Vanessa stared into the sink. Ivory porcelain with faint gray lines from years of use. She stared at the drain opening. Dark, damp, and appearing to be a portal to another world. She blinked. Beyond the oblivion of the sink were darknesses and fears unknown. Slowly, she reached down to the opening of the portal. Her breath caught in her throat as she used the pads of her fingers to gently stroke the opening. A single hair rolled up into her fingers. It was not gray or a hint of the aging she was on the precipice of experiencing.

It was a blonde hair.

Vanessa's hand began to tremble.

She is a brunette.

Her new husband is also a brunette.

No one living in their home is blonde.

The former Mrs. York, Delia von Mardeaux-York, was a vibrant blonde. Her pictures were all over the news last year. Even in black and white, her long blonde hair looked smooth and bright. Delia York was not without her demons. The news reported that during a manic episode she absconded with her husband's yacht and crashed along the shore in northern Maine. They found her body along the rocks. The newspapers from Portland to Manhattan were splashed with vivid headlines.

DELIA YORK MISSING IN MAINE.

MANHATTAN HEIRESS' TRAGIC END.

SUICIDAL SOCIALITE FOUND DEAD

FINANCIER'S WIFE DEAD. SUICIDE.

Vanessa was shocked when only a few months later, Xander York, the grieving widower, became one of her regulars in the afternoon late-lunch crowd. At first it was a casual greeting before she took his order (BLT on rye with a cup of chowder). He seemed sad, so she made sure his drink was full and none of the other patrons or employees bothered him.

One afternoon he looked up from the book he was reading and asked Vanessa more about her life and her goals. She explained - almost embarrassingly - how she finished law school, passed the New York State Bar exam, and then hated practicing law.

"If I am honest, I am unsure of my direction at this point," she admitted.

"Don't we all." He stared off into the street, forgetting she was standing there.

The next day, he came back with her full legal profile - which meant he found out who her father was. Vanessa choked back tears as he told her of meeting her father before he died. It was at a fundraiser for the Portland Opera House. Her father, a retired surgeon, was captivating the room with stories of famous techniques and cases. Vanessa winced as he offered his condolences. The brilliant physician was not the same man who came home to raise his hands to her, but Vanessa kept that detail to herself.

Xander York came back every day for two weeks before he asked her out. Now, six months and one small wedding later, Vanessa's heart pounded as she held the blonde strand between her fingers.

The mysteries of Xander York were just beginning to unfold around her. With a tremble in her hand, she turned on the cold faucet and let the water carry the blonde hair down the dark drain, onward to oblivion.

Vanessa moved from Manhattan to Maine and into Oak House two months ago after their whirlwind wedding. She quit her job at the restaurant to focus on supporting her husband, and she was surprised that meant she cooked his meals and waited all day to see him after his last meetings. When he worked from home, he would come out of his office around 9:30pm for a snack and to catch up with Vanessa about her day. Xander encouraged her to explore the country club, take a golf or tennis lesson if she wished. Osprey Point was full of old-money estates, generational homes and the amenities valued fifty years ago. Vanessa enjoyed a good run; she didn't want to spend her days working with a tennis pro who won Wimbledon in 1993.

Vanessa mentioned trying her hand at oil painting, something she had enjoyed as a teenager, and the next afternoon a delivery of canvas, easels, and almost every shade of paint she could imagine arrived. She read the card.

"To create your own destiny."

After setting up the supplies and watching how-to videos online, Vanessa started painting. She was rusty, at first, but eventually she found her groove. She made a ritual of it every day. Morning jog along the coast, quick shower and a cup of coffee, and then she would sit down to her canvas. She enjoyed painting in the spare room with the best view of the beach. After multiple attempts, she finally had a finished piece she enjoyed enough to display. She pulled her toolbox out of the closet and drove a nail in a wall by their bed. She hung her art so she could see it every day.

"That looks new. Is that a Fronvierre?" Xander asked that night, gesturing to the painting.

"No, that's a Vanessa York original," she answered casually, pulling back the bedspread.

"Babe! That's incredible!" Xander put his glasses back on and got out of bed to inspect it. He turned on the bathroom light and slipped it off the wall.

"Look at this! You captured the light so well. I love the movement of the waves." He beamed as he looked it over.

"You didn't go to art school," he asked in disbelief.

"Nope. Art was a coping mechanism after my mom died," she clarified.

"Well, it is magnificent," he grabbed her and pulled her into a deep hug.

The next day, Vanessa was asleep on the couch as he came out of his office.

