The Caretakers Page 4

“Then she runs off like a loon, and when I tried to catch her, she pushed me in the pond!”

  “That’s not what happened—”

  A corner of Kitty’s mouth twitches upward. Ruby left out the part about trying to drown her sister in the green, murky pond after she tripped over a tree root and fell in herself. The younger girl had laughed, understandably, so Ruby grasped Cora by the ankle and pulled her down into the water too. Aiden had to fish the two of them out.

  But the specifics don’t interest Everett Cooke any more than they do his eldest daughter.

  “Enough!” he roars, staring down the gaggle of children filling his library.

  “Everett?” a woman’s voice says into the silence that falls over the room. She’s pale and delicate, like the china in the cupboard. She sits with her legs crossed at the ankle and a cup of tea poised halfway to her lips. Her eyelashes are so light they seem almost to disappear. “Exactly how many children do you have?”

  Mr. Cooke slams his brandy glass down and stands. This time, even the Cooke girls notice he’s seething.

  “Three,” he says darkly. “I have three undisciplined, untidy, untamed offspring who don’t have the sense the good Lord gave them. Step forward.”

  Ruby and Cora hesitate but finally do so, at last comprehending their peril. Cora peeks up at her father’s guests, resplendent in their fine clothes and clearly shocked by the tableau in front of them.

  “You too, Peter. Stop hiding back there,” Everett says.

  Peter glances quickly up at Aiden, who nods to the boy. He slowly makes his way forward to stand with his sisters.

  The Donnelly siblings step back, grateful for once that their mother is only the housekeeper and they’re not expected to be in that line. They do what children of servants learn to do at a young age and fade into the background as best they can, waiting for the opportunity to flee.

  “These are my children. Ruby, Cora, and Peter,” Everett Cooke says, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger. “And this, children, is your new stepmother, Helena.”

  The door of Kitty’s memory closes softly now on the scene, but not before she recalls the horror on the faces of the Cooke children.

  Once again, she’s in an empty room filled with dust and memories. Kitty pulls her old bones from the piano bench to make her way slowly home. Deirdre will worry if she’s gone too long.

  The lure of the past and those who live there doesn’t hold the same fascination for Deirdre, who likes to pretend they never existed.

  But Kitty can’t help staring over her shoulder at what once was. The Cooke children were right to be distressed.

  After Helena, everything changed.

  9

  TESSA

  Everything has changed.

  Tessa hides in the bathroom of the house she grew up in. In a few hours, she’ll watch her mother’s casket be lowered into the ground.

  But neither Oliver Barlow nor the press salivating over his story stop for Tessa’s loss. A second video has been released. She bites her hand to keep quiet while Oliver’s face fills the screen of her phone, and his voice echoes off the cold tile.

  “My parents put everything they had into getting me out of jail. Their time, their money. Their lives. My mother died. Did you know that, Winters?” A flicker of grief crosses Oliver’s face, though it’s quickly overtaken by rage.

  “What would her life have been like if you hadn’t done what you did? What would your daughter’s life have been like? Will your wife survive the pain? Will she forgive you, do you think?” It’s dark wherever Oliver is, and shadows hide much of his face. Tessa thinks he smiles then, but it’s brief, there one moment, then stolen by darkness the next.

  “Behind my parents’ house, on the backside of the property, there’s a shed. It’s old and falling down. It’s been there since I was a kid. Go take a look, Winters. I left something for you to find.”

  The video ends abruptly.

  Tessa catches sight of herself in the mirror. With wide eyes set off by dark circles and pale skin, she looks like a ghost, and feels as substantial as one. As if she might fade entirely away at any minute.

  Pull yourself together. Today is about Mom.

  No matter how much she wishes it was different, she can’t do anything about Oliver. Tessa needs to focus.

  She splashes water on her face and forces herself to leave the bathroom. A little while later she’s putting fresh water in the vases of flowers sent by well-meaning friends and neighbors when the notifications on her social media feeds light up. She braces herself and clicks a link.

