Chapter 7 - Whispers in the Deep
“He’s cold, Clara. He’s so cold,” Eleanor choked out, cradling the tiny, waterlogged bundle against her emerald dress, staining the fabric with dark, chlorinated water. The tragic reality of the lifeless infant crushed the remaining air from her lungs, but the chaos around the pool did not stop.
David finally managed to pin Julianne’s wrists against the cold flagstone, panting heavily as his wife let out a series of low, unnatural chuckles that sent a shrike-like shiver down his spine.
“You’re too late, David,” Julianne whispered, her voice dropping into a raspy, mocking cadence. “The truth was already written down before you ever decided to run away to your little hideout in the valley. Ask your precious maid. Ask Clara whose handwriting is really inside that soggy book.”
Eleanor snapped her head up, her dark eyes locking onto Clara, who was still kneeling beside her at the edge of the pool. The maid’s wet hair clung to her face, shadowing her expression, making it impossible to read the micro-expressions that usually gave her away.
“Clara,” Eleanor demanded, her voice cutting through Julianne’s manic laughter. “Julianne said the journal belonged to David. But when I opened it, the handwriting changed halfway through. Whose entries are those in the back pages?”
Clara slowly raised her head. The tearful, desperate innocence she had projected just moments ago had vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened composure that was jarring. She didn’t stutter. She didn’t flinch.
“They’re mine, Ms. Vance,” Clara said smoothly, her voice entirely devoid of panic.
David stopped struggling with Julianne for a split second, staring at the maid in absolute shock. “Clara? What are you talking about? You said you didn’t know anything about the blackmail.”
“I lied,” Clara replied simply, standing up slowly from the wet concrete. She looked down at the lifeless infant in Eleanor’s arms with a chilling detachment. “I had to write those entries to make sure the trust fund was transferred before Mrs. Thorne completely lost her mind. Someone had to look out for the estate’s finances since neither of you adults were capable of doing it.”
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Before Eleanor could process the confession, the heavy iron gate at the front of the estate swung open again, accompanied by the unmistakable wail of approaching police sirens.
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