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For whatever reason—perhaps because she was a masochist or too curious for her own good, she decided to probe. “What do you mean?”
“The Walden Estate isn’t so nice.” Oren coughed.
“Compared to what?” Rose demanded.
Oren raised his eyebrows, and Rose felt his answer with startling clarity:not nice compared to the home that just burned down.
Rose bit her lower lip. Her pulse was frantic. She remembered the way his face had transformed when she’d said,I’m so sorry for your loss.Then she realized thatNatalie had sat on the passenger side of this car probably hundreds of times. A chill came over her.
“I’m working for the Waldens,” Rose stuttered. “So you can let me know if you need anything.” She took a breath. “Okay?”
Oren’s eyes flickered over to her as he drove. Rose took a peek at the speedometer and saw they were going twenty-five over the speed limit. It was exhilarating. His wife had just died, but he was still eager to toy with death himself.
Rose thought,This is the most fascinating man I’ve ever met in my life.
They reached the Walden Estate at ten thirty. Oren parked and threw his keys at the on-hand valet and stalked into the night. Rose watched him go, wondering where he was going. The beach for a night swim? He had the kind of wild energy that made it difficult to know where he was off to or if you would ever see him again.
“Rose?”
Rose nearly leaped from her skin. Twisting around, she discovered Mrs. Walden at the edge of the veranda, peering down at her. A long and slender cigarette hung from between two of her fingers. In the moonlight, Mrs. Walden looked especially pale and thin, almost skeletal.
“Rose, will you come up here for a moment?” Mrs. Walden asked without waiting for Rose’s hello.
Rose hurried up the steps to the veranda to find Mrs. Walden sprawled out on a bench with her skirts flowing out on either side. Beside her was an empty glass that probably had very recently held one of Mrs. Walden’s favorite cocktails. Mrs. Walden’s eyes were glazed and half-open.
Rose dropped to her knees beside Mrs. Walden.Having grown up in a small town in the South, she wasn’t unfamiliar with the mannerisms of an alcoholic. But for whatever reason, Rose had assumed that only poor people could be alcoholics. It didn’t make sense that a woman witheverything in the world she could ever wantwould drink away her blues. What kind of blues had Mrs. Walden ever had? Hadn’t her bills always been paid? Weren’t her children always fed? Didn’t she have the most gorgeous view from a veranda that she never had to leave if she didn’t want to?
Rose’s head thudded with questions.
“Mrs. Walden? Are you all right?” Rose muttered.
Mrs. Walden’s voice was just a rasp. “You need to be careful around him, Rose.”
Rose’s heart jumped into her throat. She searched the dark beach for some sign of Oren but couldn’t find him. Was he listening? Was he somewhere near, laughing about the show Mrs. Walden was putting on? Maybe they would both laugh later and say,That Rose is sure an idiot, isn’t she?
“You need to listen to me,” Mrs. Walden repeated as her eyes closed. “You have to watch it.”
Rose retreated inside to find another member of staff who was better equipped to bring Mrs. Walden to her bedroom. Rose wasn’t sure if she could have found Mr. and Mrs. Walden’s wing again if she searched for it herself. The house was too big, too meandering.
She was exhausted.
Rose hurried back to her bedroom, turned on the lights, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was slightly sunburnt, and her eyes echoed blissful happiness, proof that she wasdoing something with her life.Proof that it was all on her own terms.
But just before she drifted off to sleep, Rose remembered Natalie’s image in that newspaper, an obituary that stated her death at the age of twenty-six.
Why is the fire an enormous secret?She marveled in the darkness.What is everyone hiding?
Chapter Eight
Present Day
Rose called the client the morning after the robbery to report what had happened. The friend of a friend of Ingrid put herself on video and blinked out expectantly, smiling a California smile and waiting for Rose to put herself on video, too.
“There you are!” the client said brightly. “I was just telling a few friends about the sculpture. I’m floored by the photos you sent. It’s truly better than I ever could have imagined.”
Rose hesitated. Any initial suspicion that the client had been involved in the robbery dissipated on the spot.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Rose murmured, feeling nervous, tugging the ends of her hair.
