Chapter 4 - MAYA’S NUMBER
Maya came to the hospital shortly after sunrise.
She looked like she had aged ten years overnight.
Her makeup was gone.
Her hair had been pulled into a loose ponytail.
She had changed out of the elegant green dress she wore at dinner and into jeans and a gray sweatshirt.
For once, she didn’t look like a Caldwell.
She looked exhausted.
She stood several feet from my bed.
“I’m sorry.”
I studied her.
“For what?”
“For waiting.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Maya lowered her eyes.
“I should have said something years ago.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
She sat down.
“Because the first time I tried, they took my children.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Not legally.”
Her hands twisted together.
“Thomas took them to Eleanor’s sister in Oregon for almost three weeks.”
She swallowed.
“They told me that if I embarrassed the family again, I might never know where my children were.”
My anger shifted.
Not away from her.
But toward something larger.
“What had you done?”
“I refused to sign.”
“Sign what?”
Maya gave me a tired smile.
“My parents left me a house in Sonoma.”
Of course.
It was always property.
“Charles said the house would be more useful inside a Caldwell holding company.”
She looked toward the window.
“I said no.”
I already knew what came next.
“Family dinner?”
She nodded.
“Fourteen people.”
My stomach turned.
“They surrounded me at the table.”
“Thomas?”
“He didn’t touch me.”
Her voice became hollow.
“He didn’t have to.”
That sentence told me everything.
“He sat beside me while they spent three hours explaining why a good wife trusted her husband’s family.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“When I still refused, Charles reminded me that the family paid Thomas’s salary.”
“Then?”
“I went upstairs.”
Her eyes filled.
“The next morning, my children were gone.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Three weeks later, I signed.”
“Did they return the house?”
“No.”
Maya laughed bitterly.
“They sold it eighteen months later.”
“What number were you?”
She looked at me.
“Seventeen.”
My pulse quickened.
“So there were sixteen before you.”
“At least.”
She reached into her bag.
“I stole something last night.”
My eyebrows rose.
“From the basement?”
“No.”
She placed a small brass key on my hospital blanket.
“From Eleanor.”
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why take it?”
“Because Eleanor has worn it around her neck every day for the last eleven years.”
I examined it.
Small.
Old-fashioned.
A number had been engraved along the edge.
314.
“She took off the necklace when the police arrived.”
Maya continued.
“She put it in her purse.”
“And you took it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her expression hardened.
“Because when I mentioned the hidden room, Eleanor didn’t look at Charles.”
I waited.
“She looked at the key.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
My condominium building.
I picked up.
“Hello?”
The security manager spoke quickly.
“Ms. Bennett, I’m sorry to disturb you.”
My pulse began to race.
“What happened?”
“Your mother-in-law is downstairs.”
May you like
I sat upright.
“She has a locksmith.”
