CHAPTER TWELVE

My fingers tremble as I turn the lock on my bedroom door.

Carolina is dead.

I can’t wrap my mind around it.

Just hours ago, she was standing at the top of the stairs looking so alive. How can she be dead?

I always knew that one day my parents would no longer be on this earth, that it was the natural order of things, but I thought that I would have Carolina. And then their accident happened, and the event that had seemed decades away caught me completely unawares.

How many tragedies can happen in such a short span?

Now that Carolina is gone, I have no one.

My legs give way beneath me, and I sink down to the floor.

Carolina is dead.

Stabbed.

Murdered.

A sob escapes my lips.

I always hoped the rift between us would heal, that eventually all the little disagreements would disappear, and we would find a way to embrace each other as sisters. I kept telling myself that we just needed more time. Now there’s no time left, and the way we ended things—

The last time I spoke to my sister, we fought on the staircase. Tears roll down my cheeks as I remember the things we said to each other.

It’s raining outside again, the water hitting Marbrisa’s tile roof with loud thuds. The weather isn’t discouraging the police; the sound of their dogs braying outside fills the night. Have they found the weapon that killed Carolina or are they still out there searching for it?

A knocking sound comes from the wall, followed by muffled noises—

I blink, convinced that my eyes are deceiving me because it almost looks like—it almost looks like the wall is moving.

I open my mouth to scream—

The wall opens, revealing a dark passageway.

Asher stands near the entrance.

He’s changed from the clothes he was wearing earlier—perhaps the police took them away. His hair is wet.

“I’m sorry to startle you. I didn’t mean to scare you. I tried knocking.”

“From the wall?”

My mind races as I remember the necklace I found on my bed earlier and then how it disappeared. Has someone been coming into my room? Has Asher?

“The police are still in the house, and I thought it best under the circumstances for them to not realize we’re in here talking.” He hesitates. “There’s a police officer standing guard at the top of the stairway.”

I walk toward the bedroom door and open it slightly, peeking through the crack. Sure enough, a uniformed officer is standing exactly where Asher said he would be, the officer’s back to me. Whether he’s there for my protection or to monitor my movements, though, I can’t tell. I can only pray it’s the former and not the latter.

I shut the door behind me quietly and quickly.

At least if Asher tries anything, the officer is close enough to come to my aid. As long as I can scream in time.

Asher gestures to the opening in the wall behind him. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. There are passageways throughout the house.”

My heart pounds as I think back to the weird noises I’ve heard. It never occurred to me that there would be secret passages in the house, but now that he says it, I’m not entirely surprised that a Gothic mansion such as this one would have something as arcane as secret passageways. They match the gargoyles perfectly. Still—

“They aren’t on the blueprints framed in your office.”

“No, they aren’t. I’m not sure why Michael Harrison kept them a secret. I don’t even know if they were a secret when the house was originally built. I asked Mrs. Morrison, but she said she didn’t know anything about them. I discovered them by accident when we were doing some renovations in the master suite. There was a wall that had some water damage from a leak that had formed over the years when the house was abandoned, and when the workers repaired it, they found a passageway.”

How thoroughly creepy.

“Where does it go?”

“It runs behind many of the main rooms, connecting them in various ways. My builder who handled some of the restoration thought they could have been used so servants could travel throughout the mansion without being seen, although if that was the case, I’m not sure why the architect wouldn’t have included them on the renderings or why Mrs. Morrison didn’t know about them, considering she was the housekeeper back then. Perhaps they were a whimsy of the owners, or the architect’s own desire. I don’t know. I thought about closing them up; there was something unsettling about the ability to move throughout the house so stealthily, but at the same time, the passageways feel like a piece of Marbrisa’s history that I didn’t want to ignore. I tried as best I could when I bought the house to preserve as much of its integrity and past as possible.”

I know what he told me when we spoke earlier in the library, but why is Asher so devoted to Marbrisa?

“It was the thick of the Depression, and it felt like a good thing to bring some jobs here,” he adds.

We saw the effects of America’s economic depression in Cuba as well, but it was undeniable that while it ravaged the lives of so many, there were others like Asher who apparently remained largely unscathed.

“Who knows about the passageways?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t advertise the fact that there was work being done in my rooms, but it was hardly a secret, either. The workers knew, certainly.”

