Page 42 of One Last Lie

“I’ll give the jewelry back.”

I’m so lost in my thoughts that it takes me a moment to remember that I’m talking to Theresa. I blink and say, “Oh.”

Very clever, I know.

“I will,” she says, the plaintive tone in her voice again. “I’ll sell the dresses and put the money in an account for the children. Or… well, I don’t know if I can do that, but… I’ll give the jewelry back at least, and I’ll never steal again.”

She’s afraid. Deathly afraid. She’s white as a sheet, she has her arms crossed in front of her, and she stands well out of striking distance from me. Could I have frightened her that much by slapping her a few days ago?

“That’s good to hear,” I say. I desperately want to ask what has her so frightened, but I don’t want to ruin this healthy fear she has of me. Something tells me it’s good that she fears me.

She looks expectantly, waiting for me to say something else. When I don't, her lower lip trembles, and she says, "You don't know what it's like. I've been here for so long, watching them live like royalty. I'm a smart woman. I could have gone to school and gotten a degree. I could have done something noble. Given the right chances in life, I could have made a name. But I'll never have those chances. Meanwhile, the world gets thrown at the Ashfords like it's their right to have it."

She’s ranting nonsense, but it’s the fear Theresa shows that disturbs me more than what she says.

Finally, I decide I have to ask. “What’s happened, Theresa?”

She falls silent and recoils slightly. “What? You…” She blinks rapidly for a moment, then turns beet red. “Nothing,” she snaps, humiliation replacing her fear with anger. “Never mind. Go away.”

I frown. “You just pulled me away from the outing with the children to confess your desire to return what you’ve stolen. Then you rant at me about being poor, and now you want me to leave.”

“It was a mistake,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry for it. Rest assured, you and I will never speak again.”

She spins on her heels and walks into her room, slamming the door closed. A piece of paper falls out of the pocket of her apron and gently settles on the floor in front of her door.

I pick the paper up, then head across the hall to the South Wing. Only when I’m there do I read the note.

I’m glad I don’t go back outside. The note draws a gasp from me, and my hand flies to my mouth.

The note is printed, not handwritten, so I can’t speculate who might have written it. It reads BEHAVE YOURSELF OR I WILL TELL ABOUT THE JEWELRY.

There’s no name. No indication about what BEHAVE YOURSELF might mean. I guess stop stealing based on Theresa’s reaction, but Theresa was reacting as though she thought I wrote the letter. Maybe she thought I meant stop snooping on me? Don’t threaten me with my (alleged) medical history?

Well, there’s no point in wondering what the note doesn’t mean. I need to find out what it means. More importantly, I need to find out who sent it.

Oddly, I feel a measure of relief reading this. Who would this mysterious sender tell about the jewelry but Cecilia? If Cecilia was the killer, then she wouldn’t threaten to tell herself about Theresa’s crime, would she? Perhaps the person who wrote this letter is the real killer.

Or perhaps I’m grasping at straws and hoping desperately that Cecilia isn’t involved. Either way, I need to figure out who sent this letter.

The door opens, and I hear a burst of laughter followed by a half-hearted, “Take your boots off! Don’t track snow through the house!”

I quickly fold the note and put it into my coat pocket, then head downstairs. I nearly run into Samuel, who’s careening up the stairs to chase me. “Mary! Where have you been? You missed the snowball fight!”

“I caught most of it,” I tell him. “I’m afraid I needed to use the ladies room.” It occurs to me that might have been the best lie I’ve told so far. Oh, the irony.

“I won!” he announced.

I widen my eyes. “Really? You beat Elijah?”

“Yeah! Even when Mom helped him!”

“That’s wonderful!”

“We beat Elijah,” Isabella reminds him, coming up the stairs behind her brother. “And you need to get to your room and change or I’m going to pick the movie.”

“Eww! You’re going to want to watch some gross romance movie.”

“I’m thinking Bridesmaids,” she says, walking past him. “Or maybe 27 Dresses.”

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