"The Seattle office is drowning. I might need to go out there for a few days," he commented as he walked through the kitchen grabbing an apple before sitting down next to her.

"Oh, really?" Vanessa responded as she blinked and stretched slowly.

"I woke you up. I'm sorry." He bit into the apple and tossed a blanket over to Vanessa. He tucked it under her feet.

"No, it's okay. Seattle? Sounds nice this time of year."

Xander smirked.

"Would you like to go? My Aunt Penelope lives in Seattle. Total nut job but runs a yoga studio. You'd love her. My grandfather used to say she could bring the rainbow into the darkest rooms."

Vanessa smiled. "Sounds like my kind of lady."

Xander patted her feet. "I'll make a note that we'll go to Seattle in the next few weeks. Maybe sooner if the partners can't get it together."

A quiet settled between them as Vanessa rested her eyes and he finished his apple.

"I would like to know if you are accepting commissions at this time?"

Vanessa whipped her head up to him. "What do you mean?"

"I would like to commission three more Vanessa York originals."

She couldn't contain her smile. She reached forward and grabbed his arm.

"For real?"

"Yes. I would like three similar to the one you already did. It was a summer painting, and I would like three more depicting the other seasons. Once you finish the set, we could display them together in the house."

"I would love to do that!" She lunged forward and hugged him.

Twice a week Xander had a family friend-turned-housekeeper come over to tidy the house. Vanessa and Mrs. Crosby hit it off immediately. Over the course of a few weeks, Vanessa realized how much she looked forward to afternoons with the longtime family friend. Vanessa always had a light lunch ready and would make a pitcher of fresh pink lemonade. She would follow Mrs. Crosby throughout the house, helping move furniture, vacuuming the floors. She enjoyed the stories about the York family. However, they had not broached stories about Delia York or her suicide. This afternoon Mrs. Crosby was going to be dropping in, and Vanessa wanted to ask her about the blonde hair.

Summer was starting to come to an end in Osprey Point. The Maine winter was still a couple of months off, but Vanessa had started to notice the chilly air in the evening. Her first fall in Oak House! Grabbing her sketch book, Vanessa sat down and started to outline the front porch and driveway. She wanted to set up an elaborate pumpkin display that would serve as the foundation for her Halloween haunted house. The afternoon breeze through the open windows fluttered the creamy pages of her sketch notebook. She looked up, expecting to see waves crashing against the breach. Vanessa fell out of her chair, though, when she saw Mrs. Crosby in front of her, scowling, and holding a dead rat by the tail.

"Jesus Christ!" Vanessa shouted as she hit the side of the marble counter. She hit the hardwood floor on her shoulder, and she winced in pain. Mrs Crosby came over to her, still holding the rodent.

"I rang the bell. Twice." Her cheeks were flush as her tone could cut rocks.

"Also, I do not appreciate dead rats in my supplies closet."

Vanessa glanced between the woman and the rat.

"Wwwhat? I don't know what you're talking about."

Mrs. Crosby wrapped the rat's tail around her finger. She held its corpse in her hand as she searched for a bag in one of the cupboards.

Vanessa slowly got up from the floor.

"Mrs. Crosby, I assure you I know nothing about a dead rat. How did it even get into the house?"

Mrs. Crosby slipped the rat into a paper bag and folded it a few times. She pulled out the trash can from the kitchen and gently placed the bag on top of the rubbish before tying the bag.

"I don't know," she murmured as she worked.

Vanessa could feel the tension between them; her stomach ached. She hated tension.

"I'm really sorry it scared you. I did make lunch, though. Salmon croquettes. Would you like something to eat?"

Mrs. Crosby looked at the small spread on the marble island. Vanessa had set out the pan-fried salmon croquettes, a slaw salad, croissants, and lemonade. Mrs. Crosby quietly slid into a seat across from Vanessa. She gathered a little bit of everything and began to eat while Vanessa found ibuprofen in the cabinet.

When she finally took her seat across from Mrs. Crosby, the older woman was lapping up salad dressing with pieces of her croissant.

"Can you tell me about Delia York?" Vanessa's question cut through the silence.

Mrs. Crosby stiffened in her seat.

"What do you want to know?"

Vanessa shrugged. She leaned over and picked up a salmon croquette and took a small bite.

"All I know about her is from the news. He never mentions her."

Mrs. Crosby tilted her head.

"Yes, that makes sense. She was... a handful."

"In what way?"

Mrs. Crosby thought for a moment. She stood and began to gather the dishes. Vanessa joined her at the sink as they quickly saved the leftovers and rinsed the dishes.

