“His pride is bigger than his love, Mom,” Sam added sadly. “Besides, how would the papers know about Raul’s connection to me, to this story, unless he’s the one who told them?”
“You’ve been in the papers a lot lately, dear. As easy as someone can talk, they can make up a story. You of all people should know that after all the lies Thomas Cook spread about you.”
As Sam tossed the paper in the garbage, too angry to even repurpose it as newspaper pots for her seed starters. Tears stung her eyes as she headed to her bedroom to be alone.
The phone rang. She could feel it was Raul. Of course he would be reading the same exact paper at the same exact time.
“Do you want me to get that?” Minnie called to Sam down the hallway.
“No. It’s Raul. I can’t speak to him right now.”
“Maybe you should talk to him?” Minnie had already picked up the phone and answered.
“No, please don’t—”
“Miss Stanton’s residence. How can I help you?” Minnie announced into the receiver. Then a moment later, “One second, Raul.” Minnie turned to Sam’s open bedroom door, where Sam fervently shook her head. “I’m sorry, Raul, but she doesn’t want to speak with you. I assume this is about the article?”
But before Minnie could push another syllable out, Sam stomped into the living room, yanked the phone out of her mother’s hand, and slammed it down on the base. She grabbed her car keys.
“Where are you going, dear?” Minnie begged.
“There’s something I need to take care of.”
“Are you sure you should be taking care of anything in your current state?”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going to confront Raul.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Honestly, my life is already on fire. I’m going to finish it off and let it burn.”
Then Sam stormed out of the house—out of her mind and out of control.
Chapter 43
Sam’s hand trembled as she gripped the lion’s head knocker. It mocked her with its bronze teeth bared, as if snarling at her for being beneath it. One, two, three bangs of the metal handle before the door creaked open.
“Miss Stanton! You’re like a celebrity in these parts,” Guadalupe exclaimed upon seeing her. She stood in the gap, surprised to find the most unexpected company to dawn Thomas Cook’s doorstep, today of all days. “Come inside.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I just need to speak with Thomas—Dr. Cook—for a moment. I’ll be quick.”
Guadalupe glanced up and down the street. “No, really, Miss Stanton, this might be a conversation best had behind closed doors.”
Sam played enough Clue to know that house staff wasn’t always so innocent. Would Sam die from a bludgeoning at the hand of the housekeeper, in the library, with a candlestick?
She wasn’t fond of the idea of locking herself inside with a man who might want her dead in a house so big that even the next-door neighbor wouldn’t be able to hear her scream. But something about Guadalupe felt trustworthy, so she stepped inside. Guadalupe disappeared, and returning in her wake was Thomas Cook looking as haggard and helpless as a stray dog.
“I never thought I’d see you again. Come,” he insisted, gesturing her to follow him to the formal living room.
Further into the mammoth house she went, wondering what kind of hiding places this house had to stash a body, and what the sound range was if an echo could reach Guadalupe’s ears.
“Are you here to finish me off? Destroy what’s left of me?” Thomas cut to the chase. It was what made him so menacing, his ability to put tact aside for the sake of brevity.
“I should ask you the same question. I know you own Women’s House Magazine,” Sam started with.
“Owned. Past tense,” he corrected. “It’s been dissolved.”
“Right. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“It was just business. A financial loss.”
