Chapter 2 - Helena Had Written Down Every Date
Helena did not accuse Claire immediately.
That was one reason Grant trusted her.
Instead, she went to the small desk beside the nursery window and opened the plain black notebook she used for Oliver’s daily routine.
Feeding times.
Naps.
Baths.
Temperature.
Mood.
Medication when required.
Nothing dramatic.
But six weeks earlier, Helena had begun adding tiny stars beside certain dates.
Grant leaned over her shoulder.
“What are those?”
“The days I found pins.”
Four stars.
Four dates.
Helena placed the newly discovered pin beside the previous three.
Every one was identical—short, silver-colored, with a flattened round head instead of the colored plastic heads used in normal sewing kits.
“Where did you find the others?”
Helena pointed to the notebook.
“First one was inside the outer hem of his cardigan.”
“Second?”
“Under the folded edge of a blanket.”
“Third?”
“Inside the cuff of his blue jacket.”
“And none touched him?”
“Never.”
Grant frowned.
That mattered.
If someone wanted to physically hurt Oliver, the pins were being placed strangely badly for that purpose.
They were hidden.
But safely hidden.
Almost deliberately safe.
“What happened on those days?”
Helena was quiet.
Then she turned several pages.
“Oliver had difficult days.”
Grant looked at her.
“Meaning?”
“The first time, his favorite pacifier disappeared before his afternoon nap.”
Claire shifted in the chair.
Grant noticed.
Helena continued.
“The second time, someone changed his nap schedule in the household calendar. I thought you had requested it.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“What about the third?”
“His white-noise machine had been unplugged before I brought him down.”
Grant looked at Oliver, now resting his cheek against his father’s chest.
“And today?”
Helena looked toward the crib.
“He was woken early.”
“How do you know?”
“I put him down forty minutes ago. When I came back from warming his bottle, the curtains were open and the mobile was running.”
Oliver only tolerated the mobile when fully awake. If started while he slept, the music often startled him.
Grant looked at Claire.
She folded her arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
“No one accused you yet,” Grant said.
Claire stopped.
That was the second mistake.
Helena turned the notebook toward Grant.
Beside each starred date, another pattern appeared.
A household incident report.
On each of those evenings, Claire had sent Grant a short message concerning Helena.
Oliver unsettled most of today. Helena seems overwhelmed.
Nap routine inconsistent again. Might need review.
Found Oliver distressed after Helena left nursery.
Maybe we should reconsider whether one nanny is enough.
Grant remembered the messages.
At the time they seemed responsible.
Claire was his family assistant. Monitoring staff concerns was part of her job.
Now they read differently.
“Why didn’t you show me this earlier?” he asked Helena.
“Because until today, I thought the pins might be coming from the laundry.”
Claire spoke immediately.
“Exactly.”
Helena looked at her.
“So I checked the laundry.”
Claire’s face tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“I inspected every press table, garment rack, sewing kit and repair box used by household staff.”
“And?”
Helena pushed the four pins toward Grant.
“No one in this house uses this kind.”
Grant looked at Claire.
She no longer looked merely defensive.
She looked cornered.
Then Helena added one more detail.
“Except someone in the administrative office.”
Grant turned.
May you like
Helena met his eyes.
“I saw a container of them on Claire’s planning board last month.”