"Delia was younger than Xander by about seven years. I remember she turned twenty-four the week before the wedding, and she went to Vegas with her friends. No one heard from them for several days, and Xander was about to go to Vegas to look for them when the news broke that they had been removed from their flight home in Chicago. They chartered a private flight back to New York, but the news ran with the story of their wedding next to her photos from Vegas. Truthfully, it was a marriage they were both pushed into by their fathers. The two captains of industry wanted their families to be aligned for political reasons. It's all very mafia-sounding now," she chuckled.

Vanessa listened.

"At first I thought they could be happy. She still went out and partied while he worked and liked to stay home. I thought they needed to get to know each other better, but after a couple of years it was apparent, they were quite unhappy."

Finishing the dishes, the pair wiped down the counters together before they picked up the cleaning supplies and started their walk through the house.

"Delia started to leave for days on end. Several times he was woken by the police at the door or a call from a hospital where she had been effectively dumped by whomever she was with. It was all quite undignified. Xander always went to her; I do believe he genuinely wanted to help her."

The gathered the garbage and stripped the beds of their sheets. Vanessa loaded them into the washing machine while Mrs. Crosby plugged in the vacuum. Vanessa would lift furniture for Mrs. Crosby to clean under and they would team up for the heavier pieces.

"Her father died about six months before she did. It was dreadful; he had a heart-attack at a dinner party. Just fell over right in front of her and Xander. It was the oddest thing; she watched her father fall onto the floor and she just sat next to Xander waiting on him to do something. He rushed to see if he could help, if he was breathing, and Delia just sat there. It wasn't until the paramedics and police arrived that she became hysterical. I tried to calm her down, but she ended up needing sedation."

"Were they close?"

Mrs. Crosby held a cleaning cloth in her hand, but she paused and gently put her hands on her hips.

"Honestly, they seemed quite cool with each other. As if perhaps she had to maintain a modicum of decorum around him? He was never affectionate with her, but I do recall she hugged him once - right after the engagement. She ran up to him to show off her ring, and she threw her arms around him. He was quite stern with her about 'controlling herself.'"

Vanessa thought on Mrs. Crosby's observations.

"It seems sad. Based on your descriptions, perhaps she felt unloved by both her father and Xander."

Mrs. Crosby started to slide on rubber gloves as they walked into the master bathroom.

"Xander doted on her at first. She was hostile to him for a while, and then she started to have very quiet affairs. It was the only thing she did that wasn't in the tabloids."

Vanessa was moving the shampoo and conditioner bottles to clean under them, and she dropped the lot in the floor of the shower.

"She had affairs?"

Mrs. Crosby sat down on the vanity bench she had just cleaned.

"I feel that may have been too much information, but yes, she had numerous affairs. That was when she moved out of the master bedroom into the guest room."

"And Xander did nothing about it? He didn't divorce her?"

Mrs. Crosby rested her arm on the vanity.

"He told me once that he felt sorry for her and wanted her to be happy, and if that meant she needed to figure herself out, then he could throw himself further into his work to give her space. I think he hoped they would find each other. Occasionally there were a few good days where they would do something together - go sailing, take a trip to a new place - but something always made her malcontent."

"I am not sure if I should ask this, but I need to. Was it Xander? Did he do something to set her off?"

Mrs. Crosby gave her a sharp look.

"He was not a perfect husband and could get annoyed at some of her antics, but he gave her time, her space, and plenty of money if I'm honest. She had her own money, but she wanted him to give her a monthly allowance as well. His father provided her with a monthly allowance and even a small inheritance when he died in addition to the fortune she received from her father. I think George knew they were going to get a divorce and wanted Delia to be satisfied."

"Xander didn't get that money when she died, though, right?" The lawyer in her needed to know.

"Oh god no. All of her family money stayed in her family." Mrs. Crosby wiped down Vanessa's old jewelry box.

Vanessa took a deep breath. It was time to come clean about her motives.

"I'll be honest. My interest in asking you about Delia isn't to gather information or jealousy. This might sound weird, so stay with me." Vanessa adjusted herself. "I found something earlier in the house that prompted me to find out more about her."

"Oh?" Mrs. Crosby leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees. "What did you find?"

"A blonde hair in the sink. A perfect, medium-length blonde hair with the root shaft still attached. Just sitting there. In the sink. Waiting for me."

Mrs. Crosby sat straight up.

"Which sink?"

"That one," she pointed to her sink.

Mrs. Crosby stood and inspected the counter, and she pulled open the doors and looked in the cabinet.

