrusive, I guess having all my meals cooked for me and my bedroom cleaned is the usual way for rich people to live.
