Chapter 3 - The Gift With a Missing Page
Lucia Montenegro arrived the following morning carrying a coat over one arm and anger she hadn't yet decided where to put.
I met her in the library, where Mrs. Bell was sorting household records for the investigators.
“You're the woman who found them,” Lucia said.
“Yes.”
She looked at my uniform, then my bandaged thumb.
“Thank you.”
Nobody had said it quite that directly yet.
I didn't know where to put my hands.
“I thought the frame was loose.”
“I'm grateful you investigated your very expensive loose frame.”
Mrs. Bell made a small sound that might have been agreement.
Dante was still at the clinic. Dr. Park wanted time to observe him away from the room and review his care properly. I had spoken to him briefly when an investigator needed clarification about the discovery.
He had sounded tired.
He had also sounded like someone who wasn't drinking coffee just to remain upright.
Lucia laid her own purchase records beside the household copy.
The bed had been her idea. The details hadn't all been hers.
“Elias handled delivery and coordination,” she explained. “He manages the estate and most of the private administrative arrangements.”
I knew Elias Ward.
Everybody did.
He was the elegant, silver-haired man who could stop a conversation by appearing in the doorway. He had approved my hiring after a placement agency sent me for an interview. He knew which rooms Dante used, which visitors required no announcement, and which bills should never be left on a public desk.
He was polite in a way that made disagreement feel like poor manners.
“Where is he?” Mrs. Bell asked.
“At the offices. Giving records to counsel.”
Lucia touched the purchase agreement.
“I chose the design. Dante kept saying he didn't need anything. I thought something comfortable might persuade him otherwise.”
Her mouth tightened.
“It's a strange thing to find yourself explaining why you bought your brother a bed.”
“You didn't buy those devices,” I said.
She looked at me.
“We still have to establish who did.”
I appreciated that she hadn't mistaken my kindness for a verdict.
Her contract listed a handmade frame, upholstery, and the usual fittings. No added sound equipment. No treatment system.
The estate file referred to a later amendment.
The amendment itself was missing.
Mrs. Bell checked the folder twice.
“I don't remove pages.”
“I know,” Lucia said.
I examined one of the photographs Leah had provided for clarification about the damage. The section I had torn wasn't part of the original finish. Someone had matched it closely, but the pattern didn't continue the way my father would have demanded.
“The headboard was opened after the main upholstery was done,” I said.
Lucia leaned toward the photograph.
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure someone did repair work there. I can't tell you when from a photograph.”
“How do you know upholstery?”
“My dad did it. I mostly held things and complained about dust.”
She smiled for the first time.
“Useful qualifications, apparently.”
Elias arrived shortly after lunch.
His expression suggested he had been inconvenienced by a scheduling error rather than called home because somebody had hidden machinery in his employer's bedroom.
“Lucia,” he said. “I understand you've had a difficult morning.”
“I'd like the complete purchase records.”
“They're being compiled.”
“The amendment is missing.”
He paused only briefly.
“There were comfort adjustments requested during production.”
“What adjustments?”
“I'll need to check the file.”
His gaze came to rest on me.
“Marina. Quite a discovery.”
I couldn't identify what in his tone made my back straighten.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your father worked in furniture, I believe.”
I looked at him.
“It was on my application.”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Bell closed her folder.
“The investigators want all relevant records preserved. Including service visits.”
“Nobody is suggesting otherwise, Vera.”
He made her name sound like an instruction to stop being difficult.
I watched Lucia notice it.
That afternoon, I gave a formal account to Detective Marta Keene. I explained what I had heard, what I had touched, and what I had said before I understood the situation.
She asked whether anyone had discussed the bed with me before Tuesday.
“No.”
“Has anyone approached you since?”
“People have asked questions.”
“Anything that felt like pressure?”
I thought about Elias saying my father's name.
“I'm not sure.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She listened without making me defend the feeling before describing the facts.
When the interview finished, I called the rehabilitation center. My mother had walked farther that morning with assistance. She was proud and trying not to sound proud.
I sat on the back steps and let myself enjoy it.
For five minutes, the world contained something uncomplicated.
Then a guard named Neil came through the door.
He wasn't Bruno. He was younger, with a neat haircut and the kind of confidence that made uniforms unnecessary.
“We need you inside.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“They found something in your room.”
In the staff sitting area, a tablet lay on the table beside my canvas bag.
I had never seen it before.
The screen showed a room diagram.
May you like
At the center was a bed.
Beside it were six small symbols.
