Page 42 of From the Darkness

“Yes. I understand.” The woman sighed. “Mrs. London died in an automobile accident.”

“Was she in the car alone?”

“Oh no. Mr. London was driving.”

Bree’s mouth had gone dry. Troy had told her that Grace was driving the car. “Hewas driving?”

“Why yes. It was a terrible burden for him. He became quite distraught. I understand that’s what led to his nervous breakdown.”

“Oh,” was all Bree could manage.

“A real tragedy,” the housekeeper was saying. “He was such a young, vital man.”

“Yes.” Bree’s head was spinning. Troy had lied to her. Or maybe in his mind, that was what he thought had happened, because he couldn’t deal with the reality. Or maybe the housekeeper had her facts wrong.

She watched the woman cut slices of chocolate cake and set them on smaller plates, then pour drinks. Milk for Dinah and a glass of iced tea for Bree, who added lemon and sugar.

Since Mrs. Martindale seemed to be in a talkative mood, she asked the jackpot question, “Uh, whereisMr. London?”

The housekeeper hesitated for a moment. “We don’t know.”

“Oh.”

Mrs. Martindale lowered her voice. “He’s disappeared, and we’ve been so worried.”

“Then why did Mrs. Sterling tell me he was locked in his room? Why do I see you carrying food up there?”

“I think Mrs. Sterling didn’t want you to worry about the situation. And about the food—sometimes it’s been eaten when I go back to collect the tray. So, I guess he has some way of slipping in and out of his room—when he wants to.” She laughed. “Or Abner Sterling is getting in there and stuffing himself.”

Bree mulled that over. “But if Mr. London is at large on the estate, isn’t that dangerous?”

“He’s never been a danger to anyone else as far as I know,” the housekeeper murmured.

That contradicted what Nola had told her, Bree thought as she pressed on. “But isn’t he at risk? I mean, a risk to himself,” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. “If he’s sick, you can’t just leave him wandering around.”

“What choice do we have? He knows this place like the back of his hand. If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. And don’t ask me to set a trap in his room. I had Graves sitting up there for two days a few weeks ago. And Mr. London just stayed away.”

Bree was shocked by the information the housekeeper had revealed. It sounded like Mrs. Martindale was starting to trust her. But when she saw the woman watching her speculatively, she only gave a tight nod.

“We’d better take the dinner up before it gets cold,” she said.

“Yes.”

They both carried covered trays up the backstairs, and the older woman led the way to the sunporch. It was a very pretty place to eat—with bright peach and yellow cushions on wicker furniture. Wide glass windows gave a panoramic view of the headlands and the ocean. After her conversation with Troy about Grace’s spending habits, Bree saw the room a little differently than she might have earlier. Before, it might just have looked pretty. Now she could see that a lot of money had gone into decorating it.

Unbidden, a terrible thought leaped into her mind. What if Troy had killed his wife because she was bleeding him dry with her overblown spending? As soon as the idea surfaced, she was horrified that she could even have thought it.

Tensely she waited for Mrs. Martindale to leave the room. Thinking she was no closer to the truth than before she’d asked her questions. It was like being at a trial where each witness told a different story, and there was no way to know who was lying. Well, not yet anyway, Bree thought as she hurried to Dinah’s room. As she stepped into the child’s room, she stopped and looked around; and the same thoughts she’d had earlier surfaced again. The bedroom was an expensively created dream room for a little girl—decorated in pink and white with lots of ruffles. Three-tier- high shelves along one wall were crammed with toys and books. It looked like the whole package had cost more than a luxury car.

Stop questioning the details of his marriage,Bree ordered herself, as she focused on Dinah who was sitting on her bed, propped up against a raft of pillows, a picture book open on her lap. But instead of looking at the pages, she was staring across the room toward the flowered wallpaper, her gaze unfocused as though she were lost in a dream world of her own.

“Dinah, dinner’s ready,” Bree said brightly.

The girl’s attention snapped to the doorway, and she looked embarrassed, as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Bree kept her own expression friendly. “And I have a nice surprise. We’re going to eat on the sunporch.”

The child nodded, set her book aside, and scrambled off the bed, where she paused to push her feet into fuzzy bedroom slippers, then grabbed Alice.

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