  A body has been discovered on the Barlows’ property. Video shows emergency services in Bonham removing a distinctive covered shape on a stretcher.

  The vase of lilies Tessa is holding slips from her grasp and shatters on the floor.

  Running feet sound in the hallway, and she quickly kneels to pick up the larger pieces of glass.

  “Tessa?” Margot says as she rounds the corner into the kitchen.

  “Careful, there’s glass,” Tessa tells her sister.

  Margot opens her mouth to speak, but she changes her mind. Instead, she walks to the cupboard and pulls out the broom and dustpan. She hands them to Tessa, then exits the kitchen without another word.

  It’s been this way since Tessa arrived. She’d packed an overnight bag, but never expected to be sharing her childhood home. Margot and Ben live on the other side of town, closer to the bakery her sister owns and operates.

  Yet Ben’s relationship with Margot is as shaky as Tessa’s.

  She tried to talk to her sister about Ben the night she first arrived home. It didn’t go well.

  “I know how it looked, Margot, but Ben and I aren’t sleeping together,” she insisted.

  “I’m not going to discuss my husband with you, Tessa,” Margot said darkly. “Drop it.”

  “He loves you,” Tessa said, unable to let it go. “I love you. Neither of us would ever—”

  Margot stood so quickly the kitchen chair she was sitting in toppled to the floor behind her. She elbowed past her sister on her way out of the room.

  “Margot!” Tessa cried.

  Margot stopped, one hand gripping the doorframe so hard that her knuckles were white. She turned her face halfway back, her profile taut.

  “Sex isn’t the only way to hurt someone, Tess. You ought to know that.”

  Tessa hasn’t brought up the subject again. The few days since have been filled with funeral arrangements and an uneasy truce. At night, the two of them sleep in their old bedrooms, mirror images with an adjoining bathroom, barely speaking.

  The memorial service passes in a bittersweet haze. Her mother was well loved in the community and among her family, and sadness mingles with happy memories. But Tessa can’t shake the sense that she’s failed her mother.

  I’ve only made things worse, Mom.

  The guests return for a reception at Jane’s farmhouse. Tessa stays busy refilling glasses and keeping a safe distance from her sister. She knows that once the last guest has gone, and the food and the plates are cleared and put away, she’ll get back in her car and leave Margot to sort out the rest of her life.

  What choice does she have? She’s done enough damage.

  Overwhelmed suddenly by the effort it takes to smile and make small talk, Tessa excuses herself. She needs a quiet moment alone. Her feet take her to her mother’s bedroom door.

  She pushes it open, and Jane’s faint scent welcomes her inside. In her creased black dress and heels, Tessa drops slowly onto the edge of the bed and runs a hand over the quilt that drapes it.

  Tessa pulls her feet up and lays her head on her mother’s pillow, the linen cool against her cheek. Ivory drapes flutter in the breeze from the open door that leads outside where guests are milling about, speaking to one another in somber, hushed voices.

  The world has tipped on end, and all the things Tessa once believed true have been lost in some negative space where black is white, up is down
, and her mother is gone forever.

  When the door opens quietly and her sister walks in the room, Tessa sits up, bracing herself. Margot drops onto the bed beside her, and her eyes roam around the room, searching for somewhere to land other than Tessa.

  They sit side by side. Whatever else is between them, in this moment, they share a loss that only the other can comprehend. Margot laces her fingers through Tessa’s and they hold on tight.

  It can’t last. They both know this, but their grip is fierce despite that knowledge. Or because of it.

  After a time, the sound of raised voices drifts through the open door, incongruous on a day filled with quiet condolences. Tessa tenses, even as Margot’s hand loosens, and she fights the urge to squeeze tighter, to prolong a connection that can’t be forced.

  Her sister’s hand slips from hers as Margot rises to move to the door.

  “What now?” Margot says under her breath.

