A Fountain Filled With Blood

The woman sighed. “Well. It’s supposed to be off-limits except for the houseguests, but there’s one on the top floor. That’s where the guest rooms are. Probably one on the floor above us, too, but I haven’t been up there. Those are the family bedrooms.” She cast a glance around, as if she were giving away a state secret. “Head back to the foyer in front of the main door. There’ll be a door to your left. It opens onto a little stairway that runs up to the bedrooms. The bathroom is in the middle of the hall; you can’t miss it. But you didn’t hear about it from me.”

“My lips are sealed,” Clare said, “and my bladder thanks you.”

She found the door in the foyer without difficulty and climbed up to the third floor, where the guest bathroom was, as promised, easy to find and unoccupied.

It was when she was washing her hands that the thought hit her. The family bedrooms. Which meant Malcolm’s bedroom. One floor below her. Staring unseeing into the bathroom mirror, she could just picture herself finding the correspondence between Ingraham and his lover. An incriminating letter promising a fortune to the younger man. Or maybe an insurance policy. Another lover. Or an offer of part ownership interest in the firm. The possibilities bubbled up in her head like champagne, popping excitedly in a currant-flavored cloud. Malcolm, the mastermind behind the attacks. She would expose him, even though it countered her theory about the reasons behind the beatings. Russ would see she was big enough to embrace the truth, whatever it was. Ron and Stephen and all the other business owners would be so pleased. Russ would be happy. Paul would find peace. Russ would be proud of her. She pictured her vestry congratulating her for finally generating some positive publicity. She pictured Russ’s face when she handed over the evidence that would put Malcolm away. She toweled off and left the bathroom, heading straight for the stairs.

The second floor was dark and hushed, thickly carpeted like the floors above and below. The hallway ran the length of the house, and the floodlight outside, on the house’s facade, provided plenty of illumination for her to see where she was going.

The first door was open, and it led into a bedroom that glowed pale and gauzy in the ambient light. Clare knew without going any farther that this was Peggy’s room. She cautiously made her way over to a door set in the wall at the end of the room, but poking her head inside revealed the muffled interior of a walk-in closet, instead of the next bedroom.

The second bedroom was much darker, its heavy curtains drawn against the outside. But it smelled strongly of Diana’s perfume and Cary’s cologne. She crossed the floor toward where she suspected another closet, intending to turn on the light inside it for a discreet look-see. She promptly tripped over an open suitcase. She went down hard, bouncing off the floor with a loud thud and an involuntary “oof” as the air was knocked out of her. Only the plush carpeting saved her from scraping her knee. She scrambled to her feet and stood motionless for a long moment, listening for the sound of steps on the stairs and an inquiring voice. What was she going to say if she got caught up here? Her mind drew a blank. No helpful advice from Msgt. Wright. No words of wisdom from her grandmother. She was on her own.

She made her way back to the door, skirting the suitcase by sweeping her foot in front of her like a blind man’s cane. Her heart rate was up, and she breathed slowly and deeply to try to calm herself as she walked down the hall and then entered the last bedroom.

The curtains were drawn back and the windows were open, which allowed the faint light and sounds from the party below to float up to the wooden beams of the angled high ceiling. Clare could see the four-poster dominating the room, the dressers against the walls, the two doors, one ajar, leading to another walk-in closet, and the other closed. She crossed the floor and pushed the door open, revealing a tiny bathroom. She took the nearest pair of curtains and drew them tightly shut before reaching into the inside of the closet and sliding her hand along the wall. When she found the light switch, she flicked it on, quickly shutting the door until only a crack of light spilled into the room. Then, confident she would be able to see and thus avoid any more unexpected trips, she circled the bed and drew the other set of curtains shut. She went back to the closet and pushed the door wide open, eager to see what she could find.

In the closet was a fortune in Italian wools and enough polished shoe leather to stock a boutique. There might be something hiding under one of the sweater boxes that marched along the upper shelf, but there were probably more fruitful hiding places to try first. She turned back to the room.