Mal’s pulse quickens. She thinks of all the blood, the signs of violence. Urgency bites harder. “Beulah, this couple who visited yesterday, were they carrying anything?”
Beulah consults her log. “Flowers. Mostly white. And something like a cake box. It looked like they were arriving as dinner guests.”
Mal makes another note. “What happened next?”
“I don’t know. My carer came, then it was dinner and bathing time, and I was put into bed, and I...I must have passed out with the medication. But I woke all hot and bothered in the dark. It was raining, and I realized a scream woke me. I managed to get into my chair and roll to the window. And that’s when I saw.”
“Saw what, Beulah?”
“All the lights were on next door—it was a great glowing box of glass. Even the pool light was on. Kind of a haunting, glowing green. The living room doors were wide open in spite of the rain, and the coffee table was upturned. Then I saw them, the couple, dressed in black rain gear, and they were tugging something heavy rolled up in that white carpet from the living room. Tugging it alongside the pool toward the yard gate. I know it was the carpet because when I looked with my binoculars this morning, it was gone. They dragged the carpet through the gate into the driveway. The motion sensor went on. It lit the rain up. It was also very foggy out.”
“Go on, Beulah. What happened next?”
“Well, they struggled quite a bit. That carpet looked heavy, and she was awkward because of her pregnant belly, but they got it into the back seat of the car. The Audi, not the other one.”
Frustration nips at Mal. “Whatothercar?”
“The little yellow one. The maid’s Subaru with the Holly’s Help sign on the doors. The maid arrived earlier that morning. But her Subaru was still parked in the driveway when the couple arrived in the Audi. I assumed the maid was helping with catering, or waiting to clean up after dinner.”
“Could you tell if it was the woman from the Audi dragging the rug, or if it was Vanessa North, the homeowner?”
Beulah frowns. “I’m not sure which one. I wasn’t wearing my spectacles, and her head was covered by the hood of a voluminous raincoat. But I assumed it was the brunette, because she got into the Audi.”
“And the maid didn’t appear again?”
“No. After the carpet was put into the Audi, both cars sped away. Didn’t even pause at the stop sign at the end of the lane. You can see the sign from my corner window. The tires squealed, and they just sped right off into the darkness and fog. I was worried they would hit some trick-or-treaters, but I guess all the kids were in bed by that hour.”
“Did you see any movement in the house after that?”
“No. But I was also busy trying to call 911, and my phone was over there by my bed.”
“Can you describe the maid?”
“Late twenties or maybe thirty. About the same age as my cousin’s granddaughter. She’s dead, my cousin. She died last month.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Beulah. What was the maid wearing? What color is her hair?”
“Blonde. She’s pretty. I’ve seen her face through my binoculars. She always waves when she sees me. Sweet girl. She wears the Holly’s Help uniform—blue drawstring pants with a pink shirt. She wears her hair up in two little buns, like cat’s ears. Jaunty-looking. And she always wears a choker.” Beulah frowns. “Maybe it’s the hairstyle that makes me think she is younger, but she is perky like young people are. Peppy walk.” She reaches for her teacup. Her hands shake. She seems tired asshe takes a slow sip of tea that must surely be cold by now. Her eyes water.
A little more gently, Mal asks, “Did you happen to see what shoes the maid was wearing yesterday?”
“Oh yes. White running shoes with an orange streak on each side.” Beulah takes another wobbly sip of tea, then carefully sets the cup into its saucer. “Horton has spoken to the maid before. I saw them talking over the garden fence once. I asked if he knew her name.” She pauses. A strange look enters her eyes. “He says it’s Kit.”
THE MAID’S DIARY
I splash cold water over my face in the little bathroom downstairs in Rose Cottage and stare at my eyes in the mirror. They judge me. And I argue with myself—all the sides of myself. All my internal voices that have been rudely shocked into life and are clamoring to be heard one over another, louder, louder:
“Quit this client while you still can. Call Holly right now, tell her.”
“But imagine what you could find in here. All the dark secrets the Rittenbergs might hide. You have the key, girl. You know how to disarm the security system. Rose Cottage is your freaking OYSTER, girl. It will keep you occupied formonths.”
“Are you fucking serious? This is bad news, Kit. You need to step away. STAT.”
“This will destroy you. This will push you way over the line of no return. This is you in destructive mode, Kit. This is next level.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun! When did you last clean a celebrity athlete’s home?”
“What would your therapist say? She’d say you need help. This is not normal.”
