Chapter 3
No one spoke for several seconds.
The cassette recorder sat on the desk between us.
Its reels had stopped.
Vincent looked at me.
Not accusingly.
That almost made it worse.
I heard Eleanor’s voice again in my head.
Do not trust the person who brings you the black one.
I had brought him the ledger.
I had practically dropped it at his plate.
Matteo was the first to move.
He stepped between Vincent and me.
“Grace, give me your phone.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Your phone.”
“Why?”
“Because my dead aunt just warned us about the person carrying the exact ledger you carried into dinner.”
“I found it.”
“So you say.”
Vincent’s voice cut through the room.
“Matteo.”
“What?”
“Move.”
Matteo turned.
“Vincent, come on.”
“Move.”
His cousin hesitated.
Then stepped aside.
Vincent looked at me.
“Did you know this room existed?”
“No.”
“The tape?”
“No.”
“The second ledger?”
“No.”
“Did anyone tell you to find the black ledger?”
“No.”
“Did anyone tell you to put it in front of me?”
I remembered Celeste ordering me to cut figs.
The pedestal.
The ledger beneath it.
Something clicked.
“I didn’t put it there.”
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
“The ledger was under the fruit centerpiece before dinner.”
Matteo looked at me.
“You said you found it this afternoon.”
“I did.”
“Then how did it end up under the centerpiece?”
I shook my head.
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
“In the laundry dumbwaiter behind the second-floor linen closet.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“You hid evidence in a dumbwaiter?”
“I was bleeding and Adrian was looking for me.”
“Fair.”
“I put it behind a stack of folded tablecloths. I thought I could get it later.”
“And someone moved it.”
“Yes.”
“Who knew?”
“No one.”
Matteo gave a short laugh.
“Apparently someone did.”
Anthony stared at the stopped recorder.
“Eleanor might have meant someone else.”
Vincent looked at him.
“She recorded that in 1997.”
“Yes.”
“Grace was not alive in 1997.”
“Exactly.”
I understood before Matteo did.
“She wasn’t warning you about me.”
Vincent’s eyes met mine.
“No.”
He looked at the black ledger.
“She was warning me about whoever eventually delivered it.”
Anthony whispered, “A messenger.”
“Or a decoy.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
I looked toward the stairway.
“If someone moved the ledger from where I hid it to the dinner table, then they wanted Vincent to find it.”
Matteo’s expression changed.
“And they wanted him to think Celeste was the whole problem.”
Vincent picked up the photograph of Eleanor, Carlo, and Victor Bellini.
“Maybe she is part of it.”
Anthony nodded.
“But perhaps not the oldest part.”
A sound came from upstairs.
A crash.
Then a man shouted.
Vincent was moving before anyone else.
We climbed quickly.
My injured leg protested each step, but adrenaline made pain distant.
At the top of the hidden stairs, one of the guards ran into the accounting room.
“Sir. We found Adrian.”
“Where?”
“East service hall.”
“Alive?”
The guard hesitated.
“Yes.”
That hesitation mattered.
Vincent saw it.
“What happened?”
“He’s been stabbed.”
We found Adrian Bellini on the tile outside the old pantry.
He was thirty-two, blond, broad-shouldered, usually smug.
Now he was gray.
Blood covered the front of his shirt.
A kitchen towel was pressed to his side.
Dr. Keller knelt beside him.
“Ambulance is coming.”
Adrian’s eyes found Celeste nowhere.
Then Vincent.
He grabbed Vincent’s sleeve.
“She set me up.”
Vincent crouched.
“Who?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Celeste.”
Matteo said, “Convenient.”
Adrian grimaced.
“I came because she called me.”
“Why?”
“She said the maid found something.”
His eyes moved to me.
Fear flickered.
Not anger.
Fear.
“You cut Grace?”
He looked away.
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“Answer.”
“I scared her.”
“With metal.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You sliced her arms.”
“She fought me.”
I nearly laughed.
There it was again.
