Karen had her own key but after letting us in, she went directly upstairs, leaving me fend for myself in the empty hall. Mrs. Waterman, the cook heard our entrance and came out of the kitchen. She was surprised to find me alone. She wore a coat, about to leave, but instead she led me to the room where I'd first met Timmy and Karen.
"Karen went upstairs," I said before she asked. I extended my hand and introduced myself.
"I was just going to hop by the hospital to see Mrs. Doberchek before cooking dinner. Mr. North and Timmy are due home from the hospital. I'll wait until they get here."
"No, you go ahead. I'll be fine."
"Oh, no. That wouldn't be proper." She began to take off her coat. "Will you be staying the night? I'm sorry things are so confusing with Mrs. Doberchek's absence. May I get you a cup of tea or something to drink?"
I understood shooing her out would be a gaff in the social-etiquette bible, but her hovering made me nervous. Karen's hasty departure had already deepened my troubled state of mind. The sound of an automobile in the drive interrupted us. We both stood at the front door as a three-vehicle convoy pulled up. Paul emerged from the first limo while two white-clad figures alighted from the middle vehicle of the parade. The growing group was joined by Thatcher Wright and the chauffeur who opened the limo trunk and produced a wheelchair. Timmy climbed out of the back seat of the limo with Paul's assistance. As I moved to meet father and son, Karen who had silently returned, passed me and joined the pair. In deference to the family, I stood back as happy greetings were exchanged.
As Timmy was pushed past me, his head swathed in bandage, he looked up and smiled. "I got a bad bump," he said. "And stitches too."
I patted his shoulder. "Yes, you did brave guy." He beamed.
Paul kissed my cheek, thanking me, and saying he'd be down in a few minutes. The group ascended the stairs with the chauffeur carrying the wheelchair, leaving only Thatcher and Mrs. Brewster behind. She hurried away, excusing herself to make coffee. I glared at Thatcher Wright, not sure what to say.
"Were the clothes adequate, Mrs. Blanding?" he asked with a smile.
I ignored his question. "Why didn't you tell Paul I asked to stay at a hotel? He thinks I stayed here." The smile vanished and I immediately I felt a tad sorry for my blunt accusation but I'd lost patience playing games. I was determined to clear the slate of dishonesty regardless of the repercussions.