Chapter 3 Three

The atmosphere in the Westwood mansion had grown colder, as though Jonathan's death had seeped into the walls themselves. Vanessa Scott, the family's trusted caretaker, sat on the edge of the cream-colored sofa in the expansive living room. Her posture was composed, almost formal, as though she'd been summoned to a board meeting rather than an interrogation about the sudden death of her employer.

Detective Harris studied her with his sharp, calculating eyes. He sat across from her, his notebook open, pen poised to capture every word she said. His presence filled the room like a shadow-calm but imposing.

"Miss Scott," Harris began, his tone firm but polite. "You've worked with Mr. Westwood for two years, is that correct?"

Vanessa nodded. "Yes, Detective. I was hired after his health began to require closer monitoring."

"What exactly were your duties?"

"I administered his medication, monitored his vitals, and ensured he adhered to his doctors' recommendations. I also accompanied him to some of his appointments and provided general support for his health routines," she explained, her voice steady and professional.

Harris leaned back slightly, his pen scratching across the page. "And did you notice anything unusual about his health recently? Any changes to his medication or behavior?"

"No," Vanessa replied firmly. "His condition was stable. The only incident in recent months was a fainting spell about four weeks ago. His doctors adjusted his medication, and there were no issues after that."

The detective's pen paused. "And you administered his medication today?"

"Yes, as usual," she confirmed. "Around three in the afternoon. Blood pressure medication and a vitamin supplement. Both are routine."

Harris nodded slowly, letting her words hang in the air before asking, "What time did you leave the house today?"

Vanessa's brow furrowed slightly, as if searching her memory. "I left at my usual time, shortly before dinner started. Mr. Westwood always insisted on privacy during family meals."

A sharp laugh broke through the conversation, drawing their attention. Aurora Westwood sat near the fireplace, her hand clenched around a tissue. "Privacy," she repeated mockingly. "How convenient. My husband, with his failing health, and you just walk out the door because it's dinnertime?"

Vanessa turned to face her, her expression soft but unwavering. "Mrs. Westwood, Jonathan was in good health when I left. If I had thought for a moment that he was unwell, I wouldn't have gone."

"Perhaps if you cared a little more, you'd have stayed to make sure," Aurora snapped, her voice rising.

"Mother," Victor interrupted, his tone cold. "Enough. Vanessa isn't to blame for what happened."

Aurora shot him a glare but didn't respond. Harris, unfazed, redirected the conversation.

"Miss Scott," he said, his voice cutting through the tension, "did you notice anything unusual about the family or the staff before you left? Any arguments, unusual behavior?"

Vanessa hesitated for the briefest moment before shaking her head. "No, Detective. Everything seemed normal."

"Are you sure?" Harris pressed, his tone sharper now. "One of the maids mentioned seeing you leaving in a hurry. She said you seemed... distracted."

Vanessa's calm demeanor faltered for just a heartbeat, her eyes flickering toward the detective. "I wouldn't say I was in a hurry," she said carefully. "I left at my usual time. Perhaps the maid misinterpreted my pace."

Harris leaned forward slightly, his gaze unyielding. "And where did you go after you left?"

"I went home," Vanessa replied simply.

"Can anyone verify that?"

Vanessa hesitated again, her hands clasping tighter in her lap. "I live alone. No one saw me arrive, if that's what you mean."

Aurora let out a scoff but said nothing. Rose, curled in a chair across the room, finally spoke, her voice low and almost mocking. "You seem awfully calm for someone whose boss just died."

Vanessa turned to Rose, her expression unreadable. "I've worked in healthcare for a long time, Miss Westwood. It's my job to remain calm, even in difficult situations."

Rose smirked but looked away, pulling her legs up beneath her as she retreated further into her seat.

Harris tapped his pen against his notepad, his gaze still locked on Vanessa. "Miss Scott, you're aware of the scratch marks found on Mr. Westwood's neck, correct?"

"Yes," Vanessa said softly, her tone carefully neutral.

"And you have no explanation for how they got there?"

"No, Detective," she replied. "I wasn't here when it happened."

Harris studied her for a moment longer, then closed his notebook. "We'll need access to your records-Mr. Westwood's medications, dosages, and schedule. Can you provide that?"

"Of course," Vanessa said. "I'll email them to you first thing tomorrow."

Harris nodded, then leaned back in his chair. "That's all for now, Miss Scott. Please don't leave town. We may need to speak with you again."

Vanessa rose from the sofa, her movements graceful but deliberate. "Of course, Detective. I'll make myself available."

As she turned to leave, Aurora's voice rang out once more. "And what about the fact that you were the last person to handle his medication? Do you have an answer for that?"

Vanessa paused, her hand on the doorway. She turned back slowly, meeting Aurora's fiery gaze with cool composure. "Mrs. Westwood, I understand your grief, but I only did what I was hired to do. If you have concerns about my work, I'm happy to address them. But I would never harm Jonathan."

Aurora's glare didn't waver, but Victor stepped in again, his voice firm. "That's enough, Mother."

Without another word, Vanessa left the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Once outside, Vanessa took a deep breath, her composure finally cracking as she leaned against her car. Her hands trembled slightly as she fumbled with her keys. The image of Jonathan's lifeless body flashed through her mind, and for the first time that night, her carefully constructed calm began to unravel.

But only for a moment. With a deep breath, she straightened herself and climbed into her car. She had prepared for this, after all.

As the mansion disappeared in her rearview mirror, Vanessa's thoughts swirled. Questions hung heavy in the air-questions she knew she couldn't answer, at least not yet. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her mind racing with plans and contingencies.

She would handle this. She always did.