Chapter 2 - The Nurse Who Never Existed
Charles canceled the dinner.
He told the investors Sophie was feeling unwell.
It was easier than explaining that his dead wife’s secret nurse had just walked out of the restaurant.
Twenty minutes later, Charles sat in the back of his car while Manhattan moved past the windows in streaks of yellow and white.
Sophie leaned against him.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Is Rebecca in trouble?”
The question caught him off guard.
“No.”
“You looked mad.”
“I was surprised.”
Sophie considered that.
“Mommy liked her.”
Charles looked down.
“How do you remember Rebecca?”
Sophie shrugged.
Children could make a shrug look like a complete philosophy.
“She came when Mommy was sick.”
“How many times?”
Another shrug.
“A lot?”
“During the daytime?”
“Sometimes.”
“Who let her inside?”
Sophie frowned.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Grandma see her?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Blake?”
Sophie looked confused.
“Who?”
“Uncle Thomas.”
“Oh.”
Charles’s older cousin, Thomas Blake, had been so constant in Sophie’s life that she had called him Uncle Thomas since learning to speak.
He had practically run the Mercer household during Eleanor’s illness.
“No,” Sophie said. “Mommy said Rebecca was our secret.”
Charles felt the air leave his lungs.
“What secret?”
Sophie giggled.
“Not tell Daddy.”
That one hurt.
He turned toward the window.
For three years, Charles had believed grief was the worst possible emotion a man could feel.
He had been wrong.
There was another one.
Finding out that the person you mourned had been frightened enough to hide something from you.
That night, after Sophie fell asleep, Charles stood inside Eleanor’s old bedroom.
He rarely entered.
Nothing had changed dramatically. He had asked the staff to keep it clean but never redecorate. The curtains were the same. Her reading chair still sat near the window.
The nightstand was empty.
He remembered bottles there.
Six, sometimes seven.
Pain medication.
Anti-nausea tablets.
Sleep medication.
Supplements.
Something for inflammation.
He had never examined them carefully.
Why would he?
He had trusted the doctors.
He had trusted Eleanor.
He had trusted the people around them.
His phone rang.
Rebecca.
He answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“I want to talk.”
“I know.”
“Tonight.”
Silence.
“Rebecca.”
“Tomorrow morning. Seven-thirty. Riverside Park. Near the 79th Street entrance.”
“I’ll send a car.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Come alone.”
The line went dead.
Charles stared at the phone.
At seven twenty-six the next morning, he saw Rebecca sitting on a bench facing the Hudson.
No uniform this time.
Jeans. Gray coat. Hair loose.
She looked like an ordinary woman waiting for a bus.
Charles sat beside her.
“You could’ve told me this three years ago.”
Rebecca kept looking at the river.
“I almost did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Eleanor begged me not to.”
“She was dying.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Rebecca turned.
“You think this is easy for me?”
“I don’t care whether it’s easy.”
“I do.”
Charles looked at her sharply.
She continued.
“I spent months wondering whether keeping her promise was loyalty or cowardice.”
Charles’s anger softened only slightly.
“What did she think was happening?”
Rebecca clasped her hands.
“When she first called me, she told me she was having reactions that didn’t match what her doctors had prescribed.”
“What kind of reactions?”
“Dizziness. Confusion. Sudden drops in blood pressure. Muscle weakness. Severe nausea.”
“She was sick.”
“Yes.”
“So those symptoms could’ve been part of the illness.”
“Exactly. That’s why nobody noticed.”
Charles frowned.
Rebecca reached into her bag and removed a small notebook.
Worn leather.
She handed it to him.
“What is this?”
“My records.”
Charles opened it.
Dates.
Times.
Dosages.
Initials.
Short notes.
E.M. nauseated at 8:20.
Tablet appearance inconsistent with previous dose.
Bottle count does not match log.
Patient reports metallic taste.
Charles stopped.
“What does ‘tablet appearance inconsistent’ mean?”
