Chapter 2 - THE UNANSWERED QUESTION
The guests filed back inside slowly, whispering among themselves, casting glances at Margaret as she walked in on Thomas’s arm. No one sat down at once. No one drank. The room hummed with shock and uncertainty.
Margaret allowed Thomas to lead her to a chair near the fireplace. She sat, but she did not lean back. Her posture remained straight, her gaze steady.
“Please,” she said, gesturing to the buffet. “Eat. Drink. I apologize for the interruption.”
No one moved.
Finally, her oldest cousin, Eleanor, stepped forward. “Margaret—you’re not hurt? Truly?”
“I am quite well,” Margaret said. “Better than I have been in months.”
Eleanor glanced toward the doorway where Rachel had been taken. “All this time—the wheelchair—”
“Was necessary,” Margaret said. “Rachel was watching. She was listening. Had she known I could walk, she would have found another way. A quieter way. And I might never have caught her.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“So you suspected her all along?” someone asked.
Margaret nodded slowly. “I suspected greed. I did not know until recently how far she intended to go. Once I realized, I had to be careful. I needed proof. Something undeniable. Something even her lies could not explain away.”
She looked at Thomas. He gave a small, solemn nod.
“But—Rachel was so convincing,” a woman said, shaking her head. “She seemed so devoted.”
“Devoted to what she would inherit,” Margaret said. “Not to me.”
The conversation shifted then—to shock, to outrage, to speculation. Margaret answered questions patiently but briefly. She told them about the insurance policy, the pressure to sign documents, the surveillance camera she had installed specifically for this moment.
Yet as she spoke, her mind kept returning to one detail that did not fit.
Rachel had been bold. Reckless. Desperate.
But Rachel was also careful. She planned. She calculated risks. Pushing Margaret down a sloped driveway in full view of a dozen guests—with a camera clearly visible—had been shockingly impulsive. Not like her.
Unless she had been under pressure. Unless she needed the money or control immediately. Tonight.
Margaret fell silent, turning it over in her mind.
“Mrs. Whitmore?” Thomas leaned in quietly. “Shall I escort everyone home?”
“Please,” Margaret said. “And stay a moment yourself.”
Thomas nodded. He began gently guiding the guests toward the doors. By ten o'clock, the mansion was quiet. Only the crackle of firewood and the drumming rain remained.
Thomas returned, standing before her. “They’ve all gone. The officers said they will be in touch tomorrow with formal charges.”
Margaret nodded. She stared into the fire. “Thomas—how long have you been with me?”
“Twenty-three years come March.”
“And in all that time, have you ever known Rachel to act without a plan?”
Thomas hesitated. “No. Never. She’s usually three steps ahead.”
“Precisely.” Margaret tapped one finger against the arm of her chair. “Tonight was reckless. She knew the camera was there. She saw it blinking. And yet she shoved me anyway.”
“Desperation?” Thomas suggested.
“Perhaps.” Margaret stood slowly, her knees stiffening now that adrenaline was fading. “Or perhaps she simply didn’t care anymore. As if she believed no one would ever see the footage. Or—as if she needed it done tonight, no matter the risk.”
Thomas frowned. “You think someone is pushing her?”
Margaret walked to the window and stared out at the rain-swept driveway. The wheelchair still sat near the fountain, covered now by a tarp Thomas had thrown over it.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But Rachel alone has never been enough to frighten me. There is something else. Something she was counting on. Someone she was working with.”
She turned back to Thomas.
“Rachel asked about everything,” Margaret said. “Shares. Accounts. Deeds. But she never asked about Arthur.”
Thomas went very still. “Arthur is gone, Mrs. Whitmore.”
“Is he?” Margaret said quietly. “Or is he the reason Rachel was in such a hurry?”
She walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew a small, sealed envelope. She held it up.
“Arthur sent this three days ago. From Switzerland.”
Thomas’s eyes widened. “But the funeral—”
“Was for someone else,” Margaret said. “Arthur is alive. And he warned me that before the week was out, someone would make their move.”
She tossed the envelope into the fire. The paper curled and blackened.
“He didn’t name Rachel,” Margaret said. “He didn’t name anyone. Only that I should be careful. That the danger was closer than I thought.”
May you like
She looked at Thomas, her gaze piercing.
“Rachel tried to kill me tonight. But I think she was only following orders. And I want to know—who is giving them?”
