The Maid's Diary(46)
“We’re not sure yet who the victim is,” she says. “But someone has sustained serious injuries—likely life-threatening. If they are still alive, time is not on their side.”
“Go get ’em, love.”
Emotion burns hot in her eyes. “Yeah. We will. We’ll do our best.” She says goodbye, kills the call. She feels Benoit’s curiosity and his empathy. It’s his empathy that makes it worse. Mal does not want pity. To Benoit’s credit he lets her be and says nothing. As they negotiate city traffic and feed onto the bridge, it’s Mal who finally breaks the silence.
“Is Sadie okay with your late nights?”
He smiles. “It’s not like a choice, is it?”
“There are admin jobs in the department, you know.”
He chuckles. “That’s not me, Mal.”
“Yeah, I know.”
A pause.
“Besides, it’s not like we have a homicide every day, right? On slower days I take the night shifts at home. And I do the baby minding on my days off.”
“Sadie still pursuing her degree?”
“Determined as ever. Correspondence right now. Can’t stop that woman.” He glances at Mal. “She’s going to make a damn fine immigration and refugee lawyer. I’m so freaking proud of her.”
Mal smiles. “The world is in good hands.”
He laughs loudly and darkly. “The world is not within our control, boss.”
“Well, at least my team will be left in good hands if you’re offered the helm.”
“You’ve got a few months yet,” Benoit says.
She gives a rueful smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
THE MAID’S DIARY
Dear Diary, I’m sorry I have not visited with you in a while. Not only have I not written, I have also officially quit therapy. My shrink said: “You’re regressing, Kit. By shutting me out, the damaged part of you is slinking into hiding again. Finding out what drives you is scary, I know, but it’s always most challenging right before we have a major breakthrough. You’re almost there, Kit.”
Maybe I am.
But I disagree about the hiding. I’m not pulling up the drawbridge. I’m not slinking away. This time I am holding my ground. I’m standing in my power. And where did I find power? From Charley. Then in Daisy’s safe.
I told you at the beginning of this journal I know where people tend to keep their secrets. I know where to search for them.
On this cleaning day at Rose Cottage, I finish the laundry, the dusting, vacuuming, and I wash and pack away the dishes in the kitchen. I set my timer for my snoop session.
I decide not to go into Jon’s computer today. It’s bathroom day. Pills and medical secrets are what I’m after. But the medicine cabinet offers nothing scintillating—cold meds, some uppers, downers, old prescription painkillers, wart remover, pregnancy vitamins, antiseptic spray, Band-Aids, aspirin, that sort of thing. I crouch down, and I open a cabinet below the washbasin on “her” side of the bathroom. There’s a drawer inside the cabinet. It’s full of female hygiene products. Sanitary pads, packets of tampons, a vaginal lubricant, intimate wipes. I feel the packets of pads and tampons. Women love to hide things in places like this—particularly secrets from their men. Husbands and boyfriends usually don’t go poking around in menstrual products. I feel something inside one of the tampon boxes. It’s small. Hard. Angular. Not a tampon. I open the box. Tucked into one of the tampon wrappers is a key.
My pulse kicks.
I extract the key. I know what lock it fits—I’m certain of it. On my last visit to Rose Cottage, at the back of Daisy’s underwear drawer, I found a document-size safe with a key lock and a handle. It’s pale blue. Many of my clients have lockboxes in varying shapes and sizes. Not only for secrecy, but for fire protection. The color of this safe, the fact it’s hidden at the back of Daisy’s underwear, that the key is with her tampons—it all screams, Wife wants to keep secret from her husband.
Tension whips through me. I check my watch. Barely any snooping time left. I should quit. Now. Do this next time. If Daisy arrives a minute or two early, I’ll be toast. But I can’t abandon this.
I leave the bathroom cabinet door open, rush into the bedroom, yank open the underwear drawer, ferret around in her lingerie, and pull out the box.
It’s heavy. A solid metal. My excitement is over the top.
Mouth dry, I sit on the edge of their king-size bed. I insert the key. It slides in perfectly. I turn it and open the top of the box.
Inside are two manila envelopes and a flash drive.
I touch the flash drive. I can’t take it with me to view what’s in it. If she finds it missing and reports it to Holly, I will definitely be fired. I remove one of the manila envelopes, open it.
Inside is a multipage legal document. I begin to read. As the meaning of the legalese becomes clear, I grow dizzy, can’t breathe. My world narrows and time slides into a dead zone as I struggle to process what I’m seeing. My gaze shoots down to the signatures at the bottom. I go numb. With trembling hands, I open the other envelope.
A thudding sounds in my ears, and I try to swallow as I absorb the weight of the text—what it means to me. My timer buzzes. I jerk back. I hear a car in the driveway. Panic licks through my belly.