The Wife Who Knew Too Much(81)

I unlocked the master-bedroom door and stuck my head out, straining to hear if Connor or Juliet had returned. But Windswept was so big that there was no way to tell just by listening. The sound of footsteps, or even voices, would be lost amid the creaks and sighs of an old house and the distant crash of surf on sand. Playing it safe, I wrapped the diary in the towel and shoved it back under the pillow. I put the photo in my pocket and went in search of Gloria.

She was no longer in the kitchen. I wandered the darkened first floor, afraid to turn on lights for fear of attracting attention. The echoing parlors, the glittering, high-ceilinged dining room, the ornate library were all empty and silent except for my own footsteps. Gloria must’ve gone back to her room. I knew she lived in the staff quarters on the third floor, but so did Juliet. I’d never been up there. As I climbed the two sets of steep stairs, I worked on my cover story, just in case I ran into Juliet.

There was a door at the top of the stairs to the third floor, but it was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped into a space that felt like a different planet from the rest of the house. The first two floors of Windswept boasted ceilings of twelve or thirteen feet, even higher in the ballroom, with elaborate moldings, murals, sconces, chandeliers, exquisite carpeting, expensive wallpaper, paintings, and objets d’art. This floor was cheap and dingy, with grimy, old carpet, faded paint, and ceilings so low that I felt claustrophobic. How the other half lives—and for most of my life, I’d been in that half.

Four doors opened off the narrow, windowless hall. The only way to find Gloria’s room would be trial and error. The first door on the right was not only unlocked, it was ajar. I pushed lightly, and the door opened inward. Lit only by the moonlight that filtered through the single, dormered window, the room was clearly lived-in, though unoccupied at the moment. It was tucked under the eaves of Windswept’s great roof, and the sharply slanted ceiling made it impossible to stand along one side. I flicked on the flashlight from my phone. The cramped space was cluttered with furniture and personal effects, as if it had been lived in for years. There was a narrow bed, a dresser, a wardrobe, and a rickety chair covered with clothing. I recognized a black uniform on top of the pile. I was in the right place, but Gloria was not here.

I was just turning to leave when a framed photograph on the dresser-top caught my eye. I stepped over to the dresser, its battered surface strewn with her things. There was a bottle of Tylenol, several pairs of earrings, a couple of lipsticks, a hairbrush with black hairs clinging to it. And a photo—of Gloria and Juliet, standing in front of a massive Christmas tree in Windswept’s entry foyer. Their arms were around each other’s waists. Juliet looked happier than I’d ever seen her before. Gloria appeared uncomfortable. Yet, there was something about the photo, something I couldn’t put my finger on, that troubled me.

Were the two of them closer than I knew? Then, why would Gloria give me Nina’s diary, which implicated Juliet so unequivocally? Still, I needed to be careful. I didn’t understand this place well enough to know where people’s true loyalties might lie.

As I backed out of Gloria’s room, leaving the door the same amount ajar that I’d found it, my gaze fell on the room next door. Juliet kept a room here, on this floor. She had a place of her own in the city but stayed over frequently when Nina was alive because her job required it. She’d continued the practice since I’d been here, living at Windswept full-time, though now I had to wonder why. She claimed it was necessary in order to inventory Nina’s things for auction, but was there some darker purpose? Keeping an eye on me? On the investigation? Here was a chance to sneak into her room when she was out, to see if I could find evidence that would be of interest to the DA.

I knocked first, just to be sure she hadn’t come back without my knowledge. There was no answer, and the door was locked. I went through my key ring, found a key that fit, and let myself in. This room was the same size as the one next door but felt larger and airier because it lacked the slanted ceiling. It was also sparsely furnished and meticulously kept—bed made, clothes put away, nothing left on the surface of the dresser or the desk. Checking the closet, I found four black pantsuits on hangers, spaced at perfect intervals. I was in the right place. This was Juliet’s room, and she was a neat freak.

I heard a creak in the hallway and froze, listening. After a moment or two, when there was nothing more, I crossed to the small desk and sat down in the chair. My blood pressure had shot up. I felt a pulse beating in my temples as I examined the desk. The two file-cabinet-style drawers to the right of the footwell were locked. I tried a few keys from my key ring, but nothing fit. The middle drawer pulled open easily. It contained a tray filled with paper clips and rubber bands. I lifted the tray out and underneath found a small key, which opened the file drawers. The top drawer held little of interest—Kleenex, pads of paper, more office supplies, a pack of gum. But the bottom one was filled with files in hanging folders. The labels made me catch my breath. “Genealogy.” “Birth and Custody Records.” Those should help prove Juliet’s false identity. There was no time to waste. I could be interrupted at any moment. I pulled out the “Birth and Custody” file and opened it on the desk.

The birth certificate was right on top and gave her name as Julissa Maria Davila, her father as unknown, and her mother as—

Her mother as Gloria Maria Davila Maldonado.

Gloria? My Gloria? The woman who’d just given me a diary saying that Juliet was using a fake name, and that Nina believed she planned to kill her? That same Gloria was Juliet’s mother? It made no sense, and yet it struck me with the force of truth and I realized now what had troubled me about the photograph of the two of them together in front of the Christmas tree. There was a family resemblance between the two women.