“The old housekeeper’s room!” her grandfather cried, his face brightening.
“It’s full of junk,” Reuben said.
“Oh, it’s perfect. Come, come—everybody come!” Ollie led the way toward the back of the house, calling out as they filed after him, “Dear Mrs. Pace! How I miss her roast chicken and apple pie!”
Reuben muttered, “If you’d paid her, she might have stuck around.”
They entered the kitchen where Lemmy had lain dead an hour ago—a large room with a black-and-white checkered floor and a long table in the center. Her grandfather continued into a hallway in the back corner, but it was too dark for Kate, so she lingered in the well-lit kitchen.
“You eaten recently?” a low voice asked behind her shoulder.
She whirled to see Hugo standing in nearly the same spot he’d stood an hour ago, leering over a dead body. She stepped back, pressing a hand to her stomach. “No, but I don’t think I can eat much.”
“That’s good, because we don’t have much.” He smiled and pulled out a chair at the table. “How about eggs and toast?”
Kate hesitated, then cautiously sat. “Just eggs, thank you.” She saw a couple of sticky patches on the table and kept her hands on her lap. The sink overflowed with dishes. The floor needed mopping. The boxy appliances looked ancient.
What a fool she’d been, coming to live with an old bachelor, expecting anything different.
Hugo heated a pan and cracked eggs into a bowl, cooking with ease, knowing where to find a whisk.
Reuben carried out a couple of old paint cans from the housekeeper’s room, Lemmy walked out with empty wooden crates, and her grandfather dumped a stack of fat phone books in the corner of the kitchen.
“I should help,” Kate murmured without really meaning it.
Hugo set a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs in front of her, followed by a cup of warmed milk sprinkled with cinnamon. Kate only sipped the milk to be polite, but its warmth was so comforting, she kept drinking.
Hugo disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with her shoes. “I think these are yours.”
She avoided looking at him as she slipped the pumps onto her feet. “I don’t suppose you found my purse? I dropped it somewhere.”
“I’ll look for it after I bring back your luggage. I was thinking I’d put the trunks in the laundry room since your room is so small.”
Your room, as if she planned to stay.
“Very well.” With shoes on her feet, she felt more like herself.
Reuben walked by with an armload of pillows and bedsheets, then returned a few minutes later to tell her the housekeeper’s room was “clean enough.” Kate doubted that but stood, tugging her jacket straight.
The short hallway didn’t have a light, only the glow from the kitchen. She passed the laundry room and a small bathroom, then paused in the threshold to the housekeeper’s room, her gaze skimming a sagging bed and nightstand. Ollie and Lemmy stood near the dresser, arguing over the straightness of a picture on the wall.
Better than the sofa, at least, but too dark. The kitchen light barely reached this far. Kate leaned through the doorway, searching for the switch.
“No electricity back here,” Reuben said.
Kate straightened, her heart skittering into a faster beat. “Then I can’t sleep here. I don’t sleep in the dark.”
Ollie and Lemmy turned to look. “What are you talking about?” Lemmy asked. “Everybody sleeps in the dark.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said coolly.
She saw the subtle shift in their faces as they remembered and understood. She glowered back, hating that everyone knew. Hating that she would always be that weak, pitiable thirteen-year-old girl in the headlines.
For seven days, her photo had been on the front page of newspapers, captivating the world. But for Kate, the seven days had been a timeless hell of darkness and silence. An immeasurable black void.
She glared at the ugly housekeeper’s room, hating the clammy fear that had taken hold of her. The heavy beats in her chest. The queasy knot in her stomach.
Ollie cleared his throat. “I’ll see if I can find an old kerosene lantern somewhere.” He shuffled from the room and the others followed, murmuring excuses.
Only Reuben remained, his scarred, bulldog face unexpectedly sympathetic. “How about we keep the door open? That enough light for you?”
Kate considered it. The faint glow from the kitchen seemed sufficient. She picked up the wooden chair by the bed and set it in front of the door, propping it open, and her panic started to subside. “No one must close this door or turn off the kitchen light.”
“I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Reuben started to leave, then turned back. “You want me to sleep on the kitchen floor? I don’t mind.”
Kate filled her lungs, embarrassed. “No, but thank you. I’ll be fine as long as the light stays on.”
Reuben left, giving her a final, worried look over his stocky shoulder.
She entered the laundry room, where Hugo had placed her luggage, and was relieved to find a lightbulb with a chain. She opened her smaller suitcase, pulled out a silky nightgown, picked up her cosmetics case, and crossed the short hall.
The bathroom was no more than functional, intended for servants, with a stained pedestal sink and rusty fixtures. No counter space for lining up her things the way she liked, in the order she used them—toothbrush first, hairbrush last.
As she started to undress, footsteps creaked overhead, and she redid her buttons, deciding to sleep in her clothes.
She carried her things back to her suitcase, retrieved the book she’d been reading on the train, and returned to the housekeeper’s room.
Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains. Kate went to the window and peered up, but the full moon was barely visible through the overgrown trees. Tomorrow, she would find a good place to set up her telescope.
No. Tomorrow she would be on her way back to San Francisco. She would send a telegram to Aunt Lorna on the ship, explaining why she had to return home at once. Not even Mr. Norton could expect her to live in a boarding house with five men. She’d have to stay in a hotel in San Francisco while the house was being remodeled. Aunt Lorna could afford that, now that she was married. She could send a Western Union money order from the ship.
Kate heard movement behind her and whirled to see Hugo silhouetted in the doorway, looking like a killer again with something in each hand. She went rigid, aware they were alone downstairs. “What do you want?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to tell you I found it.” He held up her purse, then leaned into the room just far enough to place it on the wooden chair holding the door. “And I thought you might want this.” His other hand held up a flashlight. “I put in new batteries, so it’ll run most of the night if you want. Or you can just leave it on the nightstand, in case you need it.” He leaned forward and set it on the chair next to the purse.
The toes of his brown shoes had never crossed the threshold, as if to reassure her that they wouldn’t.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
The light from the kitchen cast his face into menacing shadows. “You know … I don’t really go around stabbing people.”