“How many men worked on the passageways?”

“A dozen, maybe?”

“Did Carolina know about the passageways?”

Was that how she would slip out to meet her mystery man undetected?

“I don’t know. We never discussed them.”

There are too many secrets here, too much happening behind the scenes, and it feels as though I’m a few steps behind where I should be.

I’d lock your door tonight, Miss Acosta.

Detective Pierce’s words return to me, but his advice is only marginally helpful now that I know how easy it is for someone to get into my room. Asher has never been anything other than friendly toward me, but what if I’ve read him wrong all along? He could easily have snuck into my room those other times, and if anyone has a motive to kill Carolina—

“I’m sorry for scaring you earlier,” Asher adds. “That wasn’t my intention. I wanted to talk to you, to see how you’re doing. I wanted to warn you, too.”

“Warn me about what?” It’s a struggle to keep the tremor of fear from my voice.

“Detective Pierce told me that some of the staff had been talking about us spending time together in the library earlier. The way he made it sound—it was like he twisted it into something nefarious, like we had done something wrong.”

My heart pounds. “He told me the same thing. He asked a lot of questions about you. About my relationship with you. And your relationship with Carolina.”

“He asked me the same questions about you,” Asher replies.

Am I seriously a suspect? What are people saying to give the detective the impression that I could murder my own sister?

“Do you know which staff members talked to him?” I ask Asher.

“No. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“What did you tell the detectives?”

“Nothing.” He rubs his face. “I’m going to speak to my attorney later today about the best way to proceed. I don’t like the way the detective looked at me or the way he spoke about you. I’m worried he’s searching in the wrong places, and if he focuses on us, he’s never going to find the person responsible for Carolina’s death.”

Is Asher really concerned about me? Or is he more concerned about protecting himself? It’s reassuring that he doesn’t think I’m responsible for my sister’s death, but at the same time, I can’t help but worry that the only way he can know for certain that I didn’t kill Carolina is if he knows who did.

“How are you?” Asher asks, his tone softening. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since . . .”

Tears fill my eyes.

“It doesn’t feel real,” I say.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“How are you doing?” I ask, feeling a little guilty for being so focused on my grief when he is likely grappling with some of his own. I lost a sister, but he lost a wife.

“I don’t know. I’m in shock, I think. I never—I can’t believe she’s gone.”

He looks stricken, but it’s hard to tell what’s real and pretend here.

“How did you find her?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath as though he’s steeling himself for an unpleasant memory. “I went outside to clear my head. Sometimes I walk the maze.”

I remember what George told me about Asher walking the maze at night.

“I was headed to the maze when I heard a scream, like someone was in trouble,” Asher continues. “She was already gone by the time I found her inside the maze.”

“She must have just entered. I saw her outside only minutes before from my bedroom window.”

He nods. “She’d only made it past the first turn.”

Her killer was likely already lying in wait.

Carolina must have been terrified. Did she see her attacker coming or did they take her by surprise? Was it someone she knew or a stranger? She was by herself in those final moments. To call for help and not have anyone come to her aid, to die so violently . . .

Given the size of the estate and its remoteness, it seems unlikely that it was a random crime. What are the odds that Carolina was outside in the middle of the night and a killer just happened upon her?

Infinitesimal.

“Your friend Nathaniel. I saw him at Marbrisa yesterday morning, but he wasn’t at dinner. Was he here tonight?”

I try to keep my tone light, torn between an obligation to not accuse an innocent man and my desire to see my sister’s death avenged.

“He was out. He said he had a party to attend up in Palm Beach.” Asher flushes slightly as though he’s embarrassed to say more. “Sometimes, he stays the night elsewhere after such events. Why?”

How do you tell a widower that you think their wife was having an affair?

I feel terrible prying into my sister’s secrets, but if it helps the police find who killed her . . .

“The day I arrived at Marbrisa, I saw Carolina leaving the greenhouse. There was a man with her.”

If Asher is shocked by my announcement, he doesn’t let it show.

“I’m so sorry,” I continue, “but I think she might have been—”

“Having an affair?” he finishes for me.

I nod miserably.

“I know.”

“You knew?”

What will Detective Pierce think when he realizes Asher knew Carolina had a lover? Jealousy is certainly a powerful motive for murder.