"I was in shock at the possibility that after all this time her hair would still be in the house," Vanessa added as the older woman searched the cabinet. Mrs. Crosby pulled up the floor mat and looked around the molding. She pulled a pair of tweezers from her apron and began to pull at the crevices of the molding as if additional blonde hairs were just out of her sight.

"I can't find any additional hair, but I want to assure you that we had the home professionally cleaned several weeks after she died. It took a while before Xander warmed to the idea of cleaning the house and returning her possessions to her family, but I had an entire crew come in and clean for a week. I assure you, there should be absolutely nothing of her left in this home. Even before you moved in, I had the same crew come back and clean again."

Mrs. Crosby continued to search on the floor for additional hairs.

"Well, I guess it must not have been her hair, then," Vanessa added softly. She did not want to upset Mrs. Crosby, and even more importantly, she did not want to upset Xander by nosing around his past. She didn't want to bring up Delia, the horrible scandal surrounding her death, or the impression their marriage must have left on him. She accepted him, in his totality. How he became the Xander York she married was something she would discover in time.

"Please, Mrs. Crosby, I don't want you to be searching for ghosts on the floor."

Vanessa recoiled as Mrs. Crosby's spine straightened. She turned to look at the new Mrs. York slowly, and as Vanessa's eyes saw her face - her cheeks void of color, her mouth turned down - her breath caught in her chest.

"I think I'm going to head home for the afternoon," she whispered.

Vanessa didn't dare move.

Mrs. Crosby slowly stood and brushed off her pants. She blinked slowly and walked out of the bathroom.

Vanessa exhaled loudly, unaware she was even holding in her breath.

"Mrs. Crosby, please, I'm so sorry if I upset you," she shouted as she walked into the bedroom.

Mrs. Crosby was not in the bedroom. Vanessa looked around before heading down to the first floor and through the kitchen windows she saw Mrs. Crosby slamming her car door shut. She was driving off the estate before Vanessa made it outside.

Vanessa watched the gravel and dust kick up into the air as Mrs. Crosby drove away. She felt like her stomach was back in the master bathroom along with whatever armor Mrs. Crosby wore to work at Oak House.

She slowly walked back inside, and she hesitated before picking up the phone.

Xander answered on the second ring.

"Vanessa! Is everything alright?"

She never called him at the office. A cry caught in her throat.

"It's Mrs. Crosby. I've upset her. I... don't know what I did wrong, though. Something has happened at Oak House."

Tears streamed down Vanessa's cheeks as Xander promised her he was immediately leaving the office and heading back to Oak House. She hung up the phone without responding.

Am I sure what I saw, she asked herself. But wait does that even make sense? Did I really see a hair? What am I really trying to say it means? What was a blonde hair really proof of, and did I disturb my old friend for nothing? Questions and doubt rolled around in her mind for hours until Xander's headlights illuminated the yard.

She met him outside on the porch.

"What happened?" He asked as he slammed his door shut.

"I found a blonde hair. There was a dead rat. I asked about Delia." The confessions fell out of her mouth like water.

Xander watched her for a moment as she stood on the porch in her sweats, her tears having soaked her shirt, before he escorted her inside.

"It's about time we talked about Delia anyway," he assured her with a hug after he put down his bag.

"I called Helen on my way home, but she did not answer. Please don't fret about her yet, but please tell me what happened. You said you found something?"

He grabbed the lemonade pitcher and poured himself a glass of her lemonade. Xander sat down at the counter and sipped slowly. He was waiting on her.

"When I was getting ready this morning, I found a hair in the sink in our bathroom. It was a blonde hair." She waited for his reaction - Vanessa's heart thumped as she anticipated his laughter.

He furrowed his brow, but he did not laugh.

"All I could think of was Delia, but I thought of how I have been here for weeks and have yet to find a single memory of her. No stray hairs, no bobby pins, no photographs or letters, literally nothing that would signify she had lived here. When Mrs. Crosby arrived, there was a dead rat in the cleaning closet. Apparently, she said it was on her things - not caught in a trap or under a corner or anything. I asked her about Delia. I thought she would be able to give me an objective point of view," Vanessa's voice began to trail off.

"I doubt it," Xander said thoughtfully. His chin was resting against his hand while he leaned forward over the counter.

"Helen despised Delia. She didn't make that a secret."

Vanessa had wondered if that were true.

"Why?"

Xander finished his glass.