Rebecca leaned back.
“One night, Eleanor showed me two pills that were supposed to be the same medication.”
“And?”
“They weren’t.”
“Different manufacturer?”
“That’s what I thought.”
Charles flipped another page.
“What does this mean? Replacement bottle appeared?”
“I photographed every bottle in her cabinet.”
“Why?”
“Because Eleanor said things kept moving.”
Charles looked up.
“Moving?”
“She’d count pills. The next day there would be more than there should have been.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought she was confused.”
He stared at her.
“At first,” Rebecca added.
“What changed?”
Rebecca’s voice became quieter.
“I started counting too.”
Charles looked down at the notebook.
“And?”
“She wasn’t confused.”
The wind off the Hudson cut across the path.
Charles barely felt it.
“Did you test the medication?”
“Eventually.”
“What did you find?”
Rebecca hesitated.
Charles shut the notebook.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pause every time we get close to something important.”
“You asked what happened. I’m trying to tell you without making accusations I still can’t fully prove.”
“You’ve had three years.”
“And three years doesn’t turn suspicion into evidence.”
Charles stared at her.
“What did you find?”
Rebecca sighed.
“One sample contained a sedative Eleanor wasn’t supposed to be taking.”
Charles’s face changed.
“What sedative?”
“A prescription drug she’d taken months earlier after a procedure.”
“That could’ve been accidental.”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t think it was.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened again.”
Charles looked away.
Cars passed behind them.
People jogged by.
A woman pushed a stroller.
Normal life continued.
“When did Eleanor tell you she suspected someone?”
“About three weeks after I started helping her.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Charles turned.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
“She hired you because she thought someone was tampering with her medication, but she never told you who?”
“She had suspicions. She refused to name them until she was sure.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew what you were like.”
Charles’s expression hardened.
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca gave him a tired look.
“It means you act fast.”
“I solve problems.”
“You attack them.”
Charles said nothing.
“Eleanor thought if she named someone and you believed her, you’d confront them immediately.”
“She was right.”
“And if she was wrong?”
Charles had no answer.
Rebecca looked toward the river.
“She wanted proof before she destroyed a family.”
The word caught him.
“A family.”
Rebecca immediately regretted it.
Charles leaned closer.
“It was someone in the family.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You just did.”
“No. I said—”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rebecca.”
“I don’t.”
Charles stood.
She looked up at him.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to believe what the records show.”
He held the notebook.
“Then tell me who had access.”
Rebecca’s answer came slowly.
“More people than you probably realize.”
“Names.”
She looked uncomfortable.
“Housekeeper. Personal assistant. Home-care staff. Family doctor. Your cousin.”
“Thomas?”
“He was there often.”
“Because he was helping.”
“I’m not accusing him.”
“Who else?”
“Your mother visited frequently.”
Charles’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t.”
Rebecca looked at him steadily.
“You asked for names.”
“My mother adored Eleanor.”
“Then you can eliminate her.”
“Who else?”
“Your driver had keys.”
“He never went upstairs.”
“How certain are you?”
Charles said nothing.
Rebecca stood.
“This is the problem, Charles.”
“What?”
“You think you know who had access because you think you know what happened inside your own home.”
She pointed at the notebook.
“You didn’t even know I existed.”
That landed.
Hard.
Rebecca started to leave.
Charles caught up.
“One more question.”
She stopped.
“When Eleanor died, did you think someone had caused it?”
Rebecca’s face changed.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was already very ill.”
“Answer me.”
Rebecca looked directly at him.
“I think someone made an ill woman sicker.”
Charles felt his hands curl.
“Why?”
“That was the question we were trying to answer.”
“Trying?”
Rebecca looked away.
“Before we ran out of time.”
Charles’s voice dropped.
“You said she was afraid.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Of dying?”
“No.”
Charles waited.
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“She wasn’t afraid of dying, Charles.”
A beat.
May you like
“She was afraid of who was standing beside her while it happened.”
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