Page 34 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
Phoebe’s newest guest must have arrived.
Grocery bag in hand, Merida hurried past. When she opened the side door, a blast of rich, vibrant, appetizing scents rushed out.
That’s right.It was Tuesday evening, that time when Phoebe served an international dinner with the intention of herding her guests toward conviviality.
Not just no. Hell no.
Intent on reaching her rooms unnoticed, Merida sneaked up the stairway to the second floor into the dim, empty corridor. She unlocked her bedroom door with both Phoebe’s old-fashioned key and her own electronic security code, then jumped when beside her, a timid voice said, “Miss Falcon?”
Alarmed, Merida turned to face a tall, skinny, slump-shouldered woman with a bruise on one cheek and her left wrist in a brace. How had she crept up on Merida so quickly and quietly?
Still in that small, timid voice, so out of place in a woman of her age and height, she said, “I’m Susie Robinson. I’m supposed to clean your room. I couldn’t get in.”
Merida gestured to the locks.
“I can clean it now while you’re at dinner.”
Merida reached into her bag and pulled out her tablet. She showed Susie the usual message, then typed, “I have to work.”
“I’m quick and quiet.” Susie wrung her bony, work-worn hands. “Please, Miss Falcon, Phoebe takes pride in caring for her guests and if I don’t…”
Merida remembered what Phoebe had said about Susie’s home situation, realized that she was inadvertently making the woman’s life harder, and held up one finger.
At once, Susie stopped talking.
Merida went inside, locked the door behind her, collected her computer from the wall safe, opened her door and gestured Susie in.
“Thank you, Miss Falcon, I promise I won’t disturb you.” She looked anxious again. “I have to fetch my cleaning supplies.”
Merida nodded and waited until Susie had lugged in her vacuum cleaner and cleaning bin, and shut the door behind her.
Susie’s worn face brightened. “Aren’t you going to Phoebe’s dinner, Miss Falcon? She’s a real good cook.”
Merida’s stomach growled; she hadn’t eaten since her breakfast at the Oceanview Café. Even up here, the scents of bacon, caramelized onions and freshly baked bread permeated the air. But Merida smiled and patted her computer.
“I know. Phoebe says you’re a real quiet guest and are here to work. Don’t worry, she’ll save you some leftovers. That’s what she does for me. I take ’em home, feed ’em to my kids. My husband, he don’t like that fancy stuff.”
Merida took a slow step backward.Please, no confidences. I don’t want to hear how your husband beats you. I don’t want to feel empathy.
“Sorry, miss. I’d love to chat, but you’re the last room and I have to get home soon as I can.” Susie headed into the bathroom.
Merida hurried down the maid’s back stairs to the dining room with its long table, its rows of knights standing guard—and the microwave.
She charred the frozen dinner. Apparently before you cooked it, you were supposed to read the directions. She tried to eat it and realized even if she hadn’t burned it, it would have tasted like cardboard and ketchup.
So frozen dinnershadn’timproved since she was in college.
No matter. When she had lived with Nauplius, she had learned to do without meals as necessary. When he tied her hands so she couldn’t speak… and when she wished to aggravate him by refusing the food he bought her. She hadn’t been able to do much to defy him. Just a few things.
Overhead, the vacuum cleaner started up.
Merida looked toward the door that led to the entry and from there to the large living room where every evening, Phoebe served appetizers and wines and ports in sparkling jeweled glasses. She was pretty sure the Cipres were gone from Virtue Falls. But she did really need to work. The program she had developed required daily tending, a sense of when to gamble, when to escalate the pressure and at the same time not call attention to her underlying purpose…
She bent to her computer screen and immersed herself in the labor… for fifteen minutes. Until her stomach growled so loudly she wanted to tell it to hush up—or feed it. Without the incentive of annoying Nauplius, self-denial wasn’t nearly as much fun.
Another fifteen minutes, and she began to realize socializing might not be all bad. She didn’t like it, but she knew how. Phoebe truly was a fabulous cook; the breakfasts Merida had grabbed in passing proved that. Maybe just this once…
She shut her laptop. What to do with it? She didn’t want to take it upstairs and put it into the safe. Not with Susie watching. Opening the mirrored doors on the old-fashioned cupboard, she slid it into the bottom drawer underneath a stack of ironed tablecloths. She shut the drawer, shut the cupboard and looked around to make sure she was unobserved. She opened the door into the entry, heard the clatter of silverware, shut the door. No use locking it. Not with Susie inside. She had to assume no one was going to bother with a stack of tablecloths.
