CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There’s a rhythm that develops to my days at Marbrisa after Carolina’s death. I wake early in the mornings, never able to sleep more than a few hours at night.

The house seems to come alive when everyone goes to sleep. There are creaks and thuds at all hours, the wind banging against the windows, the roar of the ocean waking me. I dream that I am running through the maze, chasing after Carolina, but no matter how hard or fast I run, my legs pumping madly beneath me, it’s never enough for me to catch her as she disappears into the mist.

When I wake each morning, there’s always a moment, a heartbeat or two, when I forget that she’s gone, when all that has happened simply fades away. And then, almost instantly, it comes crashing back to me, pulling me under.

If Marbrisa seemed haunted before, now it is a ghost town. I have no idea what Nathaniel is up to, but the one time I sought him out to discuss my meeting with Mrs. Morrison, he was nowhere to be found.

Only a handful of staff remain, Mrs. Morrison among them. No one will work here now, and given Detective Pierce’s pronouncement regarding Asher’s finances, I gather he’s not able to raise their wages to a level that would entice them to return despite the circumstances surrounding the estate—if such a thing were even possible.

I’ve been unable to forget Detective Pierce’s other warnings about my safety and the possibility that Asher might be a threat. At night, I make sure to keep the secret passageway entrance blocked by furniture, my bedroom door locked. I see little of Asher regardless, his days spent in strategy sessions with his attorneys. He’s agreed to turn my inheritance over to me, although I’ve yet to see any official paperwork providing me access to my funds, and I exist in a state of limbo in this house—waiting to bury my sister, waiting to receive my inheritance, trying to decide where I’ll go next and what my future will look like now that my life has irrevocably changed.

When I head into the dining room for breakfast, I’m surprised to see Asher sitting there, a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. My gaze naturally goes to the spot across from him, to the place where Carolina sat, the empty chair a stark reminder that my sister isn’t coming back. It’s been four days since she was killed, and as far as we know, the police still don’t have a strong lead.

Asher follows my gaze to the empty seat. “I’ve been avoiding this room,” he confesses. “Most of them, really. She had a way of leaving a mark on places.”

“She did.”

In a way, it’s easier for me being here because I don’t have the same ties to this house that he does, my life with Carolina the one we lived in Havana when we were children. My memories of Carolina here are more fleeting, although haunting just the same.

I slide into the seat I occupied the first—and last—time we dined here together.

This morning, Nathaniel is absent again. Is he following leads or was it all talk, and has he disappeared as well?

“My attorneys have some paperwork that they need me to fill out to transfer your inheritance,” Asher says. “We’ll also need to go to the bank later and I’ll help you open an account in your name.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do considering everything you’ve been through.” He takes a deep breath. “I feel responsible somewhat for adding to your troubles. I should have protected your sister. I was her husband. What happened here, happened under my watch. We might not have had the kind of marriage either of us wanted, but she was still my wife.”

His jaw is clenched, the same anger I saw in him the day the dead peacock was found at Marbrisa etched all over his face.

It’s hard to know how much of his grief is real or if it’s an act he’s putting on.

“I feel like what happened to her is my fault,” he adds, his voice low.

I still, my fork hovering in midair.

“When these accidents started—the animals and the like—I worried. It seemed like someone was targeting us, this house, and the incidents kept escalating.” He rubs his hands over his face, his skin incredibly pale. “I worried it would eventually come to this. That someone would get hurt. That’s why I hired Nathaniel. I wish he’d been able to uncover the perpetrator.”

“Where is Nathaniel? I haven’t seen him around in a few days.”

“I let him go. There didn’t seem to be a point to keeping him on considering what’s happened. Besides, Detective Pierce is handling the case now. He gave me the impression that he considered civilian interference to be inappropriate.” He flushes. “They’ve focused on me now. My attorneys didn’t think it wise to provoke them by continuing to employ Nathaniel. Besides—his fees weren’t exactly cheap.”

“Why didn’t the police investigate more back then? You went to a great deal of trouble to hire an investigator of your own.”

“I don’t know. Most of the incidents were the sorts of things that could be chalked up to natural causes. They never seemed particularly concerned. A lizard whose body has been shredded to bits isn’t particularly surprising on an estate this size with all manner of wildlife prowling around. Detective Pierce even suggested that I was worried because I was from Chicago—a city boy. That I needed to understand what Florida was like.

“There was just something about it that felt like a threat to me. Like we were being stalked. And the more things happened, the more staff began to quit, the more pressure I began to feel.”

“Do you have any enemies?”

This whole time I’ve been focused on Carolina’s life. Maybe I should have been looking at Asher’s.