"Helen acted as a surrogate mother to me, and she disapproved of the marriage. When Delia moved in and treated Helen like the help instead of a family friend, she did not take it well. In fact, for a while she wouldn't come to the house unless Delia was gone. Which, thankfully, was most of the time. Delia stayed in Manhattan for the first part of our marriage before she finally moved up here."

Vanessa nodded slowly.

"I wanted to ease you into my messed up family dynamics," he added with a smirk.

"Helen is my mother's sister. I told you my mom died in childbirth along with my younger sister. Helen started checking in on us after that."

As Xander continued, Vanessa sat down and put her hands on his. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze as he continued.

"She came up and started cleaning. Gave her a reason to go grocery shopping and make sure we were eating real food instead of frozen pizza. For years I suspected she and my father were in love. They wouldn't have done anything about it, though. It would have been improper. So instead she stayed nearby and helped out."

"She gave up her life to come here and help out your family? That's quite a sacrifice."

"She told me that my mother was her favorite person. I think she just wanted to be close to what she had left of my mother. Helen would come over and sit with my father for hours and talk about his business. She was his closest confidant, and she tried to be maternal with me. Especially when Delia came into the picture. She thought I needed to be with someone with more integrity."

Vanessa half-laughed.

"What a disappointment I must be! I was a waitress!"

Xander tilted his head.

"Except you went to law school and passed the Bar exam. She values your work ethic even if you decided against practicing law."

Vanessa's smile faded. She had earned the respect of Mrs. Crosby inadvertently.

"When Delia died, Helen didn't want me to worry about the details while I was grieving. I'm sure she told you plenty about Delia, but please know, I did care for her and was devastated she died."

"I never doubted that," Vanessa added as she rested her hand on his arm.

"Helen put all mementos in a box. It is in the attic. She boxed up all of her things and had them delivered back to her mother's house. Her father had died in such a terrible way, and her mother wanted whatever I would give her. I gave her everything minus a few photos and letters. The last time I saw Raquel she was wearing some of the clothing, and I think she had used the perfume. Delia was her entire life. I should send her a note," he sat back in his chair.

"She filled me in on Delia and about how she had the house cleaned after Delia died."

"Oh yes, tell me what happened," it was as if he had forgotten about why he rushed home.

"As soon as I told her about the hair she got on the floor in the bathroom and started poking around with tweezers. It was surreal. I knew I had upset her, but I had no idea what she was doing."

Xander's face blanched.

"Oh my god. The rat. I forgot you mentioned a rat," he quickly stood up.

"What happened after that?" He asked rubbing his temple.

"She left. I said something to her about not looking for ghosts or something, and she turned white as a sheet. She basically fled the house after that. I tried to apologize to her, but she just left."

Xander was the same shade of white. He cleared his throat.

"I want to be very clear about this," he started, "there was a rat in the closet?"

Vanessa nodded. "Right. She thought I put it there, which was quite a horrendous accusation. Why would she think I'd intentionally scare her?"

Xander watched her face for a moment.

"Because Delia did. Using a rat in the cleaning closet. And she would pull her hair out of her hairbrush and leave it everywhere in the house and tell Helen she 'missed a spot' after she'd place the strand somewhere."

Vanessa took a seat. She was stunned.

"There was one other thing she used to do, too. Where... is... it...?" He turned and headed for the pantry. Flipping the light on, he looked up at the highest shelves until he found what he was looking for: an old copper kettle. Xander grabbed the ladder and took a few steps up before he reached it. As soon as he picked it up, he dropped his head. Vanessa watched him descend the stairs; he was careful not to swing the kettle.

"She used to put a dead rat in the tea kettle, too," he explained, his voice barely above a whisper. He put the tea kettle on the counter and opened the lid. Vanessa took a quick peek - a small field mouse was inside, a pool of blood surrounded its tiny body.

"I had no idea," Vanessa sat down again.

"You had no way of knowing any of that, of course. You didn't know she did those exact things."

Headlights shone through the kitchen window as a car pulled up to the house.

Xander and Vanessa quickly made their way to the side doors as Mrs. Crosby reached the porch.

"Helen!" Xander pulled the woman into a hug.

"I want you both to know, I have given this a lot of thought and considered it from all angles," she started, "but I don't think Delia is dead."

Vanessa's mouth dropped open.

Xander rubbed his jaw.

"Vanessa just filled me in on today, and after finding the old tea kettle, I will be honest, the thought crossed my mind."

Helen glanced between them and to the door. The tea kettle was a shock to her.

Vanessa glanced between the two of them.

"That's... not... possible..." she stammered.

Mrs. Crosby shook her head.

"No, dear, anything is possible when you have enough money."