I wrote down the dates I remembered. It felt embarrassing even doing that. I kept the note in the back of a little notebook I used for measurements at work. There were four Saturdays over the past 2 months when I'd been called in and Maren had gone out for most of the day. I hated keeping the list, but I couldn't get those dates out of my head.
On a Friday in April, Dad called me about the cleaning bills for the lake house. He wasn't upset. He just said he'd noticed the expenses were higher than usual and wanted to know whether Dash had mentioned a change in service. I told him I'd seen a full clean on an invoice when nobody seemed to have stayed there. Dad said, "Well, ask your brother.
He handles that stuff." I called Dash from my truck. He told me the cleaning company was coming more often to prevent mildew and keep linens fresh. I said that seemed expensive. He said it wasn't my bill and laughed the way he did when he thought I was getting too involved.
I could have left it there. I almost did. But I remembered Rhett talking about the back door and I remembered the rug. I asked Dash if Rhett had been using the lake house. He said, "Once or twice for work.
Why?" The next morning Dash called and said he'd had the locks changed because the back door was giving him trouble. He told me he was dropping off a new key Tuesday. He also said he was taking over the maintenance calls so I wouldn't have to keep driving out there after work. I called the cleaning company whose name was on the invoice.
I introduced myself, explained that my parents owned the property, and that Dad was reviewing the bills. I asked what their turnover service included, and whether there was a reason it had been charged so often. The woman on the phone, a manager named Sylvie, said she'd need to speak with the account holder before discussing individual visits. I called Dad and asked him to call her. I didn't tell him I thought Maren was cheating.
I said the bills didn't add up, and that he ought to know what he was paying for. Dad said he would check. I spent the rest of Saturday trying not to watch Maren every time she picked up her phone. Sunday afternoon, Dad called back. He said the cleaning company had emailed him a summary of dates and service charges because the property and payment account were in his name.
Dash had been the contact person, but Dad was the one paying. There had been nine turnover cleans since January, several on weekdays. The cleaner had been told to wash sheets and towels and reset the bedrooms each time. Dad said he thought Dash might be letting contractors stay there when they were working near the lake. He wasn't angry yet.
He asked if I'd heard anything. I told him Rhett had mentioned being there. Dad said, "Rhett? He doesn't need to stay in our house. He's got his own place."
Dad asked why I sounded so concerned about who was using the place. I told him I had a bad feeling about something at home, but I didn't have enough to put it into words. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said he'd speak to Dash about the expenses, and I asked him to wait a day. I didn't want my brother calling Maren before I knew what I was asking.
Dad didn't like that, but he agreed. The following morning, I drove to Dad's place before work. He'd printed the summary. I photographed it with his permission and looked at the dates. Two matched Saturdays Maren had said she was with Elodie, a friend from her insurance office.
One matched a Tuesday she'd told me she was staying late to help with a software change at work. Another was a day I knew Rhett had been in town because he'd dropped a tool off at my garage. Dad told me Sylvie had mentioned that the cleaners were often sent after a man named Rhett had left. He said he'd asked whether she was sure. She told him the team recognized Rhett because he'd met them at the door more than once.
Dad hadn't asked about anyone else. He looked at the dates again and asked me straight out if this had something to do with Maren. I said I didn't know yet and that was the truth. I asked him to let me talk to her before he called Dash. That afternoon, I called Sylvie back with Dad sitting beside me on speaker phone.
Dad confirmed that he was the owner and asked whether she could clarify who had been using the property since he hadn't authorized guest stays. She said she couldn't give us a full list of visitors. She could tell us that her team had encountered Rhett on several visits and had seen the same dark-haired woman with him more than once. The woman had once asked the cleaner to come back in an hour because they weren't ready to leave. Sylvie didn't know the woman's name.
I didn't ask her to guess from a description. Dad glanced at me across the table. I thanked her. Dad asked about the invoices and she explained which ones were full turnovers and which were routine cleaning. Then we hung up.
That evening, after Maren and I ate dinner, I asked when she'd last been to the lake house. She said, "New Year's. Why?" I told her I'd found out the house had been used more often than I'd realized. She asked what I meant.
I said I had some cleaning dates and I knew Rhett had been there. She looked down at the table. I remember that more clearly than anything she said in the next few minutes. She didn't ask what cleaning dates. She didn't ask why Rhett mattered.
She just looked at the table. Then she said she'd gone up there once to pick up something she'd left behind. I asked if Rhett was there that day. She said yes, but only because he was checking the deck. I asked why she'd never mentioned it.
She said, "Because I knew you'd make it into something." She got angry then. Not loud, exactly. She said I was treating her like a suspect. She said she'd had a hard few months at work and didn't need me checking where she'd been.
I told her I had not checked her phone or followed her. I had asked about a house my parents owned. I said, "Did you go there with Rhett?" Finally, she said, "It wasn't supposed to go on like this." She said it had started the previous May at a Memorial Day weekend get-together at the lake house when I was on call.
Rhett had been talking to her there. They'd started texting. She'd met him for coffee a couple of times. Then they'd met at the lake house. She stopped talking and waited for me to say something.
I asked whether they'd slept together. She said, "Yes." It had been almost 11 months since just after that weekend. She added that it wasn't every week. I don't know why she added that.
I suppose she thought it made a difference. I asked about the tan jacket I'd found in the closet. She nodded. She'd left it there after one of their afternoons together. And when I texted her the picture, she'd known exactly where it was.