“Nothing like this. At least, not that I know of. If I wronged anyone to the degree that they would strike at me in such a manner, I’m unaware of it.”

“I spoke with Detective Pierce,” I say. “He told me that Anna Barnes wasn’t the first woman to drown here. There was another woman before her. By the name of Lenora Watson. She was a guest at a party here. Detective Pierce investigated her death. I confirmed it with Mrs. Morrison. She was the housekeeper at the time. Did you know anything about this?”

“No. But that would have been, what, twenty years ago? I’m not entirely surprised I’ve never heard of her. Miami changed a lot in the 1920s when the land boom went bust. Who knows how many people who moved down here looking to make their fortune left and never returned, not to mention the impact the Depression had on the area.”

“Detective Pierce thinks you’re in some kind of financial trouble.”

He flushes again. “How kind of Detective Pierce to worry about my finances.”

“Is it true?”

I try my hardest to keep from injecting any judgment into my voice.

“It is, actually. This house is proving to be the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve poured money into it and gotten nothing in return. Part of why I’ve been meeting with my attorneys these past few days is that I realized that I must sell it. There’s no other hope. If I don’t, I will be ruined financially. It just remains to be seen if anyone will want to buy a house with such a storied history. After all, two—no wait, three, apparently—women have died here.” He hesitates. “I think you should stay at a hotel.”

“Pardon me?”

Is he throwing me out because I’ve angered him?

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to stay here any longer. It isn’t safe. I’d like to say that I will protect you, but I think there’s enough evidence to the contrary that you should do the prudent thing and get the hell out of here. I have a meeting at the house this afternoon, but after that, I’ll drive you into town. You can stay at the Biltmore. It’s a lovely hotel, and I have enough funds to afford a room there until you can figure out where you want to go next.”

I’m torn between relief and refusal. Lord knows I haven’t been able to sleep here, but there’s something that feels off about leaving this place with so much uncertainty hanging in the balance. It feels like I’m leaving a part of my sister behind here, too.

“What else did Detective Pierce say about me?” Asher asks the question quietly, but it’s clear that he can read the indecision in my expression, saw the dart of relief that flashed in my eyes when he suggested me leaving Marbrisa.

“He has his suspicions. You know that.”

“Let me guess, he told you that I killed your sister because she was cheating on me, and that because I was suffering financial difficulties, I, what, killed her for her inheritance?”

I nod.

“I don’t give a damn what Detective Pierce thinks. What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“So that’s it, then. You believe I’m capable of murder.”

There’s a thread of hurt and disappointment in his voice, something fairly accusing in his eyes.

“There are things that don’t add up,” I reply.

“Such as?”

“You made it sound like your marriage to Carolina was amicable enough. That you had both accepted the way things were between you. But that’s not what I’ve heard from people who saw the two of you together,” I say, careful to keep George’s name out of it. “They say that the two of you fought. That there was tension between you. Anger.”

“Oh, so now you’re going off rumor.”

“It’s not like I’m getting any different information than the police will.”

“Do you know what we fought about most recently? You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Initially, it was because of the funeral. Carolina didn’t want to go to Havana for the funeral, told me she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her parents like that. I sympathized with her, understood where she was coming from, but I knew that meant that you would be alone dealing with your parents’ affairs. I didn’t think that was right. I volunteered to go and lend my assistance, but Carolina didn’t want that.” He hesitates. “The truth is going to come out anyway, so here it is. Carolina didn’t want you coming to stay with us after your parents died.”

“What do you mean?”

“We fought about that, too. I don’t know why. She didn’t tell me. I always got the impression that she loved you; you were her sister. But it always seemed like there was a rivalry between you, like she forever saw herself as being in competition with you and she didn’t like it.”

His words find their mark because I know exactly what he means; I’ve experienced it myself. There was a rivalry between us no matter how many times I cared to pretend otherwise. I always felt like I was in her shadow, and I suppose she always felt like I was nipping at her heels.

“Is that what you told Detective Pierce?”

“No, I didn’t tell him anything. He was suspicious enough without adding family drama to the mix. He seems like the type who will seize on all the wrong answers before he finds the right one, and I don’t want you to end up as collateral damage.”

---

I usually take a morning walk around the estate, often seeking out George when he’s doing his morning gardening work.

This morning, George is nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment fills me. After breakfast with Asher, I could use some company, would love a distraction from the talk we just had. I want to believe that he’s sincere and protecting me; I hate knowing that in my last few days with her, Carolina didn’t want me here, even though I already suspected it based on the fight we had on the stairs, the disagreements between us.

