Patricia said she did not tell you that she was dismissed from her last position in Denver under circumstances that raised serious questions about her honesty. The room was very quiet. Clara felt Emma go still beside her. She kept her own face completely even. "What position?"
Daniel asked. Patricia produced a letter from her coat. She held it out to the sheriff who took it with the expression of a man who wished he were somewhere else. "A family in Denver," Patricia said. The Ashworth family.
Miss Whitmore was employed as a caregiver for Mr. Ashworth, Senior, who was elderly and unwell. When he died, certain items were found to be missing from the household. Miss Whitmore left Denver shortly afterward. The sheriff looked at Clara. Miss Whitmore, are you familiar with the Ashworth family?
I am, Clara said. Were you employed by them? I was for 7 months. I cared for Franklin Ashworth during the final stage of his illness. And when he died, when he died, Clara said, his son accused me of theft. He claimed three items of value were missing from the household.
He did not file a police report. He did not contact a lawyer. He told several people in his social circle what he believed and allowed the story to travel. She kept her voice steady and her eyes on the sheriff, not on Patricia. The items he claimed were missing were a silver watch, a set of cufflinks, and a ring.
2 weeks after I left Denver, I received a letter from Franklin Ashworth's personal attorney informing me that all three items had been found in a drawer in the son's bedroom. The attorney apologized on behalf of the family. I have that letter. Silence. You have it here?
The sheriff asked. I have it with me, Clara said. I carry it because I learned two years ago that stories travel faster than the truth, and a woman alone cannot afford to be without her evidence. She went to the hallway to the small bag she kept on the hook by the stairs and removed the letter. She brought it to the sheriff and set it in his hand.
He read it. His expression shifted not dramatically, not with any display, but perceptibly. The discomfort in his face deepened and became something more like quiet anger directed somewhere other than at Clara. He folded the letter carefully and held it out to her. I owe you an apology, Miss Whitmore, he said.
For walking into your place of employment with an unverified complaint. You didn't know it was unverified, Clara said. You were doing your job. He nodded. Then he turned to Patricia Hollis.
Patricia's composure had not broken. People who have operated from a position of social authority for long enough develop a composure that does not break easily, that simply reconfigures itself around new information. The way water moves around a stone without changing its direction. I was clearly given inaccurate information, she said. Her voice was smooth.