Just a visitor, she told herself. Plus, it was only five o’clock. It was still light outside. This woman was not attempting to hide anything. But just in case, Rachel slipped a pair of scissors into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Mom?” Eric was in his room. His voice was nervous, scared. Rachel could count the number of people who’d knocked on their door since they’d arrived in Ashby on one hand. Maybe even one finger.
“It’s all right, hon,” she said, her voice calm and even. More for him than her. “I got it.”
Rachel peered around the edge of the curtain and saw a woman standing alone on the front step. She was in her late thirties, trim, brown hair tied in a neat bun, her cheeks with a slight rouge tint. She wore a gray blazer over a white blouse with a black skirt. A classy string of pearls was looped around her neck, and her diamond earrings were small yet elegant. Her posture was impeccable, the look on her face patient and pleasant. Rachel figured she was either a Jehovah’s Witness or selling Amway.
Rachel took a breath, placed her left hand on the handle of the scissors, and opened the door with her right. The woman’s smile grew wider.
“Ms. Marin,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Constance Wright. I’m the mayor of Ashby.” She held out a bottle of wine wrapped in yellow paper. “Chardonnay from my father’s vineyard.”
Rachel took the wine and closed her jaw. She knew nothing about the woman’s politics, policies, or background. In fact, she had no interest in anything other than surviving. But for some reason, the mayor was standing at Rachel’s door.
“Rachel,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Mayor. Or Mrs. Mayor. Or Ms. Wright. What do I call you?”
Wright laughed sincerely. “You can call me Constance. May I come in?”
Rachel hesitated for a moment, then motioned for Wright to enter. The mayor took off her shoes and placed them gently by the front door.
“New carpeting,” she said, sniffing the air. “Don’t want your rug to smell like the campaign trail.”
“And what exactly does a campaign trail smell like?” Rachel asked.
“Money and insincerity,” Wright replied with a wicked smile. She looked around. “You have a lovely home.”
Rachel laughed. “If we ever finish unpacking, we will.”
“Take your time. Although that chardonnay goes perfect with unpacking.”
“So are you here to . . . ,” Rachel said delicately, “campaign?”
“No, no. Though I do try to meet all my constituents, I know your family is new to Ashby, and, well, I just wanted to come by and see how you all were settling in.”
Rachel heard soft footsteps approaching, and they both turned to the stairwell. Eric stood at the top, hand gripping the banister so hard his fingertips were white.
“Eric, am I right?”
Eric nodded.
How did she know that? Rachel’s hand went back to the scissors.
“Well, Eric, my name is Constance, and I’m just here to see how your family is settling in. Are you liking it here so far?”
Eric nodded imperceptibly but did not take his eyes off Constance Wright.
“Constance is the mayor,” Rachel said. Eric’s eyes widened, but he remained silent. Then he went back to his room.
“And if I’m correct, you have a little one too. Megan, right?”
Rachel nodded.
“How old?”
“She’s four,” Rachel said. “Do you have any children, May . . . Constance?”
“Not just yet. But one day, if Nicholas and I are so lucky.” Wright smiled, but Rachel could detect a twinge of sadness. Something told Rachel the question had hit a nerve. The mayor wanted children, but perhaps infertility, an unsupportive spouse, or another factor had prevented it.
“Can I offer you something? Coffee or tea?” Rachel prayed she would decline.
“No, thank you,” Wright said with a smile. “Trying to cut back on my caffeine.”
“Well then, we appreciate you stopping by, Constance,” Rachel said. She eyed the door and hoped Wright would pick up on the gesture.
“Of course. Two kids, I can imagine how busy you are,” Wright said, walking back toward the front door. “Like I said, it’s very important for me to meet my constituents.”
“Well, now we’ve met.”
Wright nodded. “Yes, we have. Did you know we have a friend in common?”
“Is that so?”
“Jim Franklin. At Franklin and Rosato, in Darien.”
Rachel’s heart rate blasted to over a hundred beats a minute. She felt a cold shiver at the nape of her neck. Her body went rigid.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Constance said softly. “In fact, the opposite. The real reason I came by today is to let you know that you’ll be safe here.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Jim Franklin contacted the FBI field office in Springfield several months ago. That office oversees the western part of the state, which includes Ashby. The FBI briefed me as soon as you made an offer on this house.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. But we protect our own in Ashby. I know what your family has been through. You have my office’s resources at your disposal. And if you ever need anything . . . anything . . . call my personal cell phone.”
Wright handed Rachel her card. Rachel took it, her hand trembling. A phone number was scrawled in black ink on the back.
Rachel’s lip trembled. A tear formed in the corner of her eye.
Wright placed her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “You’ll like it here. And I’ll tell you what. I have a fund-raiser coming up in a few weeks at Rhinebeck Hall. I don’t want a penny from you. But this is a great way to meet people. To be a part of the community. I have a feeling that it’ll be good for you. Have a few drinks. A laugh or two. A reason to get dressed up. My office will send over the details.”
“Th . . . thank you, Ms. Wright.”
“Constance,” she said, opening the door. “Give my best to Eric and Megan. They’re lucky to have you as a mother.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said. She noticed Wright’s hand. “That’s a lovely ring.”
Constance held up her left hand. Adorning her index finger was a silver ring with a large topaz gemstone in the center.
“My father gave this to me when I got married. He told me Nicholas’s ring was for love, and this one was for family. I feel complete when I wear them both.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Take care, Ms. Marin.”
“Call me Rachel.”
Constance smiled warmly. “I hope to see you soon, Rachel.”
Then she left.
As the door slammed shut, Rachel let out a massive sob and wiped her eyes.
She watched Constance Wright climb into a silver Mercedes C-Class. Wright lowered the window and waved back at Rachel, the brilliant topaz gemstone glistening in the spring sun.
CHAPTER 9
Today
“How was the date?” Liesl asked with the wide-eyed naive smile of a high schooler who likely assumed every first date led to marriage.