Page 55 of The Only One Left

“I like it here,” I say, flashing a tight smile so it doesn’t seem like the lie it is. Completely unnecessary, it turns out.

“That’s not what you told your employer,” Detective Vick says.

“When did you talk to Mr. Gurlain?”

“About fifteen minutes ago. Before you and I talked, I wanted to confirm you were indeed the same Kit McDeere I thought you were. When I spoke to Mr. Gurlain, he told me thatyoualso called him not long ago.”

My anger returns. Before he even set foot in this room, Detective Vick knew I worked at Hope’s End, how long I’ve been here, and what my job entails. He also knows I asked Mr. Gurlain for a new assignment mere minutes before finding the body of Mary Milton. This whole interrogation feels like a trap to prove I’m untrustworthy. One I walked right into.

I’d walk right out of it, too, if I could. But there’s Mary to consider. While I didn’t know her, everyone else at Hope’s End seemed to like her. That alone is enough to make me continue to face Detective Vick. Then there’s the fact that Mary was a fellow caregiver. Shecared.I oweit to her to try to help make sense of her untimely end. Yet none of that means I need to go easy on Detective Vick.

“Are you going to ask me something you don’t already know?” I say.

“I don’t know why you just lied to me about liking it here.”

“Because I want to keep my job.”

“Even though, according to Mr. Gurlain, you asked for a new one?”

“Ineedto keep my job,” I say through teeth gritted so hard it makes my jaw ache. “Thanks to you, this is my only option.”

Detective Vick’s mouth drops open, as if he wants to say something but feels he can’t. In that absence of words, I can only wonder what it is. An apology seems unlikely.

“You told Mr. Gurlain you weren’t comfortable here,” he eventually says. “Why is that?”

“Three people were murdered in this house, Detective. Are you comfortable being here?”

“Yes. Then again, I’m used to crime scenes. Do you think Mary was uncomfortable here?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“You have the same job she did. Surely you can provide some insight into what it’s like caring for Lenora Hope. How is she as a patient?”

“Fine,” I say.

“Any problems?” Detective Vick says, pressing.

“Just the usual growing pains that happen with every patient.”

Along with Lenora’s sordid reputation, noises in the night, and the still-eerie fact that she claimed her dead sister was roaming her bedroom. But those are best left unmentioned. Detective Vick has always looked for a reason to not believe me. It’s not a good idea to toss him a few more, even if it leaves him looking disappointed. I think my answer is exactly what he expected to hear.

“You’re not concerned that Lenora Hope might be the person who committed those three murders you just mentioned?” Detective Vick says.

“I’m not worried she’s going to kill me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The detective purses his lips. A surprisingly dainty gesture on a face that’s grown rugged with age. “It wasn’t,” he says. “But since you brought it up, do you think Mary was worried about that?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Lenora’s harmless,” I say, echoing what Carter told me when I first arrived.

“Do you think Mary had any problems with Lenora? Or, for that matter, any other aspect of living and working here?”

I’ve wondered that myself, especially when I thought Mary had abruptly left in the middle of the night. Even though I now know better, it still tugs at me. Did something about Hope’s End—its history, its quirks, its unidentifiable noises—drive Mary to jump from the terrace? Or could it have been the history and quirks of the person she was caring for? I can think of only one person who might be able to provide some insight.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “But I know someone who does.”

“Who?”

At last, I’m able to give Detective Vick an answer I know he isn’t expecting.

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