Chapter 3 - THE HOUSEKEEPER BEFORE ROSA“Explain that.”
Colette laughed.
It was the wrong laugh.
Too quick.
Too empty.
“Explain what?”
“Denise Walker.”
“Malcolm, you cannot possibly be taking Rosa seriously after the spectacle she just created.”
“What payments?”
Colette picked up her handbag from the table.
“I have no idea.”
“Rosa does.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves she saw something.”
Colette’s hand tightened around the bag strap.
Malcolm noticed.
He had spent twenty-three years married to her.
He knew the way she rubbed her thumb against the leather when nervous.
He had seen it during difficult charity-board meetings.
During an IRS audit twelve years earlier.
During the night her mother died.
Colette was doing it now.
“Where did Rosa see those payments?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Then why are you nervous?”
“I am not nervous. I am furious.”
Blake sat silently on the sofa, eyes moving between them.
Malcolm saw him.
“Go upstairs.”
“Mom said—”
“Upstairs, Blake.”
The boy looked at Colette.
That tiny movement told Malcolm more than anything else.
Blake waited for his mother’s permission before obeying his father.
Colette nodded.
He left.
Malcolm watched him climb the stairs.
Then he turned back.
“Three years ago you told me Denise stole six thousand dollars.”
“She did.”
“You handled everything.”
“Yes, because you were in Chicago.”
“You said you didn’t file charges because you felt sorry for her.”
“I did.”
“Did we ever recover the money?”
Colette hesitated.
“That was years ago.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she spent it.”
“How do you know?”
“She admitted it.”
Malcolm stared.
“Did she?”
Colette’s expression hardened.
“You’re interrogating your wife because a maid whispered something while walking out?”
“Her name is Rosa.”
“That is not the point.”
“It is becoming the point.”
Colette turned away.
Malcolm walked into the study.
His home office was immaculate.
Rosewood desk.
Built-in shelves.
Family photographs arranged by Colette years earlier.
One showed Blake at age four between Malcolm and Colette.
Carla, the nanny Rosa had mentioned, had been cropped out of the frame.
Malcolm had never noticed.
He sat down.
Opened his laptop.
Household accounting was managed through a combination of a family-office system and credit cards linked to Sterling Development, his privately held real-estate firm.
He rarely reviewed routine domestic expenses.
That responsibility had gradually become Colette’s.
At first because he traveled.
Then because she insisted she was better at managing the house.
Eventually because it was easier.
Malcolm searched.
DENISE WALKER.
Nothing.
He changed systems.
Employee reimbursements.
Results appeared.
He frowned.
Several old entries.
Cleaning supplies.
Mileage.
Household purchases.
Then a date caught his attention.
September 14.
Two years after Denise had been fired.
PAYEE: DENISE WALKER.
$4,850.
He sat forward.
Another.
$2,300.
Another.
$7,125.
“What the hell?”
Colette stood in the doorway.
He looked up.
She had followed quietly.
“Found something?”
He turned the laptop toward her.
Her eyes moved across the screen.
She did not look surprised enough.
“Accounting mistake.”
“Several?”
“Probably.”
“Under the same former employee?”
“We’ve had dozens of staff over the years.”
“Denise was accused of stealing.”
“And?”
“And somebody kept using her name.”
Colette exhaled.
“You’re building a conspiracy because you feel guilty.”
“About what?”
“About not being home.”
That hit accurately.
Malcolm disliked that she knew it.
“You walked in, saw something ugly, and now you’re trying to convince yourself there must be a larger explanation because otherwise you have to admit you barely know what happens in your own house.”
Malcolm stared at her.
For one second, he wondered if she was right.
Then he noticed something.
“You said there was an accounting mistake.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t ask which account I found.”
Colette stopped.
Malcolm felt something cold settle in his stomach.
He closed the laptop.
“Where is the household archive?”
“Malcolm—”
“The physical records.”
“In storage.”
“Which storage?”
“You’re being absurd.”
He stood.
“Which storage?”
Colette’s phone buzzed.
She looked down automatically.
A message preview flashed across the screen.
Malcolm saw only the first few words.
Did she tell him about—
Colette turned the phone over.
Too late.
“Who is that?”
“Nobody.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
He held out his hand.
“Colette.”
“You don’t get to demand my phone.”
He lowered his hand.
“You’re right.”
That surprised her.
“I don’t.”
He picked up his own phone.
“But I can call Nathan.”
Her face changed.
Nathan Porter had been the Sterling family accountant for eighteen years.
“Why?”
“Because if this is an accounting mistake, he’ll find it.”
“You’re going to drag our business manager into a domestic argument?”
“No.”
Malcolm glanced at the screen again.
“I’m going to ask why money was moving under the name of a woman who supposedly stole from us.”
Colette started toward him.
“Malcolm.”
He dialed.
Nathan answered on the third ring.
“Malcolm?”
“I need you to look at some household reimbursements.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“All right.”
“Search Denise Walker.”
Malcolm watched Colette.
“What am I looking for?” Nathan asked.
“Anything after she stopped working for us.”
Typing.
Silence.
Then Nathan said, “That’s strange.”
Colette closed her eyes.
Malcolm’s heart began beating harder.
“What?”
“There are payments.”
“How many?”
“Give me a second.”
More typing.
“Malcolm…”
“What?”
“Denise Walker isn’t the only former employee whose name appears after termination.”
Malcolm slowly sat down.
“How many are there?”
Nathan hesitated.
“At least three.”
Colette walked out of the room.
Malcolm watched her go.
For the first time in his marriage, he did not follow her.
He looked instead at the empty doorway and thought about Rosa’s final sentence.
May you like
Ask your wife what happened to Denise Walker.
And suddenly one ugly afternoon involving a glass of water began to look like the smallest problem in his house.
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