Chapter 6 - The Missing Medication
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The silence in the grand living room was absolute. Caroline’s angelic smile faltered, her face turning a sickly shade of white beneath her expensive makeup.
“Eleanor, you must be confused,” Caroline laughed nervously, looking around at the silent seamstresses. “The medication makes you see things. The maid tripped.”
“The maid has been holding my hand while I cough up blood for two years,” Eleanor Whitmore rasped, gripping the armrests of her wheelchair. “She moves like a ghost. She does not trip.”
Eleanor turned her fierce, clouded eyes to Erin, who was still kneeling on the wet rug. “Get up, Erin. You do not kneel for this woman.”
Erin slowly stood, her hands shaking, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had never seen Eleanor speak with such venom.
“Take me back to my room,” Eleanor ordered her nurse. She looked at Caroline one last time. “You may wear the white dress, Caroline, but you will never wash the dirt off your hands.”
The wheelchair turned and disappeared down the hall. Caroline stood perfectly still, her chest heaving with silent, unadulterated rage. She didn't look at Erin. She simply turned back to the mirror.
“Clean this up,” Caroline whispered to the floor. “And get out of my sight.”
That evening, the house was plunged into a different kind of chaos.
Erin was in the kitchen, helping the chef prep for the massive rehearsal dinner scheduled for the following night, when Mrs. Kesler burst through the swinging doors. The head housekeeper looked frantic, her usually immaculate bun slightly askew.
“Lock the doors,” Mrs. Kesler ordered the staff. “Nobody leaves this house.”
“What’s wrong?” the chef asked, wiping his hands on a towel.
“Mrs. Whitmore’s pain medication is missing,” Mrs. Kesler said grimly. “A full bottle of high-grade liquid morphine. It was on her nightstand an hour ago. Now it is gone.”
Erin’s blood ran cold. The morphine was highly restricted. If a staff member was caught with it, it meant immediate termination and a felony charge.
“The police are on their way,” Mrs. Kesler continued, her eyes sweeping over the kitchen staff. “But Mr. Whitmore has ordered a full search of the staff lockers and quarters immediately. I need all your keys.”
Erin handed over her small brass locker key, her mind racing. She hadn't been in the east wing all afternoon. She had nothing to hide.
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Ten minutes later, Mrs. Kesler returned to the kitchen. She held a small, brown amber bottle in her gloved hand. She walked directly up to Erin, her expression a mask of deep, profound disappointment.
“We found it, Erin,” Mrs. Kesler said softly, the entire kitchen falling dead silent. “It was wrapped in a sweater inside your locker.”
