Page 34 of One Last Smile

I watch his face carefully, but he shows no sign of an emotional reaction of any kind. I’m not sure exactly what I hope to learn from this conversation, but I noticed the way Eliza and Dr. Chalmers looked at each other, and I noticed the way he looked at Veronica. There was no fear there, but there was a great deal of longing for both women.

And there’s that redacted medical record which could indicate that Minnie was pregnant when she disappeared. Dr. Chalmers hinted that Alistair was the culprit, but perhaps Eliza and Veronica are involved somehow as well. If I can get an understanding of their relationship with the doctor, maybe…

Maybe what? What then? Where do I go from there, and most importantly, how do I find concrete evidence that I can take to the police?

This whole mystery is frustrating. The more I learn, the closer I get to the truth, the further away I seem to be from acting on it.

And I must be sure. I must know who the killer is, and I must be able to prove it. A misstep with a family like the Carltons could be fatal.

I may try talking to Oliver. I can simply mention that I found letters in his room and that I wanted to know how he was feeling or if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Or I can take a softer approach and claim that I once stumbled on a shoebox of letters my mother once wrote my father. Anything to get him talking about her. Anything that could inspire him to trust me enough to reveal something… well, revealing.

And Alistair. I must talk to him, too. There are discrepancies in his story that, if uncovered, could reveal the pieces missing from this puzzle. He’ll be harder, though. I get a sense of danger from him that I don’t get from Oliver.

We reach home, and Horace says, “Here we are. Before you go, Miss Mary, if you don’t mind me being presumptuous, I think you should try not to get too close to the Carltons. They’re not a bad sort as far as wealthy people go, but they live in a different world than you and I. You might consider taking your meals downstairs or else earlier or later than they do. Best not to confuse yourself for a friend. That’ll only end badly.”

Yet another person advised me to stay far away from the family. Oh, Horace, if only I had your wisdom.

I head inside. I think I’ll spend my afternoon seeing if I can find a more intact medical record for Minnie. I really wish I had gotten more information from Dr. Chalmers’s office. Any idea who the father might be would have helped.

I head downstairs to my room, but before I can enter, I’m accosted by Hazel. I gasp and say, “Oh, Hazel! You gave me a fright!”

“Sorry about that, Mary. I didn’t mean to.”

I feel a touch of guilt at my reaction. The poor woman is so fragile that if I were to glare at her long enough, I really do think she’d wilt.

“Well, that’s all right. No harm done.”

I start to move past her, but then it occurs to me that if anyone is likely to both have information I can use and be willing to share it with me, then it would be Hazel. “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

She looks at me for a moment, an inscrutable expression on her face. Then she nods. “All right.”

I smile and lead her to the kitchen. “How do you take your tea?” I ask.

“A little sugar, no cream,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Do you prefer Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Breakfast?”

“Breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. There’s nothing like a stout English Breakfast tea to invigorate the senses. Have a seat. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

I set the kettle to boil, feeling a sense of excitement. Finally, my chance to talk to Hazel. As the housekeeper, she is a veritable gold mine. And with her penchant for being unseen? Who knows what she’s heard!

When I return with the tea, Hazel is sitting primly in one of the upholstered seats of the tearoom. She is around my age, I believe, but with her thin face and sallow skin, she appears ten years older. That isn’t a kind thought, I know, but I am looking for secrets today, and she looks like a woman who might have some.

I set the service on the small table in between the two upholstered chairs, then take the other. I take a sip of my tea—Darjeeling, in my case—and close my eyes, allowing its warmth to suffuse me. “There really is nothing like a good spot of tea,” I say, “although I still do like my coffee.”

Hazel doesn’t respond. She doesn’t exactly look uncomfortable. Just uninterested. Well, if I can’t establish a rapport, I might as well get right to it and stop wasting time.

“You’ve worked for this family for many years, yes?”

“Thirty-five in April,” she replies.

“How have you found it?”

She shrugs. “Agreeable enough. They pay me well and on time. They ask no more of me than I’m willing to do.”

“I must say, I’m truly impressed by your work. You seem to have quite a talent for always being where you’re needed when you’re needed, but yet remaining unobtrusive at the same time. I’m afraid I’m quite clumsy in my interactions. I always end up bumbling into situations or sticking my foot in my mouth.”

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