The language people used when they wanted violence to become mutual.
Vincent leaned closer.
“Why did your sister call you?”
Adrian was breathing badly now.
“She said there was a book.”
“The black ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she want it?”
“She didn’t.”
Everyone went still.
Vincent said, “What?”
Adrian coughed.
“She wanted Grace to find it.”
I stared at him.
“That’s not true.”
He looked at me.
“It is.”
“You attacked me for taking it.”
“Because she changed her mind.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent grabbed the front of Adrian’s shirt carefully, avoiding the wound.
“You’re going to know something.”
Adrian shut his eyes.
“I swear.”
“Who stabbed you?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Man or woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Celeste?”
“She left through the east courtyard.”
“Alone?”
“I think so.”
The ambulance siren became audible outside.
Adrian opened his eyes again.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“There’s another person here.”
Matteo frowned.
“Who?”
Adrian whispered, “Someone from your father’s company.”
“Name.”
“I don’t know his real one.”
“Then what do you know?”
“He wears a silver signet ring.”
Anthony suddenly looked sick.
Vincent caught it.
“You know that ring.”
Anthony shook his head too fast.
“No.”
“Uncle.”
“No.”
Vincent stood.
The older man backed against the wall.
“My father wore one,” Vincent said slowly.
Anthony looked at the floor.
“Many people did.”
“What symbol?”
No answer.
Vincent grabbed Anthony’s wrist.
“What symbol?”
“A lion.”
Matteo swore under his breath.
Vincent released him.
“Romano Shipping’s old crest.”
Anthony nodded.
“Executives used to get them after twenty years.”
“How many?”
“Maybe twelve.”
“Alive?”
“I don’t know.”
The paramedics arrived.
They moved Adrian onto a stretcher.
As they passed me, he caught my arm weakly.
I flinched.
His fingers barely had strength.
“Grace.”
“What?”
“Don’t trust Dalca.”
My eyes shifted toward the end of the corridor.
Mrs. Dalca stood there.
Perfectly still.
Adrian was wheeled away.
I looked back at her.
She had worked for the Romano family for thirty-one years.
Longer than Vincent had owned the company.
Long enough to know Eleanor.
Long enough to know Carlo.
Long enough to move through every room in the house without anyone questioning her.
She met my eyes.
Then looked at the blood on my sleeve.
“Come with me,” she said.
Vincent stepped between us.
“Why?”
“Her bandages need changing.”
Dr. Keller had said the same thing.
Still, something in the timing made my stomach tighten.
Mrs. Dalca saw it.
“Adrian said something to you.”
I didn’t answer.
Her face changed.
Not guilt.
Sadness.
“He said my name.”
Vincent watched her carefully.
“You heard?”
“I saw Grace look at me the way people look after someone whispers a warning.”
She folded her hands.
“I assume I am now a suspect.”
Matteo said, “Are you?”
She gave him a level stare.
“At my age, Mr. Matteo, I am mostly tired.”
Vincent held up the photograph from the hidden room.
“Did you know my mother was never found?”
Mrs. Dalca looked at it.
“Yes.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You too?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“Your father. Mr. Anthony. Dr. Keller. Two former security officers. Your mother’s sister.”
Vincent froze.
“My mother had a sister?”
Mrs. Dalca’s eyes closed briefly.
“Half-sister.”
“Name.”
“Claire.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alive?”
“I don’t know.”
He laughed once, bitterly.
“Does anyone in this house know when people are actually dead?”
Mrs. Dalca accepted that.
Then looked at me.
“Grace, there is something you should know.”
I stiffened.
Vincent said, “Say it here.”
She nodded.
“I knew your mother.”
My mouth went dry.
“My mother?”
“Anna Mercer.”
I stared at her.
My mother had died when I was sixteen.
Cancer.
She had worked in hotel kitchens, then as a school cafeteria manager.
At least, that was what I knew.
Mrs. Dalca continued.
“She worked here.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“You were very young.”
