Dark Homecoming by William Patterson Read Free Book Online Page B

skills.
    â€œI’ve brought you to this house for a reason,” Dominique had said to her on Variola’s first day there. “You understand that reason, do you not?”
    Variola had thought she understood. Later, she wasn’t so sure.
    She’d asked Mrs. Hoffman if the new mistress of the house would have any special dietary requests like the former mistress. Mrs. Hoffman had replied that she suspected the new Mrs. Huntington would be satisfied with a Happy Meal from McDonald’s. How Variola had laughed at that, with her deep, from-the-lungs laugh that echoed through the house like the gong of a giant bell. She didn’t care for Mrs. Hoffman all that much, but still, what she had said had made Variola laugh.
    She was a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with glossy chocolate skin, a pile of black hair, and great, dark, saucer eyes. In Haiti, she had broken many a man’s heart; many men had wanted her, many had tried to possess her. But no one owned Variola but Variola. Indeed, the only time her own heart had ever been broken was when the earthquake had come and devastated her cherished homeland. Her family scattered, her fortunes depleted, Variola had been forced to leave Haiti and come here, to this house.
    She had quickly made it her own. Mrs. Hoffman didn’t like that, especially now that the first Mrs. Huntington was gone. But even Hoffman knew that Variola answered to no one.
    She never had.
    There was little that escaped Variola’s notice in this house. She heard the whispers of the servants. She saw the comings and goings of the Huntingtons themselves. Her eyes were always alert, her ears always attuned.
    Like now. She heard Mr. Huntington come down the front stairs and the soft pitter of footsteps that hurried from the parlor to meet him.
    Like a cat, Variola moved soundlessly to the doorway of the kitchen, and from there, hid herself in the small alcove that led to the pantry where, through a space in the doorway, she had a clear view of the front staircase.
    Mr. Huntington was carrying a suitcase. So he was leaving again, Variola thought. So soon after bringing his new bride home . . .
    The master of the house looked preoccupied. He checked his wristwatch. He didn’t notice the woman who had come to the foot of the stairs to meet him.
    But Variola had seen the woman approach—and wait like a spider in the shadows, ready to entrap her prey.
    â€œDavid,” Variola heard Rita whisper.
    Mr. Huntington lifted his face and saw the maid in front of him. “Oh, hello, Rita . . .”
    â€œYou’re leaving?”
    â€œYes, I have to get on a plane. I don’t really have any time to talk . . .”
    Rita reached up and gently gripped Mr. Huntington’s lapels. “David . . . I have to see you. I know I said I’d accept the fact that things were different now . . .”
    â€œYou must accept it, Rita,” he told her coldly, stiffening, trying to break the hold she had on him.
    â€œIt’s not possible, David. I thought about you all night. Remembering . . . those times . . .” She pulled close to him, pressing herself against his chest.
    â€œRita, stop this.”
    â€œDon’t you remember them, too, David?” She was purring, moving her lips softly against his neck. Even from where Variola stood, she could get a whiff of Rita’s perfume, so sweet, so toxic. Gardenia. It was the first Mrs. Huntington’s scent.
    The man was struggling in her grip, recoiling from her—but he did not thrust her away.
    â€œOh, David, you said it yourself to many nights, in that room in the servants’ quarters . . . you said that you had never known such passion as you found with me.”
    â€œRita, it was different then. Very different circumstances. I’m married now.”
    â€œYou were married then.”
    â€œPlease, Rita, my wife . . .”
    â€œShe never needs to know,” Rita purred, and her lips kissed Mr.