CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Cassie banged the knocker a second time and waited outside the house, breathless from her uphill walk, feeling nervousness flooding in. She didn’t have any idea what she would say when the door was opened. She wasn’t great at winging it at the best of times, and thanks to the hell she’d been through since Trish arrived home, this was not the best of times.
Cassie was about to turn away when, through the stained-glass panel on the side of the door, she saw somebody approaching.
A moment later, the door opened.
Cassie found herself staring at Harriet the housekeeper.
Harriet’s greeting, “Hi, can I…” trailed off in mid-voice as she realized who was standing outside and she stared back at Cassie, horrified.
Then the housekeeper tried to slam the door in her face.
She was quick, but Cassie was quicker.
Remembering the delivery man’s strategy, she got her shoe into the gap and the door bounced off the rubber sole, giving her enough impetus to shove it back and push her way inside.
Harriet stepped back, looking wary. She folded her arms protectively across the green smock she wore. Cassie noted, bemused, that she’d changed her hair color to turquoise.
“What’re you doing here?” Harriet asked.
“Why did you try to slam the door on me?” she countered, feeling her ever-present anger boiling up again.
“’Cause I’m just cleaning here.” Harriet sounded self-righteous. “I can’t let anyone in, for security reasons. I take deliveries at the front door.”
“Well, I haven’t come to deliver anything.”
“Why’re you here then? You lost?” Harriet spat at her.
Cassie could feel her resentment, like a tangible force.
“I recognized your car.”
Now Harriet’s gaze slid away.
“My car? From where?”
“You tried to run me over on Saturday morning, while I was walking back home.”
“Why would I do that?” Harriet asked, her voice full of outraged innocence. “Are you mad, to think I’d do that?”
“It was your car. I saw it for certain. And there’s nobody else in this village who’s been nasty to me except you. You have been appalling right from the start.”
Harriet took a step back, nearly tripping over the lime green knotted rug on the hallway floor.
“You have been insufferable. Geez, how unprofessional can a cleaner be! Swearing at your boss, insulting people in front of young children. You even went through my trash can! What the hell was that about?”
“Look, I can explain—” Harriet began.
Cassie’s rage was rising now; she couldn’t stop it.
This wasn’t just about how Harriet had behaved. Everything was boiling to the surface. Her anger over the unfairness of what had happened and her shattered hopes and dreams. The helpless fury that surged inside her when she thought about the way Ryan had treated her and how he had lied. Finally, she had the chance to vent it all on somebody who deserved it.
“You can’t explain a thing. You’re a sad, jealous, mean bitch. And you ended up hating an innocent person so much that you tampered with their car and then tried to run them over while they were walking home.”
Harriet had gone pale.
“I never did that. Honest.”
“You’re going to deny everything now? Lie and deny, is that the route you’re taking? Well, I know for sure that it was you on the road, and if you try and kill somebody and then lie about it, it makes you an even worse person than I thought you were.”
Using the vicious words as weapons, Cassie could see from Harriet’s face that they were finding their mark.
“And are you such an attention whore that you swerve into someone because their employer didn’t want to date you? Seriously, is that how evil and egotistical you are?”
“I didn’t try to kill you,” Harriet muttered.
Cassie pounced on the inadvertent confession she’d made.
“So it was you. Thank you for admitting it.” Her voice rose, high and sharp. She took another step forward and again, Harriet retreated.
Behind her, Cassie could see a carpeted staircase going up to the top floor, and an open door leading into a small, tidy kitchen.
“Now that you’ve told me you’re an attempted murderer, let’s get onto the topic of your behavior at the house. Parading yourself in front of your employer; staying late so you can try and flirt with him. Did you not get the memo he wasn’t interested, even when he told you so? And why take it out on me, you selfish bitch?” Her voice became a scream.
“Please stop shouting,” Harriet whispered.
Glaring into Harriet’s stricken face, Cassie realized that there was another interpretation to the housekeeper’s behavior.
The way she’d lingered in the house until Ryan came back, and rushed to meet him, wearing far too much makeup for the simple job of house cleaning. Cassie had thought, and Ryan had confirmed, that Harriet had just been flirting. Now, Cassie remembered her anger when she was ignored, the way she’d stormed out of the house, the near-deadly incident on the road. She realized Harriet’s reaction had been well out of proportion to an innocent flirtation that had been cut short.
Harriet had been distraught, furious, and vengeful. Her behavior had been on par with what Cassie was feeling now. Therefore, it must be for the same reason.
“Wait a minute.” She was breathing rapidly. “You did sleep with him, didn’t you? I’ve just figured it out. Now everything makes sense. You and he—you had a fling. And when you walked in last Monday, you thought it was still on?”
She knew, watching Harriet’s eyes, that she was right. She put her hands on her hips and stared her down, daring her to deny it.
“Yes,” Harriet whispered. “We slept together.”
Then she did something Cassie hadn’t expected at all.
She burst into tears.
These weren’t ordinary tears. They were sobbing, wailing hysterics, as if Harriet had been holding an ocean of misery inside herself. She buried her face in her hands, collapsed onto the carpeted stairs, and cried her heart out.
Cassie’s anger melted away and she started to feel desperately sorry for Harriet.
Under the stairway
