Chapter 3: The Yellow Glove on the Counter
The kitchen was cooler than the main room. The recessed lights were white and even, and the marble island threw back a clean reflection. Mrs. Keller had taken Sofia to the small breakfast nook and was pouring her apple juice with her back to us, giving us space without leaving. I stood near the sink with my hands in front of me, the yellow glove still on my right hand, the left bare. The damp had dried but the abrasion still stung every time I flexed my wrist.
Alessandro didn't sit. He stood across the island from me, his black suit jacket unbuttoned now, his tie still perfectly knotted. He had left Bianca in the front hall with the French doors closed. I could see her white dress through the blue-tinted glass if I turned my head, but I didn't.
"Tell me from the start," he said. "No rush."
I took a breath that shook a little at the end. "I was cleaning the baseboard by the doors. Ms. Bianca came in with the jug. She said I missed a scuff. I said I would get it. She tipped the water over my hand. When I pulled back, she held my wrist. She said if I told anyone, my daughter would disappear."
He listened without interrupting, his eyes steady, his breathing audible and slow. When I finished, he nodded once.
"Did anyone else hear her say that?" he asked.
"Only me up close," I said. "Sofia heard something, but not that. She only saw."
"And before today?" he asked. "Has she spoken to you like that before?"
I looked down at the glove. "Small things. That I was slow. That I should be grateful to work here. Never like this. Never about Sofia."
He reached for his phone, then stopped. "May I take a photo of your wrist? For a record. Not to show anyone right now. Just so we have it."
I hesitated, then peeled the yellow glove off. The skin underneath was paler, pruned from moisture, and the red scrape above the wrist bone looked angrier without the bright yellow next to it. He held his phone steady, took two photos, no flash, then set it face down.
"Thank you," he said. He picked up a clean kitchen towel, ran it under cool water, wrung it, and slid it across the island toward me. "You can hold this on it."
I pressed the cool cloth to the mark and the sting eased a fraction. In the nook, Sofia took a sip of juice and Mrs. Keller quietly opened a drawer, took out a small ice pack, and brought it over without being asked. She set it beside me and gave my shoulder a quick, light pat.
Alessandro watched that exchange, then looked at me again. "Where do you and Sofia live?" he asked.
"The apartment above the garage," I said. "It's part of the job."
He absorbed that. "And her school?"
"Jefferson Elementary. Second grade pickup line at three. The bus doesn't come up the hill."
"Who picks her up?" he asked.
"I do, or Mrs. Keller if I'm on late shift," I said. I felt the old fear spike. "That was why what she said — I couldn't —"
"I understand," he said quickly. "Nothing will happen at the school. Mrs. Keller will do pickup this week no matter what your shift is. I'll tell the front office that only you or Mrs. Keller are authorized."
I felt my eyes sting, but I kept the cloth pressed and nodded. The ice pack sat untouched; I didn't want Sofia to see it and worry.
From the hall, Bianca's voice carried faintly, not words, just a sharp tone like she was on the phone. Alessandro glanced toward the sound, then back.
"I told her the wedding is canceled," he said, more to himself than to me. "That stands. I need you to stay on the property tonight, but you won't serve her. You won't be alone with her. If she approaches you, you come find me or Mrs. Keller."
"What about the job?" I asked. It came out smaller than I wanted. "If the house —"
"Your job isn't dependent on her," he said. "It is dependent on me. And I need you to be accurate with me going forward, not agreeable."
I swallowed. "I will be."
He picked up his phone again, typed a short message, then looked up. "I'm going to have Mrs. Keller walk you and Sofia to your apartment. Lock the door. I'll handle Bianca leaving the main house tonight. We'll talk again in the morning, with more light, and figure out the next steps."
In the nook, Sofia had finished her juice. She slid off the bench and came to stand by my leg, looking up at my face. I put my bare hand on her head. She reached for my other hand, saw the cloth, and frowned.
"It's just water," I told her softly. "It will be fine."
Alessandro watched us, his stern expression easing for the first time into something tired and grave. He stepped back from the island, giving us room to pass.
May you like
"Mrs. Keller," he said, "will you take them?"
Mrs. Keller was already holding the side door open, keys in hand. She nodded. I folded the towel, left the yellow glove on the counter next to the crystal jug that someone had carried in from the main room and set by the sink, and took Sofia's hand with my good one. At the doorway I glanced back. The jug was empty and perfectly clear in the kitchen light, and Alessandro was still standing at the island, phone in hand, looking at the French doors where Bianca's white shape waited, as if deciding exactly what he would say to make her leave without another scene.
