Chapter 3: What Was on the Second Page
Nora didn't sleep that night.
She lay on top of the guest room covers fully dressed, phone face-up on the pillow beside her, staring at the ceiling.
The message was still open on the screen.
She had read it so many times the words had stopped looking like words.
*You should ask your husband why he stopped looking into Conrad's name after the second page.*
She typed back: *Who is this?*
No reply came.
At six in the morning she heard movement in the kitchen.
She got up, splashed water on her face, and walked down the hall.
Conrad was already at the stove.
He moved carefully, one hand occasionally steadying himself against the counter.
He didn't hear her come in.
"You don't have to cook," she said.
He turned.
"I know.
I wanted to."
"How do you take your coffee?"
"Black."
She poured two cups and set one near him without making a production of it.
He nodded once.
They stood in the small kitchen in the early morning quiet, and it felt, strangely, like something she hadn't felt in years.
Normal.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Go ahead."
"Did you know my husband?
Before the agency contacted you?"
Conrad set his mug down.
His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes did.
"Why are you asking that?"
"Someone sent me a message last night.
They said Bradley stopped looking into your background after the second page.
I don't know what that means.
I don't know who sent it.
But I thought you should know."
Conrad was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know your husband," he said.
"But I know the name Hill."
Nora's hands tightened around her mug.
"How?"
"My father worked for a man named Arthur Hill for eleven years.
Arthur Hill was Bradley's father." He paused.
"My father died without his pension.
The company restructured the week before his qualifying date.
It wasn't an accident."
The kitchen was very still.
"Bradley inherited everything from Arthur," Nora said slowly.
"Yes."
"Did you know I was Bradley's wife when the agency assigned you?"
"No." Conrad picked up his mug again.
"I found out two days ago.
I almost called the agency to cancel."
"Why didn't you?"
He looked at her directly.
"Because it wasn't your fault."
Nora put her cup in the sink.
Her hands were steady.
She was surprised by that.
"I need to find out who sent that message," she said.
"I know someone who might be able to help with that." Conrad moved toward the hallway.
"Give me an hour."
She watched him go.
Through the kitchen window, the desert light was coming up pale and flat over the scrub brush.
She thought about Bradley at the grill with his tongs, laughing at his own joke.
She thought about eleven years of a man's work disappearing on a technicality.
Her phone buzzed.
Not the unknown number this time.
Bradley.
She let it ring.
When it stopped, a voicemail notification appeared.
She pressed play.
"Nora." His voice was controlled, the way it always was when he was angry and didn't want to sound it.
"I've spoken to the agency.
There are grounds to void the contract if a participant is found to have a personal connection to the assigned household.
I'm looking into it.
Come home and we can handle this quietly.
Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
She deleted the voicemail.
Then she opened her contacts and found the number for the agency's participant liaison.
She had been given it on the day she signed.
The line rang twice.
"This is Nora Hill.
I need to report that my husband may be attempting to interfere with my placement.
I want that on record."
A pause.
Then: "Mrs.
Hill, I'm glad you called.
You're not the first person to contact us about this today."
Nora went very still.
"Who else called?"
"I can't share that.
But I can tell you that the contract stands.
Your placement is protected."
She hung up and stood at the window for a long moment.
Someone else had called the agency about Bradley.
Someone who knew what he was doing before she did.
The unknown number.
It had to be.
She pulled up the message again and stared at it.
Then she did something she hadn't thought to do the night before.
She looked at the timestamp.
The message had arrived four minutes before she pulled into Conrad's driveway.
May you like
Whoever sent it hadn't been reacting to her arrival.
They had known she was coming.
