I TREMBLED NOT because of Joey, but because Eddie had said everyone should gather in the music room after dinner. But Rosita, I was sure, would not come down.
I hurried into the music room to make sure the decanters were full of Canadian whisky, as Eddie would expect. I was surprised to see Claire in the room. I assumed she’d gone up to her room for the time being.
She’d already helped herself, but she held up her lowball cocktail glass, gave it a little shake to indicate she wanted more whisky. My hands still shook as I poured.
I sloshed amber liquid on top of Claire’s slender, pale hand.
“Nervous?” she said.
“Oh, no, no,” I stuttered. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get a napkin…”
Claire licked the dot of whisky from the top of her hand, while giving me a wink. That was Claire, always straining to appear as alluring, as sexy, as her cousin Rosita—and spoiling the effect by trying too hard. “Aurelia—you are still going by Aurelia, right?”
The implication in her question—that I’d once gone by another name—startled me.
About a year after I met the McGees, Claire left Ohio to go to Hollywood to try to make it as an actress. I was so wrapped up in my troubles with Pony, my friendship with Rosita, that I nearly forgot about her until she showed up with the McGees on Trouble Island, a month or so after my own arrival. Thankfully, on her ensuing visits she never acted as though we knew one another, never questioned my new identity, even when she pulled me aside to privately beg to see Rosita. I assumed that Rosita had shared my cover story: I was Aurelia Escalante, a maid who’d worked for the McGees in Toledo, and my husband had died in a mob shooting. A grieving widow, I’d come here to work for the McGees in solitude as I mourned. It was a story that the few who’d heard it—the Carmichaels, Liam, Seamus, the occasional guest who asked where I was from—took at face value.
Rosita had promised me that only she, Cormac, and Eddie would ever know what I’d actually done. But Claire was her cousin, had been her best friend before I came along. After what I’d done, my demotion from friend to servant, could Rosita have needed a new confidante, brought Claire back from Hollywood? Would Rosita have told Claire what I’d done, why I’d been sent to Trouble Island?
Fear punched up like a fist into my throat, but I swallowed it back down. “Yes. I am Aurelia Escalante.”
Claire’s laugh was too loud, too sloppy. “Fine, I’ll play along.” Her grin implied: for now.
What if she had reason to reveal my real identity to the others? My colleagues would think less of me, but I could survive that. I’d spent most of my life knowing people thought little of me. But Cormac had said I didn’t want Marco to know who I was. Why would that be?
I hurried to the dry bar, put the decanter of whisky back in its spot, then started to exit the room.
“Oh, Aurelia, stay, won’t you?” Claire puffed out her lips in a pout that was meant to be charming, but just seemed petulant. “I don’t like being alone, and who knows how long the boys will take.” She gestured in the direction of the dining room.
Boys. As if they were youthful innocents discussing plans for a treehouse club.
I wanted away from Claire as much as I wanted to check on Maxine and Henry. “I really ought to get back to work, so much to clean up in the kitchen—”
“Oh, work, work, work! Don’t you ever tire of serving Rosita and Eddie?”
She’d always been like this, trying to get me to say something damning that she could later report back to Rosita—and no doubt embellish.
I almost made my escape into the hallway when Claire’s next question stopped me. “So, where will you go after Marco gets the island?”
I stopped, gasped, turned to look at Claire. Her pitiless, rasping laugh made my teeth clench.
“Oh, darling, you didn’t think this was a social call, did you? This is, as are all things with Eddie, business.” Claire arched an eyebrow as she eyed me, and I suddenly felt as exposed as if I stood in a spotlight wearing only a slip. “Though I daresay Marco will be fine with keeping a little thing like you employed.”
“But how will Marco get the island?” The question burst out of me. “Rosita would never agree to sell it—”
Claire laughed. “Of course she wouldn’t—not on her own. But with a little pressure in just the right ways…” Suddenly she shivered, gestured at the dark fireplace on the other side of the baby grand piano. “Why isn’t it lit?”
I flatly explained, as I would to any guest, “The fireplaces in this room and the dining room are for ambience. We stop using them after the last guests leave—which is at the end of September. However, we have increased the heat in the mansion, and it should be toasty by bedtime.” “Toasty” was an exaggeration. But to me, the coal-fired furnace which generated heat through ducts and vents through the whole mansion still seemed a marvel, toasty or not. I pointedly eyed her bare arms and her decolletage, her sparkly silver sheath’s neckline cut so low that her breasts were at risk of tumbling out. “Perhaps you brought a sweater?”
