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“And you’ve been working for them since after James disappeared?” I ask.
Mariana nods. “They lived about an hour southwest of here in a small town called Rock Hill. About a year after everything happened, Tristan called the housekeeping service where I worked, and that’s how we met. I worked for them in Rock Hill for more than fifteen years. After they built this house and moved here, Tristan offered me good money to move up here and continue cleaning for him. I live in a little house about fifteen minutes away.”
I see Mariana’s bare ring finger and my wheels begin to turn. Before I can tactfully ask if she and Tristan are having an affair (is there a tactful way to do that?), she says—
“We don’t speak about him anymore. I don’t even know the last time Tristan said his son’s name. It’s how he deals—he doesn’t.”
“Do they think he ran away or was kidnapped?”
“Both angles were looked into extensively. But at the end of the day, there was no definitive evidence to determine either way. His cell phone was turned off not long after he left the house that morning, hasn’t been turned on since, and they never found it. His car was also never found. Everyone—the entire town, it seemed—was interviewed. The entire school. There were massive search parties, the works. Nina was arrested twice for stalking people she wrongfully thought were involved.”
I think of the schizophrenia pills in her room. Can grief turn into schizophrenia?
“What was Nina’s job during all of this? What did she do for work?”
“Well, she quit the second James went missing, but she was an editor at a small publishing house. That’s how she and Tristan met, actually. She was quite successful, worked from home, it was a great gig. She walked away from it all.”
My heart cracks a little deeper.
“There really is no trace of him? No substantial evidence?”
“The only thing that James always carried with him was a very expensive pocketknife that Tristan gave him on his tenth birthday. Solid gold and engraved with his name down the hilt. Tristan has a matching one with his name. Anyway, the cops called every pawnshop in the entire state. I think Nina even called the ones in the surrounding states—I’m not joking. She was hung up on that. She was certain he’d pawn it for money if he ran away, or the people who took him would. But it’s never turned up anywhere.”
Mariana glances at her watch. “I really need to get started on my duties, and you need to get back to Nina. Today is laundry day, and Tristan is known for changing his clothes sometimes four times a day. You know how people are mood readers? He’s a mood dresser.” She laughs fondly and takes a step back, indicating she’s done with this conversation.
I’m not.
“You said Nina went nuts after James left. So, what caused her stroke so many years later?”
“Stress, I guess. Prolonged stress does horrible things to the body.”
I want to ask her about the schizophrenia medications, but it is obvious Mariana is done with this conversation.
“I need to go.” She takes a step but pauses. “May I give you a piece of advice?”
“Please.”
“Nina is your job. She is to have your undivided attention, atall times, do you understand?”
I nod.
“Ninaonly.”
With that, Mariana steps past me and disappears down the stairs.
I don’t need to ask what she meant. Her message was clear.
Stay away from Tristan.
8
Tristan
“There, there,” Lavi coos, brushing Nina’s hair as she sleeps.
Night has blanketed the woods. Mariana left hours ago. The house is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
I have come upstairs to administer Nina’s nightly medication. Except I am frozen at the door, concealed in shadows.
