Page 52 of One Last Goodbye

Behind me, I hear Catherine’s voice call, “Hugo? What’s going on?”

“Call them,” I repeat.

I hang up and place the phone in my pocket just in time to turn around and see Catherine enter the foyer. Her eyes widen when she sees the snow that’s rapidly melting onto the floor. “What happened?” she asks me. “Where’s Hugo?”

I take a deep breath. This will not be a comfortable conversation. “I’m afraid he’s gone, ma’am.”

“Gone? Outside? Why?”

There’s nothing to tell her but the truth, really. “I’ve been working with the police, ma’am.”

“The police?” she frowns. “Mary, what the hell is going on?”

“I’ve been investigating your husband’s murder.”

She blinks. “Murder? But… the detective said it was suicide. He left a note.”

I shake my head. “I’m afraid the detective was mistaken, ma’am. Your husband was murdered by Hugo van Doren.”

She blinks again. “What? That’s not possible. Hugo was with me the entire evening.”

“The entire evening?”

“Yes. Other than a few…” her voice trails off. She pales a little, but then shakes her head vigorously. “No. I don’t believe it. I would never have wanted that. Hugo wanted me, but…” she blinks, then looks at me as a thought strikes her. “Who are you? Are you police? Interpol?”

“No, ma’am. Just a governess.”

“Then what the hell… how do you know anything about murders? How are you investigating a crime? What the hell is going on?”

Her voice rises in pitch as she grapples with the latest upheaval in her life. Ethan pokes his head over the staircase. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

“Go back to the movie,” she snaps. “We’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Ethan hesitates until I nod and say, “Go on, Ethan.” Then he walks back into the upstairs hallway.

“I already told him what to do,” Catherine snaps. “You don’t need to echo me. I’m his mother, not you.”

She’s angry, and I understand that. She was ready to begin the new chapter of her life, and my interference has taken that chance from her. “I’m sorry for this, ma’am. I know you weren’t expecting to hear this. I certainly wasn’t.” I don’t mention that what I actually expected was to uncover that Catherine had plotted her husband’s demise and used Hugo as a tool or perhaps committed the crime herself.

“Who are you?” she repeats. “How dare you… what gives you the right to interfere in my life? You’re aservant.”

“Your husband was murdered, ma’am,” I say calmly. “His killer was going to get away with it. I couldn’t in good conscience allow it.”

“How do you know Hugo committed this crime? What evidence do you have?”

“Your husband was paying his gambling debts. Hugo approached him for more money last week, and when Frederick refused him, Hugo killed him. I imagine it wasn’t planned. He probably fired the shot in a fit of rage and then quickly wrote the note to make it look like a suicide.”

“I don’t…” she presses her fingers to her temples briefly, then looks at the ceiling and chuckles mirthlessly. “Have you called the police?”

“I have.”

“Of course you have.” She sighs. “Who else have you told your suspicions?”

She emphasizes the last word, wanting it to be obvious that she considers my opinion just that—an opinion.

“No one yet, ma’am. You can keep it a secret from the children for now, if you like.”

"Oh, can I? Thank you so much, Miss Wilcox. I appreciate your permission."

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