The Old Maid

I scrambled up the metal ladder, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The manhole cover scraped against the concrete, sending a shower of dust down onto my face.

Light. Daylight. It blinded me for a second as the cover slid aside.

I held my breath. I waited for a security guard. I waited for Arthur.

But there was nothing. Just the gray sky and the sound of wind in the trees.

I climbed out.

I was in a small, fenced-in service yard behind the facility's kitchen. Dumpsters lined one wall. A delivery truck was idling near the gate.

I stayed low, creeping behind the dumpsters. I needed to get back to my car. I needed to get away from this place before I ended up in the cistern with Thomas J. Miller.

But then I saw her.

Not Margaret.

A woman in a maid's uniform was taking out the trash. She was older, her hair graying at the temples, her face lined with exhaustion. She tossed a bag into the dumpster with practiced efficiency.

I knew that face.

It had been ten years, but I remembered the way she folded napkins. I remembered the way she hummed when she polished the silver.

*Tessa.*

Tessa Boyd. The housekeeper who had been fired the week after the funeral. The one who had "moved to Florida."

She wasn't in Florida. She was working at Sunnyvale.

I watched her wipe her hands on her apron. She looked around, checking to make sure no one was watching, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

I moved.

"Tessa," I whispered.

She jumped, dropping the cigarette. She spun around, her eyes wide with fear.

"Mrs. Hawthorne?" she gasped. She looked at my dark hair, my baseball cap, my dirty clothes. "Is that you?"

"It's me," I said. I stepped out from behind the dumpster. "Don't scream. Please."

She stared at me. Her hands were shaking. "They said you were gone. They said you left the family."

"Who said that?"

"Mr. Arthur. He told the staff. He said you had a breakdown."

"He lied," I said. "Just like he lied about Margaret."

Tessa flinched. She looked toward the building, terrified.

"You have to go," she whispered. "If they see you..."

"I'm not leaving without answers," I said. "Why are you here, Tessa? You were supposed to be retired. You got a severance package. Fifty thousand dollars."

She looked down at her shoes. "I spent it. My son... he needed surgery. It was gone in six months."

"So you came here?"

"Mr. Arthur offered me a job," she said. "He said it was better to keep things in the family. He said I knew how to be discreet."

"Discreet about what?" I asked. "About the fact that his dead wife is living on the fourth floor?"

Tessa closed her eyes. A tear leaked out.

"She's not living," she whispered. "She's waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For him to let her die."

I felt a chill go through me. "What do you mean?"

"He comes every week," Tessa said. "He brings her flowers. He sits with her. He talks to her. But he never lets her leave. And he never lets her get better."

She looked at me, her eyes pleading.

"The medicine," she said. "It's not for her memory. It's to keep her quiet. To keep her confused. He's erasing her, Mrs. Hawthorne. One day at a time."

"I need to get her out," I said.

"You can't," Tessa said. "The security... it's tight. Keycards. Codes. Cameras."

"I know," I said. "But you have access. You take out the trash."

"I can't help you," she said, backing away. "I have a son. I can't lose this job."

"You already lost it," I said. "Once Arthur is done with you, do you think he'll let you retire again? Or do you think you'll end up in the cistern?"

She froze.

"I found the wallet, Tessa. Thomas Miller. The foreman."

Her face went white. She knew the name.

"He asked for a raise," she whispered. "He said he knew about the bodies."

"And now he's one of them," I said.

I stepped closer.

"Help me, Tessa. Help me save her. And I will make sure you and your son are safe. I have money. I have evidence. I can protect you."

She looked at the building. She looked at me.

"Tonight," she said. Her voice was barely audible. "The shift change is at midnight. The loading dock doors open for the laundry truck."

She reached into her pocket. She pulled out a keycard.

"This gets you into the service elevator," she said. "But the fourth floor is coded. 1-9-8-7."

"I know," I said.

She pressed the card into my hand. Her fingers were cold.

"Don't make me regret this," she said.

"I won't," I promised.

She turned and ran back into the building.

I looked at the keycard in my hand. It was a simple piece of plastic. But it was the key to the castle.

And the dungeon.

I slipped back into the woods. I had six hours to kill.

And a lot to prepare.

Because when I went back in, I wasn't just coming for Margaret.

I was coming for the truth.