“My mother never mentioned the Romanos.”
“She was instructed not to.”
Vincent looked at me.
I could not breathe properly.
“When?”
I asked.
Mrs. Dalca answered softly.
“1997.”
The year Eleanor disappeared.
My injured fingers curled.
“What did she do?”
“She was a junior bookkeeper.”
Vincent looked sharply at the black ledger.
Mrs. Dalca nodded.
“Yes.”
I whispered, “She knew about this.”
“She knew about more than this.”
The hallway seemed to tilt.
I had taken this job because I needed stable work after a restaurant closed.
Mrs. Dalca had hired me quickly.
Too quickly, I suddenly remembered.
One interview.
Three questions.
No reference call.
I looked at her.
“Did you hire me because of my mother?”
She did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Anger rose hotter than pain.
“You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“You knew from the day I walked in.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed.
Blood was running through the gauze on my left hand again.
“Everyone in this family says that right before admitting they lied.”
Mrs. Dalca flinched.
Vincent looked at her.
“Why bring Grace here?”
“I did not bring her. She applied.”
“But you hired her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mrs. Dalca’s voice became quieter.
“Because Anna Mercer left something behind.”
I stared.
“What?”
“A box.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“She never told me where. She told me that if her daughter ever came to this house, it meant someone had started looking again.”
A chill moved through me.
“I came here by accident.”
Mrs. Dalca looked at me.
“Did you?”
I wanted to say yes.
Then I remembered the envelope.
Three months ago, before I applied, I had received a letter with no return address.
Romano House needs domestic staff. Excellent pay. Ask for Mrs. Dalca.
I had assumed it was from an employment agency.
I never questioned it.
Vincent saw my face.
“What?”
I told him.
Mrs. Dalca went pale.
“I did not send that.”
Matteo looked around the corridor.
“So someone wanted Grace in this house.”
Vincent’s eyes dropped to my injured hands.
“Someone wanted her to find the ledger.”
Anthony whispered, “Like her mother did.”
I looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
He stared at me.
“Anna found the first ledger in 1997.”
My chest tightened.
“The black one?”
“No.”
Anthony looked at the hidden room behind us.
“The red one.”
Silence.
Vincent spoke first.
“What happened to her?”
Anthony’s face crumpled around the truth.
“She disappeared the same night Eleanor did.”
I shook my head.
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s not.”
“My mother raised me.”
“She came back.”
“When?”
“Six weeks later.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she tell anyone what happened?”
Anthony looked at Mrs. Dalca.
The housekeeper answered.
“Only once.”
I stepped toward her.
“What did she say?”
Mrs. Dalca held my gaze.
“She said Eleanor Romano was alive.”
Vincent stopped moving.
I felt the world narrow.
“When did she say that?”
“Ten years after the disappearance.”
Vincent whispered, “2007.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“She came back to this house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see Carlo.”
“And?”
Mrs. Dalca looked toward the dark end of the corridor.
“She never made it inside.”
“What happened?”
“A car picked her up at the gate.”
“Who was driving?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“What did your mother leave?” Vincent asked me.
I shook my head.
“I don’t know.”
Then I remembered something.
Not a box.
A phrase.
My mother used to say it whenever I lost something as a child.
Look where nobody looks because everybody already knows what’s there.
I had always thought it was just one of her sayings.
I whispered it.
Mrs. Dalca’s eyes widened.
“What?”
I repeated it.
She looked toward Vincent.
“Carlo used to say that.”
My heart slammed.
Vincent stared at me.
Then Matteo said, “What does everybody already know is there?”
No one answered.
I looked down the corridor.
At portraits.
Furniture.
Old paintings.
The Romano family lived inside its own history.
Everybody knew where Carlo was.
In the cemetery.
A stone mausoleum beside his wife’s empty grave.
I looked at Vincent.
“The family crypt.”
His face changed.
May you like
Outside, thunder rolled again.
And somewhere on the first floor, a grandfather clock struck midnight.
