Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE WITH TOO MANY LOCKED DOORSBy lunchtime, Claire understood three things about the Moretti mansion.
First, it contained twenty-three rooms she was apparently allowed to enter.
Second, there were at least seven she was not.
Third, Adrian Moretti’s sons considered rules personal invitations.
Mrs. Rosa Bellini, the sixty-three-year-old housekeeper who had worked for the family for nearly three decades, gave Claire a tour while the triplets followed them like miniature surveillance agents.
“The east wing is private,” Rosa said.
“Why?” Noah asked innocently.
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What happens if Claire goes there?”
Rosa stopped.
“You three will not encourage her to go anywhere forbidden.”
Caleb sighed dramatically.
“We never get to have fun.”
Rosa looked at Claire.
“Do not believe a word they say.”
Claire glanced over her shoulder.
“I figured that out around the bucket.”
Miles smiled.
Noah didn’t.
The boys had spent the morning testing her.
They switched sugar with salt before she made coffee.
Claire drank it anyway.
They placed a rubber snake in her bathroom.
She named it Gerald and put it on her pillow.
They changed the language settings on her phone to Japanese.
Claire handed it to Noah and asked him to fix it.
“You aren’t mad?” he demanded.
“I’m deeply disappointed.”
“Why?”
“I expected something more creative.”
That seemed to offend him.
By noon, the boys had stopped viewing her as prey.
Now she was competition.
Claire suspected that was more dangerous.
At one o’clock Adrian left for Manhattan.
Before leaving, he summoned Claire to his office.
It was the most intimidating room in the house.
Dark wood.
Leather chairs.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
No personal photographs except one framed picture facing his chair.
Claire could not see the image.
Adrian stood behind his desk.
“My sons follow a schedule.”
Claire looked at the printed page he handed her.
Wake at seven.
Breakfast at seven-thirty.
Tutoring.
Piano.
Italian.
Swimming.
Lunch.
Mathematics.
Reading.
Supervised play.
Dinner.
Bath.
Bed.
She looked up.
“They’re six.”
“I’m aware.”
“This schedule looks like preparation for diplomatic service.”
“They require structure.”
“They require recess.”
His eyes narrowed.
“The previous nannies believed discipline was optional.”
“Maybe your sons didn’t chase them away because they hated discipline.”
“Why, then?”
Claire looked through the office window.
Outside, Noah and Caleb were running across the lawn while Miles sat beneath a tree alone.
“Maybe they wanted to find out who would stay.”
Adrian went still.
Claire regretted saying it.
Not because it was wrong.
Because something in Adrian’s face told her she had touched a wound.
“My sons have everything they need.”
“Things aren’t people.”
“I didn’t say they were.”
“No, but you answered like I accused you.”
His eyes turned cold.
“This position does not require you to analyze me.”
“Good. I’m not qualified.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“I mean it, Ms. Donovan.”
“So do I.”
Silence stretched.
Then Claire noticed something strange.
A small plastic dinosaur sat beneath the edge of Adrian’s desk.
Cheap.
Green.
One eye missing.
It looked hilariously out of place in the immaculate office.
Adrian followed her gaze.
His face softened for half a second.
“Miles left it.”
Claire said nothing.
“He used to bring toys in here when he was younger.”
“He’s six now.”
“I know.”
Claire wondered when Adrian had stopped thinking six was young.
He dismissed her two minutes later.
At three, trouble started.
Caleb refused piano.
Noah disappeared during Italian.
Miles tore a page from his workbook and quietly placed it in the fireplace.
Claire found all three hiding behind curtains in the upstairs library.
“Impressive,” she said.
Noah frowned.
“You’re supposed to drag us back.”
“I don’t drag children.”
“Number Five did.”
“How’d that go?”
“She quit.”
“Exactly.”
Claire sat on the carpet.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Great.”
She picked up a book.
Noah stared.
“You’re not going to make us study?”
“Nope.”
Caleb looked suspicious.
“Dad will fire you.”
“Possibly.”
Five minutes passed.
Then Miles crawled out first.
“What are you reading?”
“Treasure Island.”
Noah snorted.
“That’s for babies.”
Claire flipped a page.
“Pirates, murder, mutiny, buried gold.”
Caleb crawled out.
“Someone gets murdered?”
“More than one person, probably.”
Eventually all three sat around her.
Claire read.
They listened.
At four, Rosa quietly appeared in the doorway.
Her expression was astonished.
The boys were silent.
Not frightened silent.
Not punishment silent.
Interested silent.
Claire continued reading until Noah abruptly asked, “Did your husband die?”
Claire stopped.
Rosa sucked in a breath.
“Noah!”
Claire closed the book.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Noah,” Rosa warned again.
But Claire looked at him.
“A car accident.”
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
“Were you there when he died?”
Claire swallowed.
“Yes.”
The room changed.
Caleb looked away.
Miles stared at his hands.
Noah’s voice softened.
“Did you cry?”
“Yes.”
“Did Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“What if someone dies and you don’t cry?”
