Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Michael was an outlier. I knew something was off with him from the start, and I should have followed my instincts. I assure you that’s not the case here.”
“You understand I’m still going to have an investigator look into her, right? Tell me you’ve had her sign an NDA.”
“Not yet. The lawyers are drafting it now. As I said, this is a unique situation. She only arrived today.”
I sigh and glance down at the literal mounds of work waiting for me.
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” I say softly.
“Yes, and your mother would be proud.”
She says she needs to run, and once we hang up, I dial a number I know by heart.
“Derek, I need you to look into someone for me. No, it’s not for a case. It’s personal.”
6
Maren
I’m too scared to leave my room before Rita comes back at six on the dot. I spend the early moments of the afternoon going over various scenarios in my mind and weighing the pros and cons of staying here versus asking Frank to drive me home. Leaving my old life behind isn’t simple. In the event that this job at Rosethorn proves to be too good to be true, it’s not like I can just pick up right where I left off. It took six months before the group home had a vacant bed available for me, not to mention how long it took for me to secure the job at Holly Home. Granted, it might not even currently be waiting for me anyway if Mrs. Buchanan insists on pinning that stupid theft on me.
The safe bet would be to return to Providence as soon as possible and beg Mrs. Buchanan to believe in my innocence and keep me on at Holly Home. I should go down and find Frank immediately; chances are I could still make it back in time for my shift tonight.
I look down at my feet as if willing them to move me in the right direction.
Go, dammit!
They stay put on the plush rug.
This is reckless! I shout to myself. Too good to be true!
Nothing in my life has ever come this easy. There has to be a catch to this arrangement, some fine print I’m missing.
My internal warnings fall on completely deaf ears. It’s as if my brain and my body are on two different wavelengths. My body wants a break. My body sees this fancy room and that wonderfully large bed with all its fluffy pillows and it wants it, fine print be damned.
My brain decides one night can’t hurt. I’ll just give myself a little more time to think it over. I walk over to the desk and pick up the phone so I can call Mrs. Buchanan to tell her I won’t be there for my shift later, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I punch in the telephone number to the nursing home but am met with a heavy dial tone no matter how many times I try it. Eventually, with a frustrated growl, I set down the receiver and give up, walking over to the pair of windows that overlook the back half of the property.
Cornelia’s rose garden is the largest I’ve ever seen. It’s situated on the left side, encompassing a good portion of the yard. It’s symmetrically laid out along a long gravel path, trimmed with tiny boxwoods that delineate one variety of rose from another. There must be more than thirty different kinds, ranging from vibrant orange to deep red to pale pink. A gardener is out there now, tending them with gloved hands.
I stand there watching him for a good while—paralyzed by indecision—before I give in, take the apple and the book out of my purse, and sit down on the settee to read.
As promised, Rita returns to help me get dressed. The poofy pink gown she has hanging over her arm catches my attention right away.
“Is that for me?”
She smiles. “If it fits.”
“Can’t I just wear what I already have on?”
Her smile fades, and it’s obvious she’s horrified by the suggestion. “Cornelia has requested dinner in the formal dining room, and guests are expected to dress appropriately.”
I don’t argue. I take a seat in front of the vanity at Rita’s suggestion and let her treat me like a doll. I never got my hair or makeup done for special occasions when I was growing up, so I’m not sure what to expect as she pulls out a curling iron, heats it up, and starts to brush out my long hair.
Then she opens the drawers of the vanity to reveal an array of makeup, all of which is brand new.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as it slowly transforms. Green eyes, which I always thought were my best feature, are made to appear even bigger and brighter with the right shades of eyeshadow. Blush sweeps across my high cheekbones. A dusky red stain paints my lips. She leaves my hair down but pins it back on one side, pushing most of the long curls over the other shoulder.