“I did. We didn’t—we didn’t have a traditional sort of marriage. We tried when we first married.” He flushes, looking away from me, his gaze settling on the picture of Anna. “It became clear quite early on that we weren’t well suited. I often wished that we’d had more time to get to know each other. Maybe we would have realized we weren’t a good fit. But your sister returned to Cuba, and I was here, so the opportunities were few and far between. I was of an age when it seemed time to get married, and I think Carolina felt the same way. We should have been a good match, but we just weren’t.”

It feels intensely personal to get these details of my sister’s marriage, but at the same time, I’m beginning to understand a little better what it was like for her here and why she seemed so unhappy.

“In the beginning, that first year, we fought, but even that disappeared quickly. There wasn’t anything to fight about. I couldn’t blame Carolina for not being who I wanted her to be, and she couldn’t make me into the person she needed. The romance we had embarked upon fizzled so quickly that there wasn’t even a shared connection to fight over. If Carolina was involved with someone else, I’m not surprised. It wasn’t the first time on either of our parts.” He looks uncomfortable again and then he pauses. “Wait—are you suggesting that Nathaniel and Carolina might have been involved?”

“There was tension between them that night at dinner. I don’t know. He’s handsome and charming, and he seemed like the sort of man Carolina might have been attracted to.”

“Whoever she was involved with, I promise you it wasn’t Nathaniel. They weren’t having an affair. Nathaniel certainly has had his share of women, but Carolina was not within their number.” Asher rubs his face. He looks as tired as I feel. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but Nathaniel wasn’t particularly fond of your sister. He isn’t a friend. Not exactly, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitates again. “When the accidents started happening at Marbrisa—the animals dying and the like—the police didn’t take it as seriously as I wanted them to. But I felt a responsibility to the estate and to the people who live and work here. So, I asked around among some business associates and they recommended Nathaniel. He’s a private detective. I hoped that if I was paying him, he would take this business more seriously than the police did.”

Now that I can put the pieces together, it makes perfect sense. There was always something officious about Nathaniel’s manner, an arrogance I wrote off as being a result of his supposed wealth and apparent handsomeness. But it was none of that. He was likely investigating me along with everyone else at Marbrisa. No wonder he watched things and asked so many questions.

Asher must see the question in my eyes because he adds—

“When we learned that you were coming here, I asked Nathaniel to stay as my guest for a few days. I was worried something would happen while you were here, and I wanted him to keep an eye on things.”

Asher looks like he’s going to be sick.

“If it wasn’t Nathaniel, then who?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

Did I get it all wrong? That day I saw Carolina leaving the greenhouse, I was so convinced the man she was meeting was her lover. What if it was tied to something else entirely?

“What if she didn’t even have a lover?”

He stares at me wordlessly, as though I’m asking for answers he can’t give.

“You were never curious?” I ask, pressing on. There’s too much happening right now, too many unknowns, too many things occurring behind the scenes, and suddenly, I’m terrified that my sister’s death is going to go unavenged, that Carolina’s life is going to be lost in the mix.

Asher might be her husband, but he doesn’t seem motivated enough to fight for justice for her.

Am I the only person left who loved Carolina?

Guilt fills me. She could have had better, considering the tensions between us.

“No. I told you. We’ve been living separate lives for some time. It hardly mattered to me. It was Carolina’s business.”

“Do you know who she was involved with in the past?”

He shakes his head. “There were rumors, but nothing I ever saw with my own eyes.”

“It matters now. It matters if her lover killed her. You had to have had some suspicions.”

“I didn’t spend a great deal of time thinking about it, to be honest.”

My emotions must show across my face because he winces.

“I know how that sounds. And I know it seems hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”

“Why did she stay?”

It’s the question I never got to ask my sister, and now, politeness be damned, I want to take Asher’s measure.

I want to avenge my sister’s death.

It’s an undeniably personal conversation, but I can’t help but be curious about this side of my sister, to try to understand why Carolina did the things she did.

“I don’t know,” he replies.

“What did Carolina want?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. Honestly. I wanted to start a family, but she had no interest in having children. Not yet, at least. We fought about it. She said that I was trying to control her, that I didn’t understand. She was right; I didn’t. I wanted a peaceful life, and Carolina was anything but peaceful. Maybe if I had understood her better, maybe if I had known what she needed from me, we could have been happy.”

