Chapter 6 - THE STAIRS SHE NEVER TALKED ABOUT|
Maren was awake when Dante returned.
She sat against the pillows with a cup of tea balanced carefully between her hands.
The television was on.
Some cheerful late-night cooking program filled the room with artificial laughter.
She wasn't watching it.
Dante stood in the doorway for a moment.
He saw the untouched tea.
The way her fingers tightened when he entered.
The tired expression she tried to replace with a smile.
And he realized that his wife had learned to measure his moods before he said a word.
"How did it go?" she asked.
He crossed the room.
"Adrian Voss is alive."
The cup trembled in her hands.
"What?"
"The man everyone believed died in the warehouse."
Maren stared at him.
"But you went to his funeral."
"I did."
"He tried to kill you?"
"We don't know everything yet."
She looked down.
"Then the woman at the hospital was telling the truth."
"Part of it, at least."
Dante sat beside her.
"I've spoken to the police liaison."
She looked surprised.
"You're involving the police?"
"Six men died."
His voice hardened.
"And someone has been threatening you."
Maren placed the tea on the bedside table.
"You believe me?"
He stared at her.
The question hurt more than he expected.
"Of course I believe you."
She lowered her eyes.
"I wasn't always sure you would."
Dante reached for her hand.
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head.
"You keep saying that."
"Because there's a lot to apologize for."
Maren looked at him.
"Then stop apologizing for what you can't change."
Her voice trembled.
"And start helping me feel safe now."
He nodded.
"All right."
For a while, they sat quietly.
Then Dante took a breath.
"Samuel told me about the staircase."
Maren's face changed instantly.
"What did he say?"
"That you fell eight months ago."
She looked toward the window.
"It was an accident."
"Was it?"
"Yes."
Dante waited.
Maren's eyes filled.
He didn't pressure her.
He simply sat beside her, holding her hand, until she spoke again.
"I was carrying fresh sheets upstairs."
Her voice was small.
"It was the afternoon before your father's memorial dinner."
Dante remembered the evening.
He had returned home briefly, changed clothes, attended the formal dinner, and left before dessert.
Maren had worn a long navy dress.
He remembered thinking she looked pale.
He had never asked why.
"Someone was coming down the stairs," she continued.
"I stepped aside."
"Who?"
Maren hesitated.
"Evelyn."
Dante closed his eyes.
"She was visiting Leonard."
"Did she push you?"
Maren swallowed.
"She brushed against me."
"Accidentally?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me what happened."
Maren stared at the blanket.
"She said I should be careful."
Dante waited.
"Then she asked whether I knew how many women would have been grateful to marry you."
His jaw tightened.
"She told me I was wasting my opportunity."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"Then?"
"I moved to let her pass."
A tear rolled down Maren's cheek.
"And suddenly I was falling."
Dante's hand tightened around hers.
"Did you lose consciousness?"
"Only for a moment, I think."
"Did anyone help you?"
"Mrs. Bell."
Dante knew the housekeeper.
Clara Bell had served the family for nearly thirty years.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Maren looked ashamed.
"Because I asked her not to."
"Why?"
"Because Evelyn said she'd tell you I was being dramatic."
Dante stared at her.
"She said that?"
Maren nodded.
"She told me you disliked emotional women."
The room went silent.
Dante felt something inside him crack.
He had spent a year believing his wife was comfortable because the house was expensive and the staff was attentive.
He had never understood how frightening a large house could become when its owner was absent.
"Maren, look at me."
She slowly raised her eyes.
"I don't care what Evelyn thinks."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
He took a breath.
"Because I never gave you a reason to know."
She began to cry.
He carefully drew her against him.
"I'm listening now."
She rested her forehead against his chest.
"She came here often."
Dante felt his blood run cold.
"How often?"
"At first, once a month."
"Then?"
"After the fire, almost every week."
"Why?"
"She said she was helping Leonard with the estate."
Dante closed his eyes.
Pike had used his father's old authority to maintain access to the mansion.
Evelyn had used Pike's position to come and go.
And Dante had been absent often enough that nobody questioned it.
"What else happened?"
Maren hesitated.
"Sometimes my things disappeared."
"What things?"
"Letters from my mother."
Dante looked at her.
"Your mother?"
Maren nodded.
"She died when I was nineteen."
He knew that much.
It had been written in the background report his attorney prepared before their marriage.
But he had never asked how Maren remembered her.
"She wrote letters whenever I was away at nursing school."
Maren smiled faintly.
"Even if we talked on the phone that morning, she'd still send me something."
"What happened to them?"
"I kept them in a wooden box."
Dante glanced toward the dresser.
"Where is it?"
Maren's smile vanished.
"It's gone."
He sat very still.
"When?"
"About seven months ago."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"Clara helped me look."
"And?"
"We never found it."
Dante stood.
Maren caught his hand.
"Please don't get angry at Clara."
"I'm not angry at Clara."
"She tried to help."
"I believe you."
He sat again.
"Tell me about the letters."
Maren looked surprised.
"What?"
"What did your mother write?"
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Little things."
"Such as?"
"That she'd made too much soup."
She smiled through her tears.
"That the neighbor's dog kept stealing tomatoes from the garden."
Dante listened.
"She would tell me to eat properly and stop studying after midnight."
He gently brushed a tear from her cheek.
"She sounds like she loved you very much."
"She did."
Maren's voice broke.
"Sometimes I read those letters because I wanted to remember what it felt like to be someone's first thought."
Dante looked away.
There were many things he could endure.
Pain.
Threats.
Betrayal.
But hearing his wife explain that she had needed old letters to feel loved was nearly unbearable.
He reached for his phone.
"Nico."
"Yes, boss?"
"I need every visitor record from the past year."
"Understood."
"And have Clara Bell come upstairs."
A few minutes later, the housekeeper entered.
She was a dignified woman in her sixties with silver hair pinned neatly at the back of her head.
When she saw Maren's bandaged knees, her eyes filled.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Maren attempted a smile.
"I'm all right."
Clara looked toward Dante.
"She isn't."
Dante accepted the rebuke.
"I know."
Clara stepped closer to the bed.
"I told you the chapel floor was too cold."
Maren looked embarrassed.
"You knew?"
Clara gave her a sad smile.
"I've known for months."
Dante turned toward her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Clara straightened.
"Because your wife asked me not to."
He opened his mouth.
She continued before he could speak.
"And because when I tried to tell your office that something was wrong, Mr. Pike informed me that you didn't wish to be disturbed."
Dante froze.
"When was that?"
"Last February."
"What did you report?"
Clara looked at Maren.
"The fall."
Maren covered her face.
Clara continued.
"The missing letters."
She looked directly at Dante.
"And the fact that Mrs. Caruso was afraid to be alone with Miss Vale."
Dante's throat tightened.
Clara reached into her apron pocket.
"I kept a copy of the message."
She unfolded a yellowed sheet of paper.
It was a written report addressed to Dante's private office.
At the bottom was a handwritten instruction.
DO NOT FORWARD TO MR. CARUSO.
The signature belonged to Leonard Pike.
Dante stared at it.
Then Clara said something that made him look up sharply.
"There's another reason I kept it."
"What reason?"
"Because the night after I wrote that report, someone entered my room."
Maren gasped.
Clara's hands trembled.
"They left a note on my pillow."
Dante's face hardened.
"What did it say?"
Clara looked at Maren.
May you like
Then back at Dante.
"It said that if I wanted the young Mrs. Caruso to survive her marriage, I should learn to keep my mouth shut."
