The Drowned Woman. Terry Thomas Lynn

please,’ I said to Daphne.

      ‘Fabulous.’ She hooked her arm in mine. ‘We’ll start with the gardens.’

      * * *

      ‘I try to get out here and tend to these beds myself, but it has been so hot these past few weeks, I’ve only been able to work in the early morning.’

      ‘How many horses do you have?’ We had strolled among the gardens in front of the house, through a rose garden nestled in the middle of a grove of shade trees, and were now sitting on a bench under the gnarled limbs of a majestic oak tree amid ferns, hydrangea, and other shade-loving plants that I did not recognize.

      ‘I have four, all told. Seadrift is my favorite. I bought him when he was a two-year old and broke him myself. I give lessons to the local children.’ She stopped as I wiped the sweat which ran down my face. ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I’m just not used to the heat,’ I explained. ‘Zeke and I live near the bay, so it doesn’t get this hot.’

      ‘Let’s head back,’ Daphne said. ‘We are desperate for rain. One of these days the sky will break open, and we will get a little relief.’

      Daphne pointed out the various plants and trees as we walked.

      ‘It will be cool in the house,’ Daphne said. An elderly woman waited for us in the doorway. She wore a lightweight floral housedress – perfect for this scorching heat – with her silvery-blue hair tucked into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Sparkling eyes smiled out of her plump face.

      ‘Welcome, Mrs Caen,’ she said.

      ‘Please, call me Sarah.’

      We were in a long entry hall. No rug graced the hardwood floor. The whitewashed walls made the room seem cool. Off to the right, a sweeping staircase led the way to the second storey. A cool breeze tickled my bare skin, as though a fan were blowing on us.

      ‘Sarah, meet Mrs Griswold. She takes care of us,’ Daphne said.

      ‘And you look like you’re about to have a heat stroke,’ Mrs Griswold said. ‘If you want to take her up, Daphne, I’ll bring lemonade.’

      ‘Is there a fan somewhere?’ I asked Daphne, after Mrs Griswold had left us.

      ‘No, but it feels like it. It’s the design of the house.’ We headed up the stairs, taking our time. Daphne kept her eye on me, as if she was afraid I’d keel over. ‘We have a cupola on the third floor. If we open the windows up there, and open the front and back door, the heat in the house gets sucked up the stairs. That, plus all the big oaks around the house, gives us shade. Simon has begged his father to install an air-conditioning system, but Will Sr won’t hear of it.’

      The top of the stairs opened into a sitting area. A picture window overlooked the vast acreage surrounding the house, with a good view of the stables. Four chairs circled a low coffee table, with a sofa positioned under the window. Books and magazines, along with a few picture books and reading primers, were scattered about the room. In the corner, a toy train set waited for Toby.

      ‘What a charming room,’ I said.

      ‘Thanks,’ Daphne said.

      ‘Did you do the decorating?’

      ‘Yes,’ Daphne said. ‘I must confess I read lots of design books and magazines. If I were a career woman, I would be an interior decorator. I like studying people and creating their surroundings. Your room is this way.’ The hallway had windows along one wall with a narrow staircase in the middle of the landing. ‘That staircase leads to the cupola I was telling you about. The view from up there is stunning, but it is as hot as an oven.’

      We stopped before a large door, with a heavy brass handle and a skeleton key – also of brass – in the lock. Daphne unlocked the door, handed the key to me, and led me into a spacious sitting room decorated in earth tones. A well-worn rug covered the wood floors, and the French doors, which stood open now, allowed the summer breeze to flow through the room. More French doors opened into the bedroom, which held a four-poster bed set high off the ground. This room also had access to the covered porch.

      ‘I recommend closing the doors and curtains that lead to the porch by ten o’clock in the morning. We’ve left them open today to air the room. You don’t realize how precious this cool air is until afternoon, when the heat can be a bit stifling.’ She shut the doors and closed the curtains. ‘This was Zeke’s room,’ Daphne said. ‘I’ve changed it up a bit, painted it, new furniture, curtains and the like.’ A small fireplace with a white marble hearth was set in the middle of the wall. On one side, a work table held my typewriter and office supplies, all unpacked and ready for me to use.

      Daphne spoke, but her words faded into the background. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of Rachel Caen. She wore the same dress she had on when she appeared before me just a few hours before at our flat in Sausalito. The emeralds sparkled around her neck as though they had a life of their own. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in honey-colored waves. Her expression suggested hidden mirth, as though she thought the whole idea of the portrait a joke. I could not take my eyes away.

      ‘That’s my sister-in-law, Rachel. She’s gone now, but she was very dear to me. The artist captured her expression so well, it’s almost as if Rachel … Forgive me. I’m getting maudlin.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and turned her attention to the small round table with two chairs nestled in the corner, topped with a tablecloth and empty cups and saucers.

      ‘I thought you and Zeke might want coffee in here in the morning.’ Daphne wouldn’t meet my eyes. She twisted her hair into a bun and surveyed the room. ‘Is the room okay? I want you to be comfortable.’

      ‘Everything is perfect,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much.’

      ‘I’m so envious that you are able to actually have a meaningful job,’ Daphne said. ‘I would love to work, but Mother forbade me to even think of it as a child. Simon wouldn’t care if I got a job, but Will Sr would not approve.’

      ‘Well, I was forced into it,’ I said. ‘I had to earn my living.’

      ‘I know. I read about you in the papers, starting with Jack Bennett, and then that woman who wanted to kill her husband. Are you a detective, too?’

      ‘Some people say a proper lady’s name should appear in the newspaper three times: upon her birth, her marriage and her death.’ I met Daphne’s gaze head on. ‘I have given up any notion of being a proper lady.’

      ‘I like to think you’ve paved the way, made it a little easier for those who are coming behind you. But enough of that. I want to hear about your job. Surely you don’t need to earn your living now?’

      ‘I like to work,’ I said.

      ‘Ah, an independent streak.’ The smile had come back into Daphne’s eyes. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I hope we shall be great friends.’

      ‘Do you dress for dinner?’ I opened the wardrobe. Daphne and I surveyed my meager collection of clothes, which now hung on cedar hangers.

      ‘These are lovely.’ She ran her fingers over the fabric of my emerald dress and the black Lanvin gown. ‘They’ll be perfect for dinner, but if you need anything else, I’ve got things you can borrow.’

      I longed for Daphne to say goodbye and leave me alone, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she moved around the room, fluffing pillows, fiddling with the lamps, straightening a picture that didn’t need it.

      ‘Sarah, are you and Zeke planning on staying here? Simon thinks Zeke is going to take over the business. He’s not very happy that Zeke’s come back.’

      ‘Oh, no. We have a business and a home in Sausalito. We just needed to get away. It’s a long story, and I think Zeke should be the one to tell you why we came.’

      ‘That’s a relief. My husband has the ridiculous idea that Zeke intends on taking over the business and ousting him in