Everything he says makes sense, every explanation certainly seems plausible. But the incontrovertible truth is that my sister is gone, and someone killed her. And right now, no one has a stronger motive than Asher. I didn’t mention the affair to Detective Pierce because I was too shocked by Carolina’s death to think of it, but eventually he’s going to learn about it if he doesn’t have his suspicions already, and then he’s really going to set his sights on Asher.

“When this gets out—”

“The police are going to think I had a motive to kill Carolina,” he finishes for me.

I nod.

Asher’s expression is grim. “I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Hope Detective Pierce finds the real killer first.”

He seems genuinely upset, and I want to believe him, but I can’t discard Detective Pierce’s suspicions so easily.

“With all the strange things that have been going on here—the dead animals and the like—did Carolina ever mention anyone threatening her?”

“No, nothing.”

“Did you tell her you hired Nathaniel?”

“He thought it best I didn’t.”

“She seemed rattled by the peacock. On edge about something.”

“I don’t think she felt safe here. Toward the end. As a husband, I felt like I’d failed her. Our marriage was already so fractured, and then on top of it, for her to hate it here so much . . . I suggested she go away for a while, tried to get her to travel to Havana for the funeral, but she wouldn’t leave. As much as she seemed to loathe Marbrisa, something tied her here, something I never understood. When you asked about Anna Barnes—”

“Surely, you don’t think a ghost killed Carolina.”

“No, but Carolina was . . .” He seems to be searching for the right words. “Obsessed with Anna Barnes.”

Surprise fills me at his choice of words.

“She was the one who told me about Anna’s husband killing her. She mentioned it to me just hours before she died.”

“I’m not surprised,” Asher replies. “I don’t know what sparked her interest in the subject, to be honest. But she wanted to know everything about that period in Marbrisa’s history. It was a strange topic for Carolina, but at first, I thought it was because she wanted to learn more about our home. Then I realized it was much darker than that. It consumed her.”

I wish I’d paid more attention to it when she brought up Anna Barnes, wished I’d asked her more questions.

“She always believed in spirits,” I add, remembering moments in our childhood. “Believed that they were around us. But this—I don’t know—I just don’t understand why Anna would grip her so.”

Did Carolina see herself in Anna’s story? Did she relate to her because Carolina was locked in an unhappy marriage, too? And if so, does that mean Asher is capable of the same horrific crime as Anna’s husband? Is this a case of history repeating itself?

“Do you think what happened to Anna Barnes could have something to do with all of this?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It seems unlikely. After all, they never knew each other. They have little in common. They lived decades apart. Anna died in 1919. Carolina was a little girl in Havana then.”

“But they both lived at Marbrisa.”

“They did.”

“And there have been strange things happening here.”

I tell him about the necklace I found in my room and how it disappeared later.

“Are you sure? Maybe it was just misplaced.”

“Perhaps. I forgot to tell Detective Pierce about it. I should let him know. The police believe whoever killed her was probably someone familiar with Marbrisa. The secret passageways would give them an advantage when it comes to navigating the estate.”

“I know.” He meets my gaze. “What do you think?”

I can tell what he’s really asking, the question lurking beneath the surface.

Do I think he’s capable of killing my sister?

The truth is—I don’t know. I want to believe that he isn’t, but if I’ve learned anything at Marbrisa, it’s that nothing is exactly as it seems.

Perhaps that extends to Asher, too.

What do I really know about my sister’s husband besides the seemingly salient fact that neither one of them was happy in their marriage?

“I don’t know.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes for an instant, so quickly I nearly miss it, and then they’re back to being the same pale liquid gray as before. He takes a step back as though I’ve physically shoved him.

“I should let you get some rest.” He’s silent for a beat. “I’m so sorry.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump forming in my throat and all the emotions tightly wound inside me.

“Block the passageway entrance after I leave,” he instructs. “It’s the only one that leads into your room. With the police out in the hallway, you should be safe tonight. And Carmen, when Detective Pierce questions you later today—”

Disappointment fills me. I had hoped that Asher would be as eager as me to see Carolina’s killer brought to justice, but he’s just eager to have me cover for him.

“Be careful what you tell him. They’re looking at people who are close to Carolina, and I’m worried Detective Pierce considers you to be a prime suspect.”