Chapter 2 - The Scent of Lavender
The grandfather clock in our foyer chimed twelve times as I turned the brass deadbolt and stepped into the house.
The smell of lavender and lemon bleach hit me instantly.
The living room had been scrubbed. The gray blanket was gone, undoubtedly tossed into the washing machine in the basement. The two wine glasses were missing from the coffee table. The brass coasters had been polished, aligned at strict ninety-degree angles against the edge of the dark wood.
On the kitchen island, a fresh pot of French press coffee was steaming. Next to it sat a white bakery box from the patisserie downtown—the one Caleb only visited when he felt guilty.
"Claire?"
Caleb emerged from the hallway leading to his home office. He was wearing an ironed navy polo, his dark hair damp from the shower, smelling aggressively of mint body wash. He looked handsome. He looked like the man I had married on a windy cliffside in Maine, promising to weather every storm together.
He walked over, his arms extended, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
I didn't pull away. I let his lips brush my skin, feeling the icy detachment of an undercover agent greeting a target. His mouth was warm. His chest was steady. He didn't even have the decency to tremble.
"You look exhausted," he murmured, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "North Borough was rough?"
"Tax reconciliations are always rough," I said, setting my purse down on the granite counter. "You're home early."
"Cancelled my morning site visits," he said smoothly, walking around the island to pour me a mug of coffee. "I hated the way we left things on the phone. You sounded off, honey. I wanted to make sure we had lunch together. I picked up those almond croissants you love from Marcel’s."
He pushed the box toward me with a gentle, self-deprecating smile. The classic Caleb charm. The boyish humility that made everyone in our neighborhood think he was the gold standard of suburban husbands.
"That was thoughtful," I said. "Where’s the gray throw blanket? The living room looks bare."
His hand paused on the handle of the coffee mug. Just a millisecond. Then he smiled, shaking his head. "Spilled some coffee on it this morning while I was checking emails. Threw it in the wash before it set a stain."
"Ah." I took a sip of the coffee. It tasted like ash. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a rock," he said without blinking. "Though the couch wasn't kind to my back. I fell asleep reading market reports out there around ten. Woke up with a crick in my neck."
He looked directly into my eyes as he said it.
No hesitation. No tell. If I hadn't stood three feet from his sleeping face at midnight, watching his fingers curled beneath Tessa Vance's tank top, I would have believed him. I would have felt bad for making him sleep on the couch. I would have offered him an aspirin and a shoulder massage.
The sheer sociopathy of it sent a thrill of cold adrenaline through my veins.
"By the way," Caleb added casually, leaning back against the sink with his mug between his hands, "Tessa stopped by earlier."
My heart gave one sharp, heavy beat. "Did she?"
"Yeah. Around nine." He gave a dismissive little laugh. "Her kitchen sink is leaking again. That idiot landlord of hers refuses to send a plumber. She wanted to know if I could lend her my pipe wrench."
"Did you?"
"Told her I’d take a look after dinner tonight if I have time," he said, taking a sip. "She felt terrible about interrupting. Said she knocked on the door late last night to ask if we had any extra drain cleaner, but the house was dark so she went home."
He was closing the loop.
He was retroactively explaining why Tessa’s scent might linger in the foyer, or why a neighbor might have seen her walking up our driveway. He was building the wall brick by brick right in front of me, daring me to challenge a reality he had already manicured.
"That was nice of her," I said softly. "She’s lucky to have such a handy neighbor."
"We look out for people, Claire. That’s who we are." He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers were cool. "Speaking of looking out for the future... did you have a chance to look over that Vanguard bridge loan agreement?"
There it was. The hook beneath the bait.
"I have the paperwork in my briefcase," I said. "I’m going to run the amortization tables tonight after work."
His smile widened, genuine relief washing over his features. "You’re an angel. Once this River Street project clears rezoning, the payout will set us up for the next five years. We can finally take that trip to Amalfi. Just the two of us."
"Amalfi sounds wonderful," I replied.
A sharp knock rattled our side door—the one leading through the breezeway to the adjoining driveway.
Before Caleb could move, the door swung open.
Tessa stood on the threshold. She was wearing high-waisted linen trousers, a silk cream camisole, and a cardigan draped artfully over one shoulder. Her hair was styled in loose, beachy waves, and her perfume—jasmine and musk—drifted into the kitchen like a toxic vapor.
"Oh!" Tessa stopped, her hand flying to her throat in an exquisite show of embarrassment. "Claire! You’re home! I am so sorry, the side door was unlocked and Caleb said earlier that—"
"Tessa," I said, cutting through her breathy apologies with a razor-thin smile. "Come in. Caleb was just telling me about your plumbing problems."
Her eyes darted to Caleb for a fraction of a second. Caleb remained leaning against the counter, perfectly relaxed, giving her an encouraging nod that screamed: *Everything is fine. The mark suspects nothing.*
"It’s a disaster," Tessa sighed, walking into my kitchen as if she owned the title deed. "Water everywhere under the cabinet. I feel like such a nuisance, always bothering you two."
"You’re never a nuisance, Tessa," I said smoothly, stepping toward the kitchen island and picking up the bakery box. "Here. Have an almond croissant. Caleb bought them to celebrate."
Tessa blinked, her manicured fingers hesitating over the box. "Celebrate? Celebrate what?"
I looked at Caleb, whose eyes widened by a millimeter in sudden, frantic alarm.
May you like
"Celebrate our new investment," I said, holding his gaze with absolute serenity. "Caleb and I are expanding our portfolio. Isn't that right, darling?"
***
