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ELEVEN

NATALIE

Eight bathrooms, five guest rooms, and hours of steam-mopping later, I’m finally done with my first day of work.

I’ve learned from the experience that service people are grossly underestimated. Too bad. It’s your sober bartender who hears all your drunk conversations and accidentally spilled secrets. It’s your waiter, who’s used to reading faces and noticing body language, who knows exactly how your date feels about you. Your taxi driver hears every conversation you have. And your cleaning lady knows all your nasty habits. She also takes out your trash, but you have no idea that some of the secrets you throw out don’t necessarily disappear into a landfill.

I haven’t found anything incriminating in the house yet. Geoffrey Rosenberg and Nick have been gone all day, which is disappointing, but I have at least two more days to investigate.

It’s eight in the evening, and the mansion is quiet. I put the cleaning supplies into the utility closet and approach the staff kitchen.

The hushed voices there make me stop short just outside the kitchen entrance.

“She’s in a life-threatening condition,” the soft male voice says, Julien’s.

“How serious is it?” Rosalie asks.

“No brain activity. I don’t think she will survive.”

My heart thuds with panic. Cara? Are they talking about Cara?

Prolonged silence is followed by a sigh and more silence.

The detective’s words at the hospital come back to me. There’s another young woman in this very hospital in a similar condition…

Maybe they’re talking about Darla, the housekeeper.

“She can only blame herself,” Rosalie says. “She should’ve stayed away from him.”

“That’s not the point,” Julien argues. “The point is that someone got hurt, on my watch, Rosalie. This job is supposed to be safe.”

“Not in this house.”

“Yes. In this house. The rules are simple. As long as everyone follows the rules.”

“She broke the rules, Julien!” Rosalie snaps in a strained whisper.

“I know! And now I feel responsible.”

I hear a thud, like someone hit a surface with a dull object or a fist.

“Listen, Julien, you can’t blame yourself for someone getting involved with a dangerous person. Darla broke the rules. She should’ve stayed away from Rosenberg.” So, they are talking about the housekeeper. “She knew about the consequences. It’s not your fault. Not mine either. Not anyone’s.”

“A person. Got. Hurt, Rosalie,” comes Julien’s angry whisper. “ Again .”

Suddenly, everything goes quiet, so quiet that I know what that means—they heard me or sensed me.

Crap.

I can’t get caught, absolutely not, so I walk through the doorway and into the kitchen, pretending to pick at my nails, and run right into Julien’s hard chest.

“Excuse me,” I say, feigning surprise as I stare up into his intense hazel eyes. I shift my gaze to Rosalie. “Is everything okay?” I ask, acting innocent.

They don’t answer, so I throw a careless glance at my nails, making a point of bringing them closer for inspection, as if that’s the most important thing in the world right now.

“I’m done,” I say casually and step around Julien toward Rosalie. “What’s up with you two? Something happened?”

Rosalie exchanges glances with Julien, who stands behind me.

“Nothing, sweetie,” she lies. “Just talking.”

I can feel Julien’s burning gaze. I don’t turn. If he could burn me with his stare, I’d be engulfed in flames.

He stomps out. The staff entrance door opens and closes, and I meet Rosalie’s eyes. “Is he okay?”

She rolls her lips in. “He’s fine. Just upset. Don’t mind him. He’s a good guy. He’s just…”

“Doesn’t know how to be friendly?” I prompt.

She chuckles.

Uh-huh. The number of times I’ve heard, “He’s not an asshole, he just has a lot on his plate right now,” probably tops the list of most used excuses for assholes.

I get Rosalie to casually chat for a minute, asking her about the house, other rules, and what we’ll be doing for the party as I plant off-topic questions in between—about other employees, our boss, and the company he has.

Rosalie is stingy with replies, but I get useful bits here and there. I was right—besides being a driver, Nick is Rosenberg’s assistant and, apparently, his lackey, though Rosalie calls him an old-fashioned “butler.”

I bring up Julien’s words about special favors. “Julien and Nick don’t get along?”

She trains her hard stare on me. “A pretty girl like you? You should keep your head down in a place like this.”

“What do my looks have to do with anything?” I press on. Her words make me wonder what Darla looked like.

Rosalie’s friendliness vanishes in seconds. She starts rearranging boxes of party supplies on the kitchen island.

“Stay away from the boss and his business,” she says, her movements jerky and irritated. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten in the morning. Don’t be late. Wear the right attire.”

Well, there’s that.

She walks out abruptly, leaving me by myself. Julien is nowhere to be seen. I’m grateful and surprised that he’s not escorting me out of the house to make sure I don’t steal anything. He seems like that type of guy.

Right now, the house is a giant ghost town. I grab my purse out of the locker and check my phone. There’s a missed phone call from my friend Tess. A number of text messages from other people. Everyone is freaking out about Cara, asking what happened. I don’t have an answer to that. Yet.

Before leaving, I tiptoe toward the living room, wanting to sneak a look around.

From what I’ve learned cleaning the bathrooms and staff area, the cameras are in the main hallway, living room, upstairs hallway, the staff staircase, the back terrace, and two more cameras around the property. I kept a mental note of the house plan. When I get home, I will do a sketch of the mansion as well as the location of the cameras and try to calculate several pathways through the house to avoid them.

I am about to step into the living room when Rosalie’s voice behind me makes me jump out of my skin.

“You looking for someone, sweetie?”

She stands in the middle of the staff hallway, her unblinking stare on me.

Heart pounding, I feign a cheerful expression. “I was just looking for Julien. Have a question for him.” I can tell my lie didn’t fly.

“I can pass on the question. What is it?”

I wave her off. “Regarding the paycheck. I’ll ask him tomorrow.” I smile, walking past her. “Have a good night, Rosalie.”

“You too, sweetie. And, Natalie?”

I turn and meet her cold stare.

“It’s in your best interest not to snoop around in this house.”

I nod and walk away. I don’t hear a single sound behind me. That means Rosalie hasn’t moved, and she’s watching me.