Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN MY ROBE
Claire did not sleep.
By seven the next morning, the swelling on her face had darkened from red to purple.
By eight-thirty, she had given Officer Elena Ruiz a complete statement.
By nine-fifteen, Grant Mercer had a police report attached to his name.
By ten, Claire had done something she had never done in eleven years of marriage.
She blocked her husband’s number.
She did not block Thomas.
Not because she trusted him.
Because she wanted to know what he would say next.
There were twenty-three messages waiting.
CLAIRE, CALL ME.
DO NOT SIGN ANYTHING WITH AN OUTSIDE ATTORNEY.
WE NEED TO DISCUSS YOUR FATHER’S TRUST.
GRANT HAS MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.
PLEASE DO NOT CONFUSE HIS ACTIONS WITH MINE.
And finally:
YOUR MOTHER WOULD NOT WANT THIS HANDLED PUBLICLY.
Claire stared at that message longer than the others.
Then she showed it to Lydia.
Lydia read it twice.
“He used your dead mother.”
“Yes.”
“That’s ugly.”
Claire looked at the hospital window.
Morning had arrived bright and clean after the storm.
It made the previous night feel impossible.
Except her face hurt every time she swallowed.
Officer Ruiz returned carrying a folder.
“We’ve contacted your husband.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Did he admit it?”
“No.”
Of course not.
“He claims the two of you argued, you became physically aggressive, and he put you outside because he was afraid the argument would escalate.”
Claire almost smiled.
“He was afraid of me?”
Ruiz’s expression remained neutral.
“He also stated that you have been emotionally unstable recently.”
There it was.
Claire thought of Thomas.
If Claire signs before morning, nothing changes.
“Did my uncle talk to him?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire looked at Ruiz.
“Can I go back for my things?”
“With an officer present, yes. We recommend you don’t go alone.”
Claire glanced down at the hospital socks covering her feet.
“My shoes are still inside.”
Lydia folded her arms.
“Then we’re getting your shoes.”
Two hours later, a patrol vehicle pulled into Claire’s driveway behind Lydia’s Subaru.
Claire sat in the passenger seat and stared at the house.
It did not look like a crime scene.
That bothered her.
The hydrangeas still lined the walkway.
The fountain Grant had insisted on installing still burbled beside the garage.
A landscaping crew worked across the street.
Ordinary life had continued.
Officer Ruiz stepped from the patrol car with another officer.
“You ready?”
“No.”
Ruiz nodded.
“Good answer.”
Claire almost laughed.
She opened the door.
The front entrance was locked.
Ruiz knocked.
Thirty seconds later, Vanessa opened it.
She was no longer wearing Claire’s robe.
She was wearing jeans, a gray sweater—
and Elaine Bennett’s pearls.
Claire stopped walking.
Vanessa noticed where she was looking.
Her hand lifted unconsciously toward her ear.
Officer Ruiz spoke first.
“Ms. Cole?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Mercer is here to retrieve personal belongings.”
Vanessa looked behind her.
“Grant isn’t here.”
Claire stepped closer.
“Take them off.”
Vanessa’s expression tightened.
“Claire, I don’t think—”
“The earrings.”
Ruiz looked between them.
Vanessa shook her head.
“They were given to me.”
“They belonged to my mother.”
“Grant said—”
“I don’t care what Grant said.”
Vanessa looked at the officer.
“Is she allowed to threaten me?”
Claire almost laughed.
Ruiz answered evenly.
“She asked you to remove earrings she states belong to her.”
Vanessa’s cheeks reddened.
“You know what? Fine.”
She removed the pearls.
For one horrible second, Claire expected Vanessa to drop them onto the floor.
Instead, she placed them in Claire’s outstretched palm.
Claire closed her fingers around them.
Cold.
Familiar.
Her mother had worn them every Sunday.
Claire remembered sitting on Elaine’s bathroom counter while her mother applied lipstick.
Remembered tiny eight-year-old fingers touching those pearls.
“Someday these are yours,” Elaine had said.
Claire had laughed.
“They’re old-lady earrings.”
Elaine had gasped dramatically.
“I am twenty-nine.”
“You’re thirty-six.”
“Traitor.”
Claire forced herself back into the present.
Vanessa had already turned away.
Claire followed the officers inside.
The house looked different in daylight.
One chair was overturned.
The broken rose still lay on the tile, wilted now.
Someone had wiped away Claire’s blood.
Her suitcase was gone from outside.
She saw it beside the entry table.
Dry.
Closed.
Grant had brought it back in.
Claire looked toward the kitchen.
Martha was standing there.
Their eyes met.
Martha’s face crumpled.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
Claire had never heard that much guilt in two words.
“Martha.”
The older woman came forward.
“I’m sorry.”
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“Martha, you can finish upstairs.”
Martha stopped.
Claire looked at Vanessa.
“You don’t give orders in my house.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Grant asked me to stay.”
Claire stepped closer.
“And I’m his wife.”
“For now.”
Ruiz shifted beside Claire.
Vanessa saw it and fell silent.
Claire went upstairs.
Her closet had been disturbed.
Several drawers were half empty.
Grant had packed enough clothing for perhaps three days.
Not a separation.
An eviction.
