Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Kept the RecordsJune Parker called at 6:14 the following morning.
I recognized her voice immediately.
"Mr. Mercer, I need to tell you something."
"Where are you?"
"At my sister's apartment."
"Are you safe?"
A pause.
"Yes. But I've been dismissed."
My stomach sank.
"For helping us?"
"Mr. Victor says I violated the family's confidentiality policy."
"You gave me a seating chart."
"I also refused to sign a statement."
I stood beside the kitchen sink.
"What statement?"
"One saying Miss Rosie fell because she was running."
I gripped the counter.
"Did you see Celeste grab her?"
"Yes."
"Then why are they asking you to lie?"
June breathed slowly.
"Because I saw what happened before that, too."
I sat down.
She explained that Celeste had spent nearly twenty minutes alone with Rosie before the banquet began.
At first, June thought nothing of it.
Celeste had brought Oliver downstairs.
Both children were dressed for the celebration.
Rosie had been excited about the rainbow dress Hannah's closest friend had bought for her birthday.
Then June heard raised voices outside the pantry.
Celeste was telling Rosie that the gold chair at the head table belonged to the Whitcomb family.
Rosie answered that her mommy had sat there.
Celeste became furious.
"She told Rosie that children who took things from their family needed to learn consequences," June said.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"What did Rosie do?"
"She cried."
"Did anyone intervene?"
"I tried."
June's voice broke.
"Mrs. Celeste told me to remember who paid my wages."
I closed my eyes.
Seventeen years.
June had worked in that mansion longer than I'd known Hannah.
She'd prepared meals for the family.
Helped host birthdays.
Stayed late during funerals.
And now she'd lost her job because she refused to lie about a little girl.
"June, I'm sorry."
"No. I should have spoken sooner."
"Sooner?"
There was silence.
Then she said, "The gala wasn't the first time."
My stomach dropped.
June described a Christmas gathering eight months earlier.
Rosie had asked to sit beside Oliver during dessert.
Celeste told her she couldn't join the family photograph until she'd changed out of her inexpensive red sweater.
At the time, I'd been outside taking a call about a broken heating system at my workshop.
When I returned, Rosie was sitting beside the coatroom.
Celeste told me she'd been tired.
I believed her.
June remembered another afternoon during a family lunch.
Rosie had been told not to enter Hannah's childhood bedroom.
She'd stood outside the locked door, crying quietly.
And once, Celeste had pulled a ribbon from Rosie's hair because she said Hannah used to wear it.
I remembered that afternoon.
Rosie came home without her ribbon.
She told me she'd lost it.
I felt suddenly sick.
"Why didn't anybody tell me?"
June's voice shook.
"I thought you knew."
The words hit harder than an accusation.
Maybe I should have.
I'd noticed Rosie getting quiet whenever we drove past the Whitcomb property.
I'd noticed her sudden stomachaches before family dinners.
I'd noticed the way she clung to my hand when Celeste approached.
Every time, I'd explained it away.
Grief.
Shyness.
A little girl's adjustment to losing her mother.
It had been easier to believe those explanations than to confront another member of Hannah's family.
June continued.
"I kept records."
I straightened.
"What kind?"
"Dates. Incidents. Names of staff present."
"Why?"
"Mrs. Vivian made me promise something before she died."
I looked toward the photograph of Hannah hanging beside our kitchen doorway.
"What?"
"That if the family ever mistreated either of her daughters or her grandchildren, I wouldn't pretend I hadn't seen it."
A lump rose in my throat.
"Do you still have those notes?"
"Yes."
"June, would you be willing to speak with my attorney?"
"I already packed everything."
"You don't have to meet us somewhere public."
"I know."
She hesitated.
Then said, "There's something else."
I waited.
"After everyone left the banquet room, Mr. Victor told the security supervisor to preserve only the footage beginning when the statue fell."
My pulse accelerated.
"Did he delete the rest?"
"I don't know."
"Can you find out?"
"No. I've lost access to the property."
I rubbed my forehead.
That missing footage could prove exactly what Celeste had done.
Without it, we had a bruised child, one witness, and an edited video spreading across the internet.
June lowered her voice.
"But there may be another recording."
"From where?"
"The service corridor."
I frowned.
"That camera points at the kitchen."
"It also captures the reflection in the glass doors across the banquet room."
I held my breath.
"Who controls it?"
June's reply was immediate.
May you like
"The outside catering company."
And unlike the mansion's security system, that camera wasn't under Victor Whitcomb's control.
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