In still waters - стр. 5
Jeffrey had met Mary just after college, and their whirlwind romance had resulted in a hasty marriage when Mary found herself pregnant. The birth of Rose had forced Mary's parents to grudgingly accept their daughter's choice, but the tension had never truly dissipated. Physically, Mary and Rose had been near mirror images of each other – both petite and slender, with dark hair and light eyes that seemed to hold secrets.
Behind the imposing façade of their home, the Saltano marriage had long since cooled. Love and understanding had given way to a sort of uneasy coexistence – two people living side by side but worlds apart. Mary had never quite settled into the role of housewife. She disliked cooking and found cleaning tedious, often hiring help when the dust and clutter became too much to bear. The house itself was a testament to their discordant lives – expensive furniture arranged with more concern for appearance than comfort, the overall effect both tasteless and oddly vulgar.
The living room walls were papered in an aggressive shade of red, offset by black carpets that seemed to attract dust like magnets. Sofas and armchairs upholstered in dark burgundy suede surrounded a glass coffee table, the centerpiece of a room that felt more like a stage set than a home. Heavy burgundy curtains, their vibrancy dulled by a film of dust, framed the windows. The kitchen, done up in harsh tones of red and black, boasted the house's only large window – a constant source of neighborhood gossip for those inclined to eavesdrop.
The second floor housed three bedrooms. The master bedroom, shared by Jeffrey and Mary, echoed the garish tones of the living room below. Next was Rose's room, a stark contrast with its pink wallpaper, fluffy white carpet, and oversized bed. It was the only truly clean space in the house, meticulously maintained by Rose herself. Finally, there was a half-empty guest room, its large wardrobe bursting with clothes, and a bed where Jeffrey often found himself sleeping after yet another argument with Mary.
As Jeffrey entered the house, the air felt thick with grief. After Larsen's call, he had broken the devastating news to his wife, but Mary couldn't find the strength to accompany him to the crime scene. A chill permeated the house, all the windows thrown open as if trying to air out the suffocating sorrow. Mary, still clad in her purple pajamas, sat huddled on the living room floor, her back against the sofa as she cried, hugging her knees to her chest. At the sound of Jeffrey's entrance, she looked up, her face a mask of anguish.