She had, after all, brought enough luggage for a month’s stay, so surely she’d thought to tuck in a wrap of some kind, given it was mid-November in Lake Erie.
My implied admonishment only amused Claire. “And if this guest demands more ambience, as you so cleverly put it?”
Couldn’t she hear the howling wind outside, discernible even over the voices of the “boys” in the next room and through the thick walls of the mansion? Or the lashing of sleet against the window? Would Claire really expect me or Liam or Seamus to go outside for wood just so she could enjoy a fire, which she’d probably abandon after ten minutes?
The answer was in her teasing smile. Yes. Yes, she would.
“Of course, I’d be glad to accommodate you.”
Claire laughed. “Oh, Aurelia”—she put undue emphasis on my name—“accommodating as always—or should I say more cowed than ever?”
I bristled at her description, but before I could settle on a reply, someone gave my rump a firm slap.
I jumped, whirled, ready to smack Joey, but it was Marco grinning at me, blowing cigar smoke in my face.
Marco waggled his eyebrows at Eddie, who was entering the room after him. “Does she come with the island?”
Marco chose the leather chair next to the table beside Claire. Eddie sat on one side of the couch, while Dr. Aldridge sat on the other side.
Douglas crossed to the baby grand piano. His lips pinched a cigarette. He sat on the bench, stared at the keys. Did he mean to play? The piano had been off-limits, Rosita’s orders, after she came to the island permanently. Occasionally, I’d hear a few twinkly notes plucked out by guests, and if I was with Rosita when those came tra-la-la-ling up the stairs, I’d observe her stiffen, imagine her brow furrowing behind the veil. I’d have to run down to the music room, apologize that the piano was out of tune and not to be played, and then close the keyboard cover.
As Douglas plucked at the keys, I grabbed an ashtray and hurried it over to the piano, walking awkwardly behind the couch to avoid Marco. His ample, doughy face took on a pout.
I held the ashtray under Douglas’s cigarette just in time for the ash to fall. He had begun to play a slow waltz. He paused to put his cigarette on the ashtray and give me an amused grin. His cheeks dimpled adorably, he winked, and a blush rose to my cheeks. Well, no wonder ladies everywhere swooned over Douglas Johnson. Maybe he wasn’t as dull as I first thought.
“We’re going to need something snappier for our film, Dougie,” Claire said, a hint of jealousy in her tone.
Film? I wondered briefly, but then my focus turned to escaping the room. Joey came in, filling the arched doorway. He was bigger than he at first seemed. His gaze stalked me as I whisked past him to the sideboard, about to exit through the other doorway.
“Hold it!” Eddie snapped. “I meant it when I said we would all gather in this room after dinner. Cormac has gone to fetch the rest of the staff—”
As if on cue, Cormac entered and stood near Eddie. Though I tried to ignore him, Cormac stared at me, a half smile twisting his mouth, taking pleasure in making me uncomfortable.
Seamus, Liam, Maxine, and Henry all entered, lining up, practically at attention. Henry was the only one who slumped, weary from the day’s labor, and I wished he’d sit, but I knew his pride wouldn’t allow it. Maxine trembled and for a moment I thought she, too, was simply worried but then I saw her casting an uncharacteristically hard glance at Dr. Aldridge. He caught her gaze and looked away. I made a mental note of the silent exchange.
“Mr. McGee, the casino is set up as you asked,” Liam said, as if Eddie was expecting a staff report.
Seamus gave him a little shake of the head. He’d read the room and knew something bigger was in play.
Indeed, Eddie said, “We are missing only one person.” He looked at me. “You will go fetch her.”
I squared my shoulders. “I cannot do that,” I said.
Douglas hit a jarring note in his piece and stopped playing. The room grew still as if all the air had been sucked out of it.
“And why is that?” Eddie asked in a tone of practiced reasonableness—a tone that warned of imminent danger. He made a fluttering motion with his hands. “Has my wife suddenly flitted away like a bird?”
“Rosita is not someone who is fetched. She made it clear that she did not intend to come down tonight—”
I stopped as we all heard footsteps tapping down the hall.
Rosita, with each approaching step making a liar out of me.