I don’t know what she is doing here, but if I tell Margo she is my housekeeper, she will probably make me fire her. It’s so hard to find good help. Plus, Graham really does like her cooking. Luckily, my housekeeper looks just as shocked to see me as I am to see her, and I think she is just as keen to keep our connection secret.
Margo grips my housekeeper’s elbow as she waves the sage over her head. Margo has pressed pause on her skin routine and aged at least ten years. Deep lines squiggle in snakelike patterns across her face. There are dark circles under her eyes.
She loved Bean but it’s more than that. I remember what Graham told me about the last dog: clones and shock treatments. It’s about more than a dog. It’s about control. Margo is used to controlling everything: the light, the mood, the weather. She is so used to getting her way that she can’t stand to lose anything.
“Bean is dead.”
My stomach drops. “I— What? Why do you say that?”
“Viola told me.” She squeezes my housekeeper’s hand. I can’t remember her name off the top of my head but I don’t think it was Viola. It was something too pretty for her.
“I don’t know how she could know that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“She’s a psychic,” Margo says. “Don’t be fucking obtuse.”
I want to ask this next question privately but Margo is clinging to this woman like she will fall without her. “Where did you two meet?”
“She showed up at the house this morning. She said she had a vision of Bean. She described her exactly. Didn’t you?” Margo shakes her wrist encouragingly. My housekeeper killed the dog. Then she left it on our doorstep. Some housekeeper!
Now she’s using Bean to climb the ranks. It happens all the time when you have money. Your staff gets ideas about moving up. She killed the dog—maybe on purpose, maybe by accident—and where others would see a body, she saw an opportunity. Why be a housekeeper in a glass house when you could be a psychic in a castle? I don’t begrudge her it. I like a diverse résumé. But she had better keep cleaning my house.
Margo grips her arm, desperate, then wails, “She said Bean was crying out for me . . . in hell!” I don’t know what terrible things Bean could have done to deserve that fate.
“I didn’t think you believed in hell,” I say.
Margo rolls her eyes at me. “She knew things about Bean that no one could know.”
I have always found that rich people are ridiculously inclined to believe in fate. I guess because they like to believe that the providence of their wealth is divine, to justify hoarding it. Still, this is a wild pivot for Margo. She looks completely mad. She’s going to ruin Graham’s party.
I am tempted to expose the reason my housekeeper knows so much, but of course that would implicate me and Graham. I would be punished. I’m pretty sure Graham wouldn’t.
I turn to my housekeeper. “And how do we get her out of hell?” Might as well be proactive.
“It’s a punishment.” Her voice is deeper than I remembered, more portentous. She is really taking to this role. I recognize the star and the moon and the cactus around her neck. She has added a guitar, a branch and a cowboy boot. “Someone in this house has done something terrible, and Bean is being punished for it.”
“No!” Margo moans. She’s a mess.
“This is Margo’s house,” I point out. I like the idea of Margo being punished.
“Not here.” My housekeeper shakes her head with witchery. She presses her chipped nails against her temple. “I’m seeing a fountain.”
What exactly is she playing at? I hired her after Elvira died. Maybe she spoke to the previous maid? Or maybe there was evidence we left behind; maybe she found it when she was cleaning and is using it to fuck with us.
“A girl died in the fountain,” Margo says before I can shut her up. I am pretty sure she has paired her grief with a very strong cocktail of drugs.
“That’s it!” My housekeeper waves her hand decisively through the air. “This whole house is cursed.”
I set my jaw. “How can we lift the curse?”
She meets my eyes. “You can’t. It’s too late for that.”
“Elvira,” I say. “Her name was Elvira. She was my friend.”
“We all loved her dearly,” Margo interjects, undermining my sincerity. “It was terrible, what happened . . . but it wasn’t Bean’s fault!”
“Everyone will be punished,” my housekeeper says. How ridiculous! As if a curse could ever take them down. Hell has nothing on these people.