Mia notices me and gives a little wave with her left hand. The right is clutching a bag.
So much for being subtle.
I pull open the door, pasting a forced smile on my face. "Mia," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil in my gut. "What brings you here?"
"Is it so strange for a friend to drop by?" she replies with an innocent shrug, her eyes glittering with mischief. Then her face grows serious. "I heard about Lauren’s heart attack. I trust she’s doing alright?”
In a flash, I realize why she’s here: to gather information, juicy little tidbits she can share with anyone and everyone who will listen. Still, I don’t have the heart to turn her away. It’s good to see a friendly face, even if it's only friendly because it wants something.
"Lauren's stable, for now," I say. “I think the worst of it is past.”
“Still at the hospital? Or is she home?”
“Hospital.” I figure there’s no harm in sharing that detail.
Mia nods thoughtfully. “From what I hear, she owes you a great deal of gratitude. Is it true you resuscitated her?”
I don’t know where she learned this—from one of the EMTs, maybe.
"Yes," I say, trying my best to downplay the event, "I did CPR until the paramedics arrived."
Mia's eyes shine with fascination. "How thrilling," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. "To hold someone else’s life in your hands."
Feeling uncomfortable, I shift from one foot to another. "It was...daunting," I admit.
Her gaze lightens, and she breaks into a wide smile. "Well, you're certainly proving to be quite an asset for the Hollingsworths," she muses. "Christopher must be grateful."
At the mention of Christopher’s name, my heart stutters in my chest. Swallowing hard, I nudge the conversation away from him. “I’m just doing my job.”
Mia laughs—it's a beautiful sound, melodic and light, an echo of an innocence lost long ago. Then, with a startled “Oh!” that I suspect is put-on, she lifts the bag in her right hand. “I almost forgot: a little get-well present for Lauren. Some chocolates, some bath goodies…” She trails off and gives me a mischievous look. “And a bottle of Cognac for the woman who saved her life."
"You didn't have to—"
"Nonsense. You deserve a lot more for what you did."
Realizing it's no use arguing—and I can't say I really want to, either—I sigh dramatically and step aside. "Come on in."
As Mia crosses the threshold, her gaze roams around the cavernous entryway with unabashed curiosity. The grandeur of the place seems to fascinate her, just as it fascinated me when I first arrived.
"Quite a place, isn't it?" she muses aloud, her eyes lingering on an antique grandfather clock standing in one corner of the room.
“That it is,” I reply softly, closing the door behind her. “Please, follow me.”
I lead her through winding corridors and sprawling rooms until we reach the kitchen, an equally impressive space robed in stainless steel and polished marble. Mia makes herself comfortable at the large island in the center of the room while I retrieve two glasses from a cabinet.
"Lauren has excellent taste," she says, watching as I pour amber liquid into each glass. "I've always admired her sense of style."
I hand her a glass and raise mine to toast. "To Lauren's recovery."
We clink glasses, and Mia takes a sip of her drink. She lets out a satisfied sigh, closing her eyes as she savors the taste. "Mm, delicious," she murmurs.
I take a smaller sip, enjoying the warmth that immediately spreads through my body. This is good stuff; expensive, I'm sure.
We sit in silence for a few moments, both lost in our own thoughts. The ticking clock on the wall is the only sound in the room.
“So,” I say, “how long have you known the Hollingsworths?”
Mia lowers her glass and studies me over the rim, her eyes thoughtful. "Longer than you might think," she says cryptically. "Lauren and I were in the same social circles when we were younger. We even modeled together for a time."
I blink in surprise. I hadn't expected that. Lauren's past as a model is no secret, but Mia always struck me as more of a behind-the-scenes sort. "I didn't know you used to model."
Mia shrugs lightly, as if it were nothing of importance. "It was a long time ago," she says, her gaze distant. "Before life got complicated."
Complicated?
“How?” I ask, curious. The look she gives me is one of wistful nostalgia, her eyes shimmering with memories she doesn't share.
"Just...life," she says with a sigh, taking another sip of her drink. "Relationships, responsibilities...they have a way of changing things."
Her cryptic answers leave me more curious than ever. But before I can press on, Mia changes the subject. "And what about you, Emily? How did you come to work for the Hollingsworths?"