  Shaking off the fresh wave of loss, Tessa stands and walks to her sister’s side. In their mother’s backyard, friends and family are gathered near the giant oak that still has a rope and board swing tied to one of its sturdy, fat branches. A picnic table is loaded with food, but Aunt Nan’s broccoli and rice casserole isn’t what holds everyone’s attention.

  Across the yard, where a gate opens to the circle drive, three men are arguing.

  “Who is that?” Tessa asks.

  Two of the men are recognizable. It’s Ben and Uncle Rob, their father’s youngest brother. Rob is shaking his finger in the face of a third man while Ben holds an arm across Rob’s chest, trying to defuse whatever situation is brewing.

  The stranger holds up both hands but doesn’t retreat. Instead he pulls a small notebook from his shirt pocket and flips it open, which sets Rob off again.

  “I said get the hell out of here, you slimy bastard.” Rob’s voice carries across the green grass, upsetting the quiet stillness of the scene. “This is private property. You have no business here. Have some goddamned respect, why don’t you? And that you can quote me on!”

  Tessa’s heart drops.

  The press.

  She’s out the door, hurrying across the lawn as fast as her heels can take her.

  Ben sees her coming. “No,” he says, holding a hand up in her direction. “Stay back. I’ll get rid of him.”

  “Ms. Shepherd,” the reporter calls over his shoulder. “Ms. Shepherd, would you care to comment on the Oliver Barlow situation?”

  Rob draws back a fist, but Ben steps between her uncle and the reporter, gripping the older man by the forearms. It’s the opening Tessa needs and she rushes forward, grabbing the reporter by his arm.

  She pulls him quickly away from the gathering, toward the privacy of the driveway lined with cars.

  “Ms. Shepherd, are you aware that a body was recovered from the Barlows’ property earlier today? Given the latest developments, do you stand by the work you did to help Oliver Barlow gain his freedom?”

  Now that she has him away from the crowd, Tessa has no idea what to say. If she defends her work, the public will crucify her. If she doesn’t, they’ll crucify her anyway.

  And none of that matters right now.

  “I buried my mother today,” Tessa says carefully. “This is not the time or the place for an interview. I’d like you to leave. Now.”

  “The longer you wait, Tessa, the more people are going to talk,” the reporter says. She notices the way he’s switched to her first name. He can’t be a day older than twenty-five. “Public perception is hard to change once it takes hold, and right now you look like you’re hiding from a situation you created.”

  Tessa would like nothing more than to wipe the smugness off his face, but she’s in no position to do that. It doesn’t help to knows he’s right.

  “Just one quote. Come on,” he says.

  She’s tempted, if only to get him to leave. My heart goes out to the friends and family of Valerie Winters during this difficult time. They are in my prayers.

  Two things hold her back. Firstly, the Winters family doesn’t give a shit about her thoughts and prayers. No amount of either will bring their daughter home. As far as Lloyd Winters is concerned, Tessa has a seat reserved in hell next to Oliver Barlow. Platitudes would be nothing but a self-serving attempt to salvage her image.

  Secondly, though not necessarily of equal importance, she doesn’t like him. There may come a time when she speaks to the press, but it won’t be to a reporter brazen enough to gate-crash her mother’s funeral.

  “No comment,” Tessa says through gritted teeth. “Now leave, or I’ll call the police.”

  “This isn’t going away, you know.”

  She crosses her arms and clenches her jaw. Seeing she’s not going to budge, he shakes his head and tucks his notebook back into his pocket.

  “Fine, but—”

  “I’m going to get my phone,” she says and turns her back on him.

  “I’ve got mine.”

  Tessa hadn’t realized Margot followed them, but she’s glad to see her standing a few yards away, holding a cell phone in her hand.

  “Call the police. Tell them we have a trespasser.”

  “Fine,” the reporter says. “I’m going. No need to be like that.”

  The sisters stand shoulder to shoulder until he climbs into his vehicle and reverses down the long driveway.

  “Margot, I’m sorry—”

  “He’s right. It isn’t going away.” Her sister’s voice is hard again. Their fleeting moment of solidarity is gone. “And now you’ve brought it here.”

