Chapter 7: The Photograph

Odette was waiting for me in the kitchen at seven the next morning, sitting on a stool with her phone face up on the counter.

She had made coffee.

That was how I knew it was bad.

"Sit," she said.

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself."

She turned the phone around.

It was a clear, sharp photograph through a window.

A bare shoulder, a tangle of dark hair, a man's back with a scar under the ribs.

My face was in the corner, my mouth open.

I looked at it for a moment.

"You climbed a staircase in the dark to take that," I said.

"I took a walk. The boathouse light was on. I'm entitled to wonder who is in it."

"You're entitled to a lot of things. Not that."

She smiled and took a sip of coffee.

"Conrad is returning with Posy at six. I could show him this at the door.

"Rule ten, rule eleven, and a nanny in the middle brother's bed while his daughter was away. He wouldn't need to say a word.

"You would be off the estate before the child had her coat off."

"And?"

"And I would like to be kind."

I laughed out loud.

"You have never been kind in your life."

"Listen very carefully, Carys." She leaned in. "I want to know what Conrad says when he thinks no one is listening.

"What he says to his lawyer. To his mother. To Valen. You live in this house. You will tell me."

"You want me to spy on him."

"I want you to be helpful."

"For what?"

"For keeping your job. Which I think you need very badly."

She slid a card across the counter.

It had a private number written on it in blue ink.

I picked it up.

I tore it in half, then in half again, and dropped the pieces in her coffee.

"Show him," I said.

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