“Well, then.” Her face softened, and she gestured for me to follow. She led me through the house and out the back door. We walked across the yard, following a large boxwood hedge, until Loretta pushed through a thin slot. I flailed through the snow-draped branches, then emerged into the sweetest little space I had ever seen. The high shrubs circled a tiny cottage—a doll’s house. Like the main house, it, too, was painted white, but with green shutters, a little green door and a porch with a snow-covered rocking chair. Two tiny windows peeped from either side of the door.
“You are the fourth person to know of this place,” she said. “Ernie’s agreed to rent it to your mother for as long as she wants it, but no one else is to know it exists or enter it.” She looked at me. “No one can know it’s here. I assume your mother told you that, but I want to reinforce it, just in case.” Just in case she has no idea you’re here. With that, she vanished back through the hedge and left me in the perfect silence of the circle.
The snow between the hedge and the porch was unmarred by footprints. I crossed carefully, as if by putting my feet lightly enough, I too wouldn’t leave a mark. Winter wind had blown the porch floor almost clean. Feeling a little dizzy, probably from all my sleepless nights, I wiped off the rocking chair and sat. How many more questions about my mother could I possibly find? Now I had to add why did Ernie rent this space to my mother? and why wasn’t anyone allowed to know it was here? to the list that included wanting to know why she and Mary Ellen Winters were enemies, what the trauma was, whether she’d been having an affair with Hugh Woodward and killed him, and who left the voodoo dolls on my pillow. That was too many questions for a girl of no talent, such as myself.
I pulled the key from my pocket and rubbed it with my mittened thumb. I wondered how many times she’d sat here and done the same thing. Rising, I stuck the key in the lock and twisted, praying that I wanted to know whatever I found inside.
Chapter 9
Darkness greeted me. I stood for a moment, orienting myself. I felt absolute stillness, as if the energy here knew how to curl into a ball and purr. I fumbled around and finally found the light switch.
The bare walls were painted white. Heavy white velvet drapes covered the windows. A turquoise ceiling echoed more than twenty turquoise cushions of various sizes and color intensities that littered the white carpet and leaned against the walls. A white chair-and-a-half, with a matching ottoman, graced the far corner, draped in a turquoise cashmere blanket. Mother took care of her creature comforts. All outside sound was muffled by the hedge and the walls. I wondered if it was soundproofed.
Two doors led off this room. I twisted the knob to the first and discovered a slate-floored kitchen furnished with a small table and chair. Randomly, I opened cabinets and drawers. They were stocked with tea and sugar, dishes and cutlery, linens and canned goods. One of the cupboards held books similar to the collection I’d found in her bedroom. In a sudden flash, I saw Mother eating meals here, a solitary glass of wine and white china dish centered before her in silence. Tears streamed down her face. Was this was a refuge for her? Or solitary confinement?
Behind the other door was a bathroom. Again, I opened all the drawers and cabinets. One drawer was locked, but the key to the house worked on it. Inside rested one thin file folder. I flipped it open and saw a list of what appeared to be injuries and repairs: lacerations, tears, scrapes, stitches, and antibiotics. It looked as if Mother had taken a bad fall off a horse, a long time ago, before I was born. Why keep a description of it in a locked drawer in a house no one was supposed to know about?
I stuck the file in my purse. I was becoming an accomplished file thief. Maybe the information would add up to something meaningful. In the main room, I sat in the chair and pulled the blanket around my shoulders. What was this place? I let the silence soak into me. For the first time, it felt good.
At home, we had far more rooms than we needed; half the bedrooms were for “guests.” Why wouldn’t Mother simply use one of those for a retreat?
What required so much privacy? Had she met Hugh—or others—here for trysts? If I believed what Loretta said, Hugh hadn’t known about this place…
Unless.
Unless I was right, and Mother had the same gifts I had. This would be a perfect meditation space. But only one person could answer these questions. I threw off the blanket and collected my purse with its stolen file.
Time to get some answers.
I seated myself across from Mother at the utilitarian jail table and practiced breathing slowly to calm myself. Same room, same ugly walls. Bailey was right. I had to get her to cooperate with me, one way or another.
“Clara.”
“I hear you’re going to trial.” Bailey had called me in the car with the news.
“Stay out of it, Clara.”
“Too late.” I slid the key between us. She looked at it, then at me.
“You’ve gone through my things.”
“I know what it opens.”
She gestured to the corner of the ceiling. “We’re being taped.”
I didn’t bother to look at the camera. “So?”
“You never know who has access to those tapes.”
“Are you afraid of someone?”
“Why won’t you stay out of this?”
“Because you’re in trouble. Yes, I’ve been gone for fifteen years, and we both know why. But I came home because you called to me in a dream. Why are you shutting me out?”
She
