Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Had Been Fired Before Sarah
Sarah had never met Colleen Avery.
By three o’clock that afternoon, she knew she needed to.
Colleen had worked for the Blackwoods for nine years. First as a housekeeper, then as household manager after Amelia became pregnant.
She left two months after Amelia died.
Officially, she resigned.
Unofficially, Victoria told everyone Colleen had become unstable.
Sarah found the old staff directory in the laundry office.
Colleen’s number was disconnected.
Her emergency contact listed a sister in Wilmington.
Ethan told Detective Ortiz.
Ortiz told him not to call anyone himself.
He agreed.
Then did it anyway.
Sarah watched him from across the kitchen.
“You’re terrible at following instructions.”
“So are you.”
“I’m employed by you. It’s different.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
He dialed.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Marianne Avery?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Ethan Blackwood.”
Silence.
Then the woman said, “You have nerve.”
Ethan blinked.
“I’m trying to reach Colleen.”
“My sister said you’d call eventually.”
“Where is she?”
“Why?”
“Something happened with Leo.”
The woman’s voice changed.
“What happened?”
Ethan looked at Sarah.
“Victoria frightened him. There may have been other incidents.”
A long pause.
Then Marianne said, “Colleen tried to tell you.”
Ethan sat down.
“What?”
“She tried for weeks.”
“I never heard from her.”
“She wrote you.”
“I never got anything.”
“She left messages.”
“None.”
Marianne gave a humorless laugh.
“Then ask your fiancée.”
Sarah felt chills.
“Where is Colleen?” Ethan repeated.
“She’s in Maine.”
“Can I have her number?”
“No.”
“Please.”
Another pause.
Then Marianne said, “I’ll give her yours.”
Colleen called twenty minutes later.
Her voice was guarded.
“Mr. Blackwood.”
“Colleen.”
“I’m sorry about Leo.”
“You know?”
“Marianne told me.”
“Why did you leave?”
Silence.
“Colleen.”
“I didn’t leave.”
Ethan looked at Sarah.
“What do you mean?”
“Victoria fired me.”
“She told me you resigned.”
“She told everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I found her in Mrs. Blackwood’s study.”
“What was she doing?”
“Going through Amelia’s medical files.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Sarah leaned against the counter.
“When?”
“Six weeks after the funeral.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
“Where?”
“Email. Voicemail. Registered letter.”
“I received none of them.”
Colleen laughed bitterly.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Victoria called me.”
The kitchen went quiet.
“What did she say?”
“That if I contacted you again, she’d tell police I had stolen jewelry from Amelia.”
Sarah’s stomach dropped.
It was such a specific threat.
“Did you steal anything?” Ethan asked.
“No.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t then.”
He flinched.
Colleen continued.
“She also said she’d make sure I never worked in a private home again.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“What crime would I report? A woman reading files in her fiancé’s house?”
“The threat.”
“I had no recording.”
Sarah understood.
Power did not always need innocence.
Sometimes it only needed better paperwork.
Ethan asked, “Did you ever see her mistreat Leo?”
Colleen was quiet.
“Yes.”
Sarah gripped the counter.
“What did she do?”
“She would wake him.”
“What?”
“At night. If he slept too long.”
“Why?”
“She said babies shouldn’t control the house.”
Ethan looked physically ill.
“She would turn on lights, make noise, take away the pacifier. Nothing that left marks. Just enough to keep him unsettled.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Did Amelia know?”
“Amelia was dead by then.”
“Before?”
Another pause.
“Mrs. Blackwood did not trust Victoria.”
Ethan stood.
“They were friends.”
“No.”
The word was gentle.
“No, sir.”
Sarah watched his face.
Colleen continued.
“Victoria wanted people to think they were close. Mrs. Blackwood tolerated her because you had business with the Crane family.”
“That’s not true.”
“Ask yourself who told you it was.”
He had no answer.
Colleen agreed to speak with Detective Ortiz by video.
Before hanging up, she said one more thing.
“Mr. Blackwood?”
“Yes?”
“Check the blue room.”
“What blue room?”
“The little guest room at the end of the east hall.”
“It’s storage.”
“It became storage after Amelia died.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Behind the radiator cover.”
Ethan and Sarah went upstairs together.
The east hall had not been used in months.
Dust lay along the baseboards.
The blue room smelled stale.
Boxes of Amelia’s clothes sat against one wall.
Sarah crouched beside the old radiator.
The brass cover came loose after Ethan removed two screws.
Behind it was a small digital recorder wrapped in a dish towel.
Ethan stared.
“Was this Amelia’s?”
Sarah lifted it carefully.
A white label was taped to the back.
IF ETHAN FINDS THIS, LISTEN BEFORE YOU TRUST ANYONE.
The handwriting matched the notes Sarah had seen on old household calendars.
Amelia.
Ethan’s hand shook.
They called Detective Ortiz.
She arrived with an evidence technician.
The recorder still worked.
There were eleven files.
The first ten were ordinary.
Amelia dictating reminders.
Doctor appointments.
A grocery list.
A complaint about a contractor.
The eleventh began with breathing.
Then Amelia’s voice.
“July fourteenth. Victoria came by again.”
Ethan sat down.
The recording continued.
“She asked about Leo’s trust.”
Sarah looked at him.
“What trust?”
He did not answer.
Amelia’s voice went on.
“She wants to know what happens if Ethan remarries.”
Ethan went pale.
The recorder clicked.
Then Amelia said:
“I told her the truth. If Ethan marries before Leo turns five, control of the family voting shares transfers temporarily to Leo’s guardian trust.”
Sarah frowned.
Ethan whispered, “That’s confidential.”
Amelia continued.
“Victoria smiled when I told her.”
The file ended.
Sarah looked at Ethan.
“How much are those shares worth?”
He stared at the recorder.
“Not money.”
“What, then?”
“Control.”
“Of what?”
He looked at her.
“Everything my family owns.”
And suddenly Victoria’s interest in an eleven-month-old baby did not look like resentment.
May you like
It looked like strategy.
After the call with Colleen, Ethan walked through the house as though every doorway had changed shape. He stopped beside the framed photograph of Amelia holding newborn Leo and asked Sarah whether a home could become unsafe without anyone noticing. Sarah told him yes. “Most unsafe homes look normal from the sidewalk,” she said. “That’s why people miss things.” Ethan looked at the nursery monitor, then at the empty corridor. “I thought providing everything meant I was protecting them.” Sarah answered, “Providing is not the same as seeing.” He did not argue. Later, he personally called each former employee from the last two years. Some had nothing useful to add. Others remembered small things: Victoria insisting on changing staff schedules, Victoria asking who had access to medicine cabinets, Victoria volunteering to stay with Leo when everyone else was exhausted. No single memory proved a crime. Together, they formed a pattern. Sarah wrote them down in a notebook and labeled each page with dates rather than conclusions. She was learning that the truth often arrived as ordinary details people had dismissed because each one seemed too small to matter.