I wish I could go back in time and tell her that I wasn’t coming here to upend the life she had created for herself, wish I understood what she was fighting so hard to protect.

I search for George a little longer before giving up entirely and setting off on my own.

In ordinary circumstances, our friendship would likely draw some raised eyebrows, considering his position at the house, but given the horrible things that have happened here recently, no one seems to care much what I do. With Carolina gone, I have no family left to shame, and it’s a strange sensation to know that I have finally achieved the freedom I craved at an unspeakably horrible cost.

Avoiding the maze like I usually do, I walk toward the front of the house, making my way to the immense driveway that leads up to Marbrisa. There are two ways to arrive at the estate—by land or water—and each way highlights the grandeur of Michael Harrison’s architectural vision. The driveway is lined with towering palm trees that terminate right before an enormous circular driveway, the fountain dominating the view, and yet still, it looks positively miniature compared to the three stories of the main house piled on top of one another, the parapet above the house.

Peacocks mill about the entrance, the males posturing and fanning their feathers out in a colorful arc.

By day, the house nearly looks like paradise.

At night, it’s the stuff of my nightmares.

At least tonight, I’ll be safely ensconced at the Biltmore, away from all the memories this place conjures.

“Carmen.”

A shriek escapes my lips as I whirl around in the direction of the voice.

“You startled me.”

I’ve been on edge since Carolina was killed, the warnings Detective Pierce gave me fresh in my mind.

George stands behind me. He’s not dressed for work, the wide-brimmed hat he usually wears to protect himself from the sun absent. Instead, he’s wearing a worn pair of biscuit-colored linen trousers and a lighter-colored linen shirt.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asks me.

I nod.

I can’t bear the thought of being cooped up inside the house and having to face Asher again. There’s tension simmering beneath the surface of all our interactions now, any hope of the casual friendship I thought we might be building before Carolina was murdered forever tarnished.

It’s a lovely day, Miami’s weather showing off with a light November breeze, the sun shining, the air crystal clear. It’s easy to see how the climate would draw people here, how the promise of such gorgeous weather would lure even the most skeptical northerner to Florida.

“Is it your day off?” I ask George as we head off to the western side of the estate.

“No, but I have an hour before I need to oversee a flower delivery.” He shrugs. “To be honest, I don’t think anyone is really paying attention. Asher certainly doesn’t seem to be concerned overmuch with the grounds, considering the circumstances. When I woke up this morning and saw what a beautiful day it was, I thought I’d see if you wanted to go for a walk. That seemed like a far better use of my time than trimming shrubs.”

He takes my hand, tugging me forward, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

“Have the police been by to question you again?” he asks me.

“No. I haven’t seen Detective Pierce again. It worries me,” I admit. “The silence is almost worse than his questions.”

“They can’t possibly think you had something to do with what happened to your sister.”

“I don’t know anymore. Some of the questions he asked me and Asher—he seemed suspicious. But now, considering we haven’t heard anything from him, maybe he’s moved on to other suspects. I keep thinking that I should stop by the station and see if he has any new leads, but I’ll admit, he isn’t exactly the sort of man you feel inspired to seek out.”

“And they haven’t found the weapon that killed her yet?” George asks.

“No.”

I don’t tell him the rest, that I dream about finding the knife that killed my sister. That in my dreams, it’s lying on my bed covered in Carolina’s blood when I return to my room in the evening, that in my nightmares when I sit at Marbrisa’s immense dining table and pick up my silverware, it isn’t a steak knife in my hands but the blade that killed my sister. I don’t tell him that sometimes when I am awake, I almost think I’m hallucinating, that I often think I see it when I go about my day only to blink and realize that I was mistaken.

The less I sleep, the more it feels like I’m going mad.

“And the funeral?”

“It’s on Saturday.”

Just three days away.

“And after the funeral?” He casts a sidelong glance my way. “What will you do?”

“I haven’t decided.”

What will happen to George if Asher does succeed in selling Marbrisa like he plans? Will the new owners keep him on, or will George be forced to secure employment elsewhere? I consider warning him, but despite everything, I still feel a loyalty to Asher, to keep some of his business private until he has sorted out his own affairs.

“Do you think Asher killed Carolina?” I ask.

“I’m not sure, but there was always something about him that I didn’t trust.”

“What do you mean?”

I’m curious to hear George’s take on the situation, considering he’s known my brother-in-law better than I have. Maybe I’ve misjudged Asher.

“I just wonder what the likelihood is of amassing a fortune grand enough to buy a place like this, particularly considering the rest of the country was starving and desperate during the Depression, and not leaving a few bodies along the way?”

