Chapter 4
The kitchen doorbell chime sounded from the front of the house.
All three froze.
A small ordinary sound, and yet it cut through the room like a new witness arriving.
Vivian recovered first. “That will be Carla.”
Ethan looked at her. “Who is Carla?”
“The evening house manager.”
“We don’t have an evening house manager.”
Vivian’s mouth closed.
Lily’s face changed.
Ethan saw it and felt another piece of his home turn unfamiliar.
“Lily,” he said gently, “who is Carla?”
She pulled the jacket tighter around herself. “The woman who checks if I eat.”
Vivian snapped, “She helps with household structure.”
Ethan stared at her.
Household structure.
It was almost impressive, the cruelty people could hide inside tidy phrases.
The chime sounded again.
Ethan took one step toward the front hall.
Vivian said, “Don’t open that door.”
He stopped.
The fear in her voice had shifted. This was not fear of being caught humiliating Lily. This was fear of someone else entering the frame.
Another hook.
Ethan turned back. “Why not?”
Vivian said nothing.
Lily whispered, “She has a key.”
From the hallway came the faint click of the front door unlocking.
Ethan moved faster than thought. He crossed to Lily, put himself between her and the hallway, and grabbed his phone from the island. Vivian reached toward the recording unit on the counter.
“Don’t,” Ethan said.
She froze.
The front door opened.
A woman’s voice called from beyond the kitchen, casual and irritated. “Vivian? I told you not to leave the bowl out. If he ever sees—”
Carla stepped into view.
She was in her fifties, square-shouldered, wearing a tan coat over black scrubs. She stopped at the kitchen threshold with a set of keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Her eyes moved from Vivian to Ethan to Lily to the bowl on the floor.
The paper bag crinkled in her grip.
Ethan looked at the keys.
“Who gave you access to my house?”
Carla’s face hardened. Not guilty. Defensive.
“Mr. Cole,” she said.
May you like
Ethan blinked.
“My attorney?”
