Chapter 2: The Uninvited Witness
Aunt Helen appeared around the corner, her light blue blazer buttoned neatly over a polka-dot blouse. Her 50s-era sensible shoes made a soft thudding sound against the floorboards. She carried a small leather overnight bag in one hand and a foil-wrapped container of lemon pound cake in the other. Helen stopped short, her eyes darting between Arthur’s flushed face and Clara’s rigid posture in the red dress. She let out a long, quiet sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decades of family disappointments.
"Well," Helen said, her voice dry and steady. "I see I picked a wonderful time to arrive for the weekend. Do I need to go back down to the lobby and wait until you two finish tearing each other apart?"
Clara crossed her arms, the fabric of her dress stretching tightly across her chest. "No, Aunt Helen, please stay. Maybe your presence will remind Arthur that other people exist outside of his complicated little schedule."
Arthur shifted his weight, the grey suit jacket sliding slightly down his arm. "Helen, don't start. It’s been a disaster of an evening. The car failed, and then..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the glowing green exit sign above the stairwell.
"And then what?" Helen asked calmly, setting her overnight bag down by the door. She walked past Arthur without brushing his sleeve, maintaining a careful distance, and reached out to touch the corner of the plastic-wrapped dress. Her fingers traced the smudged grease stain with clinical precision. "A dry cleaner might salvage this if we use cornstarch tonight. But nobody is going to salvage your punctuality, Arthur."
"It wasn't just the car," Arthur muttered, staring at the floorboards. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the dead smartphone, pressing the power button once more in a futile gesture. "I had to stop at the precinct."
The word hung in the corridor like a sudden drop in temperature. Clara uncrossed her arms, her fingers curling into tight fists at her sides. The anger in her posture shifted instantly into sharp, suspicious alertness.
May you like
"The precinct?" Clara repeated, taking a step closer to him. "Why would you be at a police station on the night of my gallery opening? You told me you were wrapping up the fiscal audit at the downtown office until five."
Arthur looked up, his brown eyes filled with an unspoken weariness. "I lied about the office, Clara. I had to."
