Chapter 1 - THE MAN AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS
Vanessa had been angry about Lily living with us from the day I brought her home.
She just usually had enough sense not to show it in front of me.
That afternoon, she forgot.
I was halfway down the staircase when I heard Lily say:
“I didn't take anything.”
Vanessa stood over her in the center of the foyer.
Lily was eight.
My sister Claire's daughter.
Six weeks earlier, Claire had died after a sudden cerebral aneurysm.
Since then Lily had been sleeping in the blue guest room at our estate while the adults worked through guardianship, school transfers, insurance forms and everything else grief apparently expected a child to wait patiently through.
She carried a little navy purse almost everywhere.
Claire had given it to her.
Vanessa grabbed it.
“Vanessa.”
Too late.
She yanked hard.
The clasp tore.
Everything spilled across the marble.
A packet of tissues.
Two crayons.
A small plastic horse.
Three folded dollar bills.
A hair tie.
A keychain.
And one gold cufflink.
Vanessa stared at the mess.
“Little thieves don’t stay here.”
Lily's face changed.
Not crying.
Worse.
She looked embarrassed.
I came down the last four steps fast.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Vanessa turned.
“She went through our things.”
I ignored her.
Kneeled.
“Lil.”
She crouched beside me.
“I'm sorry.”
“You didn't break the purse.”
“I mean—”
“I know.”
We gathered her things.
Then I saw the cufflink.
Gold.
Heavy.
Square face.
Black enamel around a small Bennett crest.
I picked it up.
It was not mine.
I owned two pairs of formal cufflinks.
Neither looked like this.
Vanessa saw it in my hand.
Her entire body tightened.
I noticed.
“Where'd you get this?”
Lily pointed toward the second floor.
“Up there.”
Vanessa moved instantly.
“She’s confused.”
I looked up.
The west guest corridor disappeared beyond the landing.
“What room?”
Lily opened her mouth.
Vanessa slapped me.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the foyer.
My head turned.
For half a second neither of us seemed to understand she had actually done it.
Then Vanessa lunged for my hand.
For the cufflink.
I caught her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“Who is upstairs?”
“She is lying.”
I looked at Lily.
She had moved behind me.
Her face was pale.
“Lily.”
Vanessa snapped:
“Don't encourage her.”
I ignored that too.
“What happened upstairs?”
Lily stared toward the landing.
“He knew your name.”
Vanessa stopped fighting my grip.
That was the moment her anger disappeared.
Not faded.
Disappeared.
Fear took its place.
I released her wrist.
“Who?”
She said nothing.
I looked upstairs again.
Then started toward the staircase.
Vanessa grabbed the back of my jacket.
Hard.
I nearly lost my footing.
“Don't.”
I tore free.
“What is up there?”
She reached again.
I shoved her backward.
Not toward the floor.
Toward the upholstered chair beside the console table.
She hit it and dropped into the seat.
“Stay there.”
Then I looked up.
A pair of dark dress shoes stepped into view at the top of the stairs.
Only shoes.
Dark trouser legs.
The rest of the man stayed beyond the angle of the ceiling.
Lily pressed against the railing behind me.
Vanessa went completely still.
The man did not come down.
His voice carried through the foyer.
Calm.
Older than mine.
“She told me you were dead.”
I stopped.
Vanessa's face drained white.
I looked up at the man whose face I still could not see.
May you like
And for the first time, I realized the question was not why my wife had hidden somebody upstairs.
It was why that somebody had expected to find my grave.