  “Margot—”

  Her sister turns on her heel. Ben is standing at the gate, watching, but Margot brushes past him. He tries to speak to her, but she walks by him like he doesn’t exist.

  He waits while Tessa follows at a slower pace.

  “I’m sorry, Ben. I’ll leave tonight,” she says.

  He frowns and shoves his hands in his pockets. “How’s that going to help?” he asks. The frustration in his voice surprises her.

  “That reporter won’t be the last to show up, not as long as I’m here. Once I go, there’s no reason for them to bother any of you again.”

  He stares as if he’s trying to work out if she has any sense at all.

  “What?” Tessa demands.

  But Ben shakes his head. “You. You and Margot both. You Shepherd girls are pretty good at running away.”

  The disgust in his voice stings.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tessa cries, but she’s talking to his back.

  10

  Aunt Nan washes up while Tessa dries. Her hands and her heart fall into the quiet, domestic rhythm with ease.

  There’s a dishwasher in the old farmhouse kitchen, but it’s understood it’s no place for Jane’s good china.

  “What are you going to do now?” Nan asks.

  Tessa glances up and spies her sister in the backyard through the kitchen window. Margot is folding the tablecloth from the picnic table. Her face is drawn, her movements slow and deliberate. The sun is low on the horizon, and a breeze plays with the curls that have fallen from Margot’s once neat updo.

  We’ve come unraveled, Tessa thinks.

  “I don’t know,” she says honestly. According to her assistant, Tessa’s apartment in New York has press camped at the doors after the release of Oliver’s second video.

  “You could stay with us for a while,” her aunt offers.

  Tessa glances at her, surprised. Of course, they all know the situation. Family always does.

  “That’s nice of you, but I couldn’t impose on you and Rob like that.”

  Still, she’s touched by the offer. She’s missed this place, these people. Tessa left behind more than her sister all those years ago.

  Nan nods. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us. The kids are all grown, and we have the room.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Once the dishe
s are done, Tessa makes another pass through the house to search out any stray plates or cups and finds Margot speaking quietly with one of Mom’s friends. The older man, Tessa can’t remember his name, motions for her to join them.

  “Margot was telling me you plan to leave town soon,” the man says.

  She nods but finds herself oddly distracted by his silver-streaked hair and angled features. She would frame him in low light, to accentuate the rugged lines on his face. Maybe firelight. A campfire with snow falling softly in the background.

  He’s speaking, and she shakes off the vision, struggling to keep up.

  “So I’d be happy to see the two of you in my office tomorrow or the next day, if that works for you both.”

  Tessa frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Mr. . . .” She trails off, searching for the name he might have already mentioned.

  “Smith,” he fills in for her. “Jackson Smith.”

  “Jackson has been Mom’s attorney for years,” Margot adds, but there’s something in the look she gives Tessa that says more.

  Tessa’s brows rise a little of their own accord, and she struggles to keep her voice neutral.

  “I see,” is the best she can manage. She meets Margot’s eyes. Really? Mom and the silver fox?

  Her sister’s mouth twitches as she tries to hide a smile, but the dimple in her cheek deepens with the effort, and she glances toward the floor.

  Tessa’s eyes swivel quickly back to Mr. Smith, trying valiantly to hold back the inappropriate laughter that bubbles up.

  “Janie was a wonderful woman,” he’s saying. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Tessa manages to keep her voice somber by biting the inside of her lip.

  “Well.” He clears his throat. “Like I was saying, if you two would like to come by my office, we can get the formalities taken care of right away.”

  “I’m sorry, what formalities?” Tessa asks.

  “Jackson’s talking about Mom’s will,” Margot says.

  “Oh.” Tessa still doesn’t understand. “Okay. But . . . I assume everything is pretty straightforward.”

  She hasn’t considered a will, but it would be out of character for their mother to be anything but evenhanded. A decision will need to be made about the house, and there’s the cabin that belonged to their grandparents, but . . .