Claire understood then.
Not everything.
But enough.
“You mean your mom?”
All three boys froze.
Rosa stepped into the room.
“That’s enough.”
Claire looked at her.
Rosa gave the smallest shake of her head.
Not here.
Not now.
The boys stood.
Noah became angry again.
“Our mother didn’t die.”
Claire frowned.
Caleb whispered, “Dad says she did.”
Miles corrected him.
“Dad says she’s gone.”
“What does that mean?” Claire asked.
Nobody answered.
At dinner, Adrian returned.
The boys ate in near silence.
Claire sat farther down the table, unsure whether staff were normally allowed there.
Rosa had simply placed a plate in front of her.
Adrian noticed immediately.
His glance traveled from Claire to Rosa.
Rosa raised her chin.
Adrian apparently knew better than to argue.
Halfway through dinner, Noah asked, “Did Mom burn?”
Adrian’s fork stopped.
Claire’s blood chilled.
Caleb looked at his brother.
Miles whispered, “Stop.”
Noah didn’t.
“Did she?”
Adrian set down his fork.
“Upstairs.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Noah’s chair scraped backward.
He left.
Caleb followed reluctantly.
Miles paused beside Claire.
Then he whispered, “He’s mad because tomorrow is her birthday.”
Adrian’s face went white.
Miles ran.
The dining room fell silent.
Claire looked at Adrian.
“What happened to their mother?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“They asked me if she burned.”
“I said it’s not your concern.”
His tone should have ended the conversation.
It didn’t.
“They are my concern between the hours listed in my contract.”
Adrian stood.
“Do not discuss their mother again.”
Claire stood too.
“Then maybe you should.”
Something furious flashed in his eyes.
For one heartbeat, Claire understood why grown men were rumored to fear Adrian Moretti.
Then he walked away.
Rosa waited until he disappeared.
“You need to learn when to stop.”
“I’m beginning to notice that.”
Rosa gathered dishes.
After a moment Claire asked, “Was there a fire?”
Rosa stopped.
“Yes.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
“Did their mother die?”
Rosa looked toward the hallway.
“No one knows.”
That answer was worse.
At ten-thirty the house became quiet.
Claire checked the boys.
Three beds.
Three sleeping children.
Or so she thought.
At eleven-fifteen, she smelled smoke.
Claire shot upright.
For several seconds she was twenty-nine again, standing beside a destroyed sedan on a wet highway while flames climbed from the engine and paramedics dragged her backward.
Her husband inside.
Someone screaming that the fuel tank might explode.
Smoke.
Heat.
Helplessness.
Claire ran into the hallway.
“Fire!”
No alarm sounded.
That frightened her more.
She raced toward the boys’ rooms.
Noah’s bed was empty.
Caleb’s bed was empty.
Miles—
Empty.
“Boys!”
Smoke curled from beneath the door at the end of the hall.
A door Rosa had told her remained locked.
Claire grabbed the handle.
It turned.
Inside was darkness.
Smoke thickened.
“NOAH!”
A child screamed.
Claire ran inside.
The door slammed behind her.
Locked.
For half a second terror paralyzed her.
Then another scream came from deeper inside.
“HELP!”
Claire covered her mouth.
She could barely see.
Something orange flickered ahead.
Fire.
She ran toward it.
“Where are you?”
“Claire!”
She followed the voice.
Past furniture covered in sheets.
Past old paintings.
Past a broken mirror.
Then she found the flames.
A metal wastebasket burned beside a curtain.
And Noah lay on the floor several feet away.
Motionless.
Claire’s heart stopped.
“Noah!”
She dropped beside him.
His eyes were closed.
She grabbed him.
Then—
His eyes opened.
He smiled.
“Got you.”
Claire froze.
The smoke machine behind the curtain clicked.
Caleb jumped from behind a sofa.
Miles appeared near the doorway holding a remote control.
The “fire” in the wastebasket was a theatrical flame light surrounded by orange silk.
Noah began laughing.
Caleb joined him.
“We knew you were scared of fire!” Noah shouted.
Claire looked from one boy to another.
They had searched her belongings.
Or overheard her.
They had used the worst memory of her life.
The laughter died when Claire stood.
Her face had lost all color.
Noah expected screaming.
Caleb expected punishment.
Miles expected tears.
Claire did none of those things.
She walked to the door.
It was locked.
“Open it.”
Noah hesitated.
“It’s just a joke.”
“Open. The door.”
Miles pressed the remote.
Nothing happened.
His face changed.
“I didn’t lock it.”
Claire turned.
The boys stopped smiling.
“Then who did?”
Outside the room, footsteps approached.
Slow.
Heavy.
Not Adrian’s.
A shadow appeared beneath the door.
Then a man’s voice Claire had never heard whispered from the hallway.
“Three little Morettis all in one room.”
The triplets went pale.
Noah grabbed Claire’s hand.
And this time, when he whispered her name, there was no joke in his voice.
May you like
“Claire…”
The doorknob began to turn.
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