He had expected her to leave without fighting.
Claire opened her jewelry safe.
Empty.
She stared at it.
“My jewelry.”
Officer Ruiz approached.
“Missing?”
“All of it.”
“Could your husband have access?”
“He knows the code.”
Claire’s wedding necklace.
Her grandmother’s bracelet.
Two watches.
Her mother’s sapphire ring.
Gone.
Claire checked the small fireproof drawer beneath the jewelry compartment.
Empty too.
That was where she kept important papers.
Passport.
Birth certificate.
Marriage license copies.
Gone.
Her heart accelerated.
“Officer.”
Ruiz came closer.
“My documents are missing.”
She began writing.
Claire opened Grant’s side of the closet.
Half his suits were gone.
His passport too.
“Grant packed.”
Ruiz nodded.
“Looks that way.”
Claire returned downstairs.
Vanessa was speaking quietly on the phone.
When she saw Claire, she ended the call.
“Where’s Grant?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are my documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“My jewelry?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re very uninformed for someone sleeping with my husband.”
Vanessa’s face hardened.
“Maybe if you had paid attention to your marriage—”
Ruiz stepped forward.
“Ms. Cole.”
Vanessa stopped.
Claire felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
She walked toward the kitchen.
Martha had disappeared.
Claire found her in the pantry.
“Martha?”
The housekeeper spun around.
She was holding a grocery bag.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mercer.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
Martha looked toward the doorway.
“No.”
Claire stepped closer.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, Martha did.
“You saw what he did last night.”
Tears filled Martha’s eyes.
“Yes.”
“Has he done it before?”
“I’ve seen bruises.”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I tried.”
Claire froze.
“When?”
Martha covered her mouth.
“Three months ago.”
“To whom?”
Martha looked terrified.
“To Mr. Bennett.”
Thomas.
Claire felt the floor tilt beneath her.
“What did he say?”
“He told me not to interfere in your marriage.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Martha.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Tell me everything.”
Martha glanced toward the hallway.
Then reached inside the grocery bag.
She removed a small black flash drive.
Claire stared at it.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
Martha pressed it into her hand.
“It belonged to your mother.”
Claire’s breath caught.
“My mother?”
“I worked for your family before the accident.”
Claire knew that.
Martha had been a young housekeeper at the Bennett family home when Claire was little.
After Grant and Claire married, Thomas had recommended hiring her again.
“I found this three weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“In an old sewing box Mr. Bennett sent over from storage.”
Thomas.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire looked down.
A small strip of faded masking tape was wrapped around the drive.
Written in blue ink were two letters.
C.B.
Claire Bennett?
No.
Her mother had called her husband Charles Bennett.
C.B.
Her father.
Martha whispered, “There was a note with it.”
Claire looked up.
“What note?”
Martha removed a folded piece of paper from her pocket.
Claire opened it.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Her mother’s.
Elaine Bennett had been dead for thirty years.
Yet Claire recognized the slant immediately from birthday cards she had saved since childhood.
Four lines.
Charles—
If Thomas asks, you never saw this.
I was right about the transfers.
Protect Claire first.
E.
Claire’s hands began shaking.
“What transfers?”
“I don’t know.”
Behind them, a floorboard creaked.
Claire turned.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
Her face had gone white.
She was staring at the note.
“Where did you get that?”
Claire closed her fist around it.
“Why do you care?”
Vanessa took one step backward.
Then another.
“What did your mother know?” Claire asked.
Vanessa said nothing.
Claire moved toward her.
“What did Thomas do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
Vanessa suddenly grabbed for the note.
Claire jerked backward.
Officer Ruiz appeared immediately.
“Enough.”
Vanessa stopped.
Claire stared at her.
“Why did you try to take it?”
“I didn’t.”
“You just did.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled with panic.
Then the front door opened.
A man’s voice carried into the hallway.
“Claire?”
Thomas.
Martha gasped.
Vanessa went still.
Claire looked from one woman to the other.
Two people who had been terrified of Thomas arriving.
Not relieved.
Terrified.
Thomas stepped into view.
His gaze moved immediately to Claire’s hand.
To the note.
And for the second time in twenty-four hours, Claire watched her uncle lose control of his face.
“Where did you get that?”
Claire held the paper against her chest.
“Mom wrote it.”
Thomas’s jaw hardened.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“You’ve had thirty years.”
She slipped the note into her pocket.
“It’s my turn.”
Thomas took one step toward her.
Officer Ruiz moved between them.
“Sir.”
Thomas stopped.
“This is a family matter.”
Ruiz looked directly at him.
“Not anymore.”
Thomas stared at Claire.
Something changed in his eyes.
Not affection.
Calculation.
“You have no idea what you’re opening.”
Claire placed the flash drive inside her jacket.
“Then I guess I’d better find out.”
She walked past him.
For the first time since she was eight years old, Claire Bennett left a room without asking Thomas where she should go next.
And behind her, she heard Vanessa whisper something she clearly had not meant Claire to hear.
“He’s going to destroy us.”
Claire stopped.
Turned.
Vanessa’s face was white.
Thomas stared at her with murder in his expression.
Claire asked quietly:
“Who is ‘us’?”
May you like
Nobody answered.
But Martha began to cry.