I hesitate, unsure of how much detail to divulge. Mia’s plenty comfortable airing other people's dirty laundry, and I'm not keen on letting her do the same with mine.
“They were in need of a new home aide, and they happened to notice my profile online. And it just so happened that I was wrapping up my job with my previous employer, so the timing was fortunate.”
She stares at me blankly for a few seconds, then snaps her fingers with an expression of surprised delight. The transformation is so violent that I nearly jump.
“Wait a minute!” she cries. “You were the one out in California with those technology-obsessed millionaires. What was their name again?”
“Sterling.”
“That’s right! And there was that mad fellow—the one who worked with the husband—he was going to murder everyone and burn down the house, but you stopped him. Isn’t that right?”
“Not exactly,” I say, thinking she’s giving me far too much credit. But she goes on as if I didn’t say anything.
“Emily, Emily. You are a marvel. If anyone can keep this family from falling apart, it’s you.”
At the sound of her words, I think of everything I’ve learned so far—about Christopher’s affair with Sophie, about the medications Lauren is on (and Christopher’s insistence that she take them), about the possibility that Lauren’s heart attack wasn’t an accident but rather a calculated attempt by Christopher and Sophie to end Lauren’s life. The strain is too much for me to bear alone, and though there’s a warning voice in my head telling me to be careful with what I tell Mia, I just can’t help myself. I have to tell someone…
And right now, she’s the only someone I’ve got.
“Mia,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “There’s something I have to tell you. It involves the Hollingsworths."
Her eyes light up with a mix of concern and anticipation. "Go on," she says, leaning in closer.
I hesitate for a moment, considering the potential consequences. "You have to promise not to tell anyone," I warn her.
Mia nods earnestly. “I swear it.” The quickness with which she says this gives me pause, but it's too late to back down now.
"I think...I think Christopher and his receptionist, Sophie, are having an affair."
Mia’s lips part in an expression of wonder. "Sophie Dennison?”
“If that’s the name of his receptionist, then yes.”
Mia leans back, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear. An affair… Does Lauren know?”
“I don’t think so. But that’s not even the worst part.”
Mia angles her body toward me, her expression a cocktail of curiosity and alarm. “Go on.”
I take a deep breath before continuing. The words sound surreal even to my own ears. "I think the two of them may have had something to do with Lauren's heart attack."
A beat of silence ensues as Mia absorbs my revelation. I watch her closely, gauging her reaction. Her emerald eyes flicker with a myriad of emotions—surprise, disbelief—before finally settling on concern.
"That's... quite an accusation," she says. "What makes you think that?"
"Lauren's been taking a lot of medication that Christopher has insisted she take," I say. "Medication that, mixed together, could easily cause complications.”
“Such as a heart attack?”
“Such as a heart attack.”
She shakes her head ruefully. “What a terrible thing. I sure hope you’re wrong.”
“So do I.”
“But what if you’re not?” she asks. “What do you plan to do with this information?”
I sigh, staring out the window. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you might have some ideas.”
“Me?” Mia chuckles softly, a note of disbelief in her voice. “I am hardly knowledgeable in such matters. But…” She trails off for a moment, deep in thought.
Then she leans forward, an ember of determination lighting up her eyes. "But I'll help you, Emily, if I can. If Christopher is truly capable of something so heinous, it cannot go ignored."
My heart leaps in gratitude and relief. "Thank you, Mia." Suddenly I feel lighter than I have in days, as if sharing my burden has made it easier to carry.
Mia gives me a reassuring nod before pushing off from the table and rising from her seat. "You need to collect proof. The police won't take such allegations seriously without any evidence.”
I nod, standing with her. I had not considered that far ahead; the thought of involving the authorities is more daunting than anything else.
“I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” she says, “see if I can learn anything from my circles, but you’re going to have to do the hard digging, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks, Mia. I really appreciate you coming here—and for bringing the Cognac, too.”
“Of course.” She smiles, and we make our way back to the door. As we reach it, Mia pauses.
“Will you accept a word of advice from a friend before I go?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“Don’t trust anyone, Emily Just. Not even a nosy neighbor.” She smiles her sunny smile, and then she vanishes through the doorway.