“You’re probably right, of course. I don’t know. There’s something about Asher that I trust. But maybe I’m wrong.”

“I don’t like the idea of you in the house with him.”

“Actually, I’m to be leaving tonight. Asher suggested it. He’s rented me a room at the Biltmore.”

George whistles. “Some digs. I’m glad you’ll be out of the house, though. With all the things going on there, it’s best for you to stay away.”

We walk on, the foliage growing more dense, enormous trees creating a forest on the outskirts of Marbrisa.

“Did they clear the existing trees when they built the main house and the gardens?” I ask. “It feels like this part of the grounds is a departure from the rest of it.”

He nods. “The architect who built Marbrisa was instructed to create a grand European estate in the middle of Miami. But he loved the natural landscape and tried to preserve as much of it as possible.”

“The trees are certainly beautiful.”

They look old and grand in their own way, their trunks spindly, roots bisecting the ground.

I trip, and George is instantly there, holding me, his body inches away, his breath on my neck.

“Be careful. I wouldn’t want you to turn an ankle.”

I can smell his soap on his skin, a hint of the scent of the flowers he spends his days tending to on his clothes. There’s something charming about a man who is devoted to caring for things.

We break apart, and I glance over his shoulder. There’s a cottage off in the distance, partially hidden by the trees, just out of view from the main house.

“Whose house is that?”

He turns toward the direction of my gaze.

“It’s mine. Traditionally, it was meant to be the caretaker’s. It was here before the main house. When Marbrisa was being built, Michael Harrison lived there so he could oversee the construction. When Asher hired me, he offered me the cottage.”

I had no idea George lived on the estate; I’m embarrassed to admit that in all our acquaintance, I never asked him where he lived or much about his life outside of Marbrisa. It feels comforting to know that he is nearby.

“I’m here if you need anything,” he vows. “If you ever feel unsafe in the house, come find me.”

“Thank you.”

We walk back toward the main house together.

I glance up at the roar of an engine, a bottle green convertible speeding down Marbrisa’s driveway, a man behind the wheel.

Nathaniel.

When Asher mentioned a meeting, he never told me it was with Nathaniel. I got the impression that he had let him go a couple days ago. What business could they still have between them? Perhaps final payment for services rendered?

Nathaniel pulls into the circular driveway in front of the house.

Nathaniel cuts a handsome figure, even from a distance, his clothing impeccable, nary a hair out of place. Even though I can’t say I personally find him to be particularly attractive, I can easily understand the appeal he might have.

Despite what Asher said, I’m still not completely convinced he and Carolina didn’t have an affair. Just because he was hired here as an investigator doesn’t rule out the possibility that there was something going on between him and my sister. He’s exactly Carolina’s type.

Nathaniel gets out of the car, slamming the door shut without a backward glance, and as he walks up the front steps to the house, there’s something in his mannerisms, in the hurried grace he exudes—

My heart pounds. “Is that the man you saw Carolina meeting that day in the greenhouse?” I ask George.

Nathaniel disappears inside the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

I’d stake my life that it was him.

George is silent for a moment, staring after his retreating back. “Maybe. Yes. It could have been. He’s certainly the right height and build. I can’t say for sure, though. It was so fast. And besides, even if it was him, how do you know that’s the person she was having an affair with? Maybe they both just happened to be walking the grounds and came across each other.”

“It’s enough for the police to investigate, at least.”

“I don’t want to condemn an innocent man.”

“And if he isn’t innocent? My sister was murdered. Likely by someone she trusted. She would have trusted their friend and houseguest. And Nathaniel is exactly the sort of man I could see Carolina being interested in.”

“Fine. I’ll say something to Detective Pierce. I’m not going to tell him that I saw Nathaniel Hayes, because I can’t say so with certainty, but I’ll let him know it could have been him.”

“Thank you.”

We say our goodbyes, and I climb the house’s front steps alone, belatedly realizing that the hem of my skirt is filthy from the morning spent hiking the grounds. A hot bath and a change of clothes sounds perfect right about now. I still need to pack up my belongings for my hotel stay.

When I cross the threshold, Mrs. Morrison is standing in the hallway. Nathaniel is nowhere to be seen.

“Miss Acosta.”

She seems surprised to see me, her body fairly vibrating with tension, a note of panic in her voice.

“Is everything alright?”

She wrings her hands. “No. No, it isn’t. I’d hoped you were the lawyer.”

“The lawyer?”

Mrs. Morrison grimaces. “The police have arrested Mr. Wyatt for your sister’s murder.”