Chapter 7 - The Dawn at Corsini House
By six o'clock in the morning, the state police cars had filled the long driveway, their red and blue lights flashing against the wet bark of the hemlock trees.
Two stretchers were wheeled out through the front entrance.
Mr. Vance went first, his hand wrapped in thick white bandages, his face pale as milk as two detectives in dark coats walked beside him.
Martin Doyle went second, strapped down to a board, a white plastic neck brace holding his head straight while a state trooper carried his heavy tweed jacket in an evidence bag.
Sadie sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase, wrapped in a massive navy wool blanket that smelled of Julian’s cedar wardrobe.
She had a mug of hot coffee between her hands.
Mrs. Abernathy was standing near the pantry door, her arms crossed over her apron, watching the troopers move back and forth with cardboard boxes of files from Vance’s office.
"I told you," Mrs. Abernathy muttered, stepping over to Sadie’s side. "I told you the silence in this house was dangerous."
Sadie took a slow sip of her coffee. "The silence is gone, Mrs. Abernathy."
"Aye," the old cook agreed softly, looking up toward the second-floor landing. "It certainly is."
Julian descended the stairs.
He had changed his clothes. He wore a fresh charcoal suit, a dark blue tie, and his hair was combed back with its usual mathematical precision.
He stopped three steps above where Sadie sat.
The state police captain—a tall man named Miller with silver hair and an expensive raincoat—walked over to the foot of the stairs.
"We have Vance’s confession on tape, Julian," Captain Miller said. "He admits to the embezzlement in 2003 and the setup at the diner. Doyle’s looking at twenty-five to life for the shooting and the attempted arson last month."
Julian nodded once. "And the items?"
"Vance had them in his safe at the lodge," Miller said, pulling a small plastic bag from his pocket. Inside were four small objects: a silver tie clip, a matchbook, a cuff link, and an old record sleeve with a cracked corner. "He was using them to remind himself that he had cleared the ledger."
Julian took the plastic bag. He looked down at the cheap silver objects for three long seconds.
"Thank you, Henry," Julian said softly.
The captain looked at Sadie, then back at Julian, a small, knowing smile touching his lips before he turned and walked out through the heavy double doors into the gray morning light.
The front hall was quiet once more.
Julian stepped down off the last oak tread. He stood before Sadie, his shadow falling warm and heavy across her knees.
"You should be in bed," he said.
"I'm off the clock, Mr. Corsini," Sadie replied, her voice soft but steady.
Julian reached out, his broad hand coming down onto her blanket-covered shoulder.
"You are no longer the housekeeper, Sadie," he said.
Sadie looked up into his gray eyes. "I'm not?"
"No," Julian said smoothly. "You are entirely too dangerous to have near the china. You broke my security chief's nose with an antique paperweight and ruined a seven-thousand-dollar Persian rug."
Sadie felt her heart stall. "Are you firing me?"
Julian leaned down.
He brought his face inches from hers, his voice dropping into that thick, velvety rumble that made her toes curl inside her gray wool socks.
"I am appointing you," Julian whispered, "as the head of household entertainment."
Sadie blinked. "Entertainment?"
May you like
Julian pulled a small white card from his suit pocket and slid it into her coffee mug handle.
"Your first duty," he said, turning toward the dining room, "is to select an album for breakfast. And please, Sadie... pick something with a rhythm you can actually dance to."
