Chapter 4: The Woman Who Didn't Try Hard Enough
Hannah stood on the stairs for ten seconds without moving.
Then she saved the number, went to her room, locked the door, and called it back.
It rang seven times.
No answer.
She tried again an hour later.
Same result.
She called Dr.
Harmon instead.
His assistant put her through immediately when she gave her name and said it was urgent.
"I need to flag a medication irregularity," Hannah said.
"An unauthorized dosage change approximately three weeks ago.
The patient has been experiencing nighttime confusion, trembling, and short-term memory disruption consistent with the timing."
Dr.
Harmon's voice shifted.
"Which medication?"
She told him.
A pause.
"That dosage should not have been altered without my written authorization.
I gave no such authorization."
"I know.
I've also collected two tablets from a separate bottle I found in the patient's nightstand.
I'm sending them to an independent lab today."
"Miss Reed." His voice was careful now.
"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting we find out what's in those tablets before we draw any conclusions."
"I'll come to the house this afternoon."
"I'd prefer you didn't.
Not yet.
If someone in this household is responsible, I don't want them to know we're looking."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"All right.
Send me the lab results the moment you have them.
And document everything.
Timestamps, photographs, your own observations.
Everything."
"Already started."
She ended the call and arranged the courier for eleven o'clock.
The evidence bag went into a sealed medical envelope inside a plain brown parcel with no return address.
She watched the courier drive away from the front gate and felt, for the first time in days, like something was moving in the right direction.
Then Claire appeared in the hallway behind her.
"Sending something?"
Hannah turned.
"Medical supply return."
Claire's eyes moved to the gate, then back.
"We have a household account for that.
You should use it."
"I'll remember that next time."
Claire tilted her head slightly.
She was wearing cream today, her hair pulled back, every detail composed.
She looked like a woman who had never raised her voice in her life.
"I owe you an apology," Claire said.
Hannah said nothing.
"Last night was — I was under a great deal of stress.
The engagement party, the photographers, the pressure of managing everything Nicholas needs." She smiled, soft and practiced.
"I don't always handle stress well.
I should not have spoken to you the way I did."
"Which part are you apologizing for?"
"I'm sorry?"
"The part where you told me to leave, or the part where you called it friendly advice."
Claire's smile held.
"I was out of line.
I hope we can move past it."
"Of course," Hannah said.
She walked back inside.
She could feel Claire watching her until she turned the corner.
That afternoon, Hannah went through Rebecca's room.
Walter had unlocked it without asking why.
He simply handed her the key and said, "Third door on the left.
It hasn't been touched."
He was right.
It hadn't been touched.
Which meant either no one had thought to search it, or someone had already searched it and found nothing worth removing.
The room was neat.
A single bed, a writing desk, bookshelves organized by subject.
Medical texts.
Business law.
Several notebooks.
Hannah opened the first notebook.
It was a personal journal, dated from two years ago.
She turned to the last entries.
The final entry was dated eleven days before Rebecca d*ed.
*N is getting worse and doesn't know why.
Dr.
H says the bloodwork is normal.
It isn't normal.
I've seen the original results and the results H's office sent over don't match.
Someone altered them.
I don't know if it's H or someone with access to H's systems.
I've made copies.
They're in the blue folder in the bottom drawer of the desk in N's study, behind the false back.*
*C arrived again today.
N seems calmer when she's here.
I don't understand it.
I don't trust it.*
*I think I'm being followed.
Blue sedan, no plates.
Twice this week.*
*If something happens to me — the folder.
The blue folder.*
Hannah set the notebook down.
She read the entry again.
Then she went directly to Nicholas's study.
He was not there.
She crossed to the desk, opened the bottom drawer, pressed the back panel.
It gave.
Behind it was a narrow space, just wide enough for a folder.
It was empty.
Hannah stood very still with her hand inside the hollow space.
Someone had already been here.
Her phone buzzed.
The unknown number.
She answered immediately.
"You found the desk," the woman said.
It wasn't a question.
"The folder is gone."
"I know.
Claire took it the week after Rebecca d*ed.
I saw her come out of this house with it." A breath.
"I was Rebecca's friend.
My name is Diane.
We worked together before she came back to help Nicholas.
I tried to tell the police about the sedan.
They said there was no evidence of foul play."
"Diane.
The folder had copies of altered bloodwork.
Do you know if Rebecca kept any other copies?"
"She emailed them to me." A pause.
"I've been afraid to use them.
I have a daughter.
I didn't know who to give them to or whether it would even matter."
Hannah's voice stayed level.
"It matters.
Can you send them to me?"
Silence.
"If I do this," Diane said, "and something happens to me—"
"I won't let that happen."
"You're a nurse.
You can't promise that."
"No," Hannah said.
"But Nicholas Valenti can."
The silence stretched long enough that Hannah thought the call had dropped.
Then: "I'll send them tonight.
To the email address on the nursing agency's public listing."
"Thank you, Diane."
"Don't thank me yet." Her voice was very quiet.
"There's one more thing Rebecca wrote in a message she sent me the night before she d*ed.
She said Claire wasn't working alone.
She said there was someone else in that house.
Someone Nicholas trusted completely."
The call ended.
Hannah stood in the empty study with her hand still resting on the open desk drawer.
Someone Nicholas trusted completely.
She thought of silver hair.
Grandfatherly clothes.
May you like
Eyes that were not grandfatherly at all.
She thought of Walter Bell, who had handed her the key to Rebecca's room without asking a single question.
