Chapter 4 - THE GREENHOUSE WHERE THE LIGHTS NEVER WENT OUT
“A dinner plate?”
Luca stared at the radio.
The guard answered immediately.
“Yes, sir. White porcelain. Turned upside down.”
My hand tightened around Sophie's.
“Is there anything on top?” Luca asked.
Another pause.
“A cherry, sir.”
Sophie made a small sound.
Then she whispered, “Mommy.”
Luca looked at her.
But I saw something else.
Vanessa had backed against the wall.
Her expression was no longer merely frightened.
She looked like someone who had just discovered that a warning she'd ignored had finally come true.
“Who opened the greenhouse?” Luca demanded.
“We don't know. The lock isn't damaged.”
Luca turned toward Marco.
“Who has keys?”
“Yourself. The estate manager. Antonio.”
“And Vanessa,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
Vanessa's face flushed.
“I don't have a key.”
“Yes, you do.”
My voice trembled, but I continued.
“Three weeks ago, you asked me to take a box of decorations into the greenhouse. You opened the door yourself.”
Vanessa stared.
“You little—”
“Enough,” Luca interrupted.
He looked at me.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
She turned toward him desperately.
“I only went inside to look for old photographs. I wanted to surprise you with a family album.”
“Then why did you tell me the building was sealed?”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
Luca handed Sophie's key back to her.
“Emily, stay with my daughter.”
“I'd rather come with you,” I said.
Everyone looked surprised.
Including me.
My mother needed treatment.
I needed my salary.
I'd spent eleven months reminding myself that the Moretti family's secrets were none of my business.
But Sophie was standing beside me, clutching a key her mother had hidden for three years.
And I couldn't abandon her now.
Luca studied my face.
“Emily, this could be dangerous.”
“I understand.”
He glanced at Sophie.
“Then we go together. Marco, bring two men.”
We crossed the garden beneath a cold Chicago sky.
The greenhouse stood beyond a row of bare maple trees.
I had passed it almost every day.
Its windows were cloudy.
Its iron frame was covered in ivy.
But tonight, light glowed through the glass.
Luca stopped.
“That building has had no electricity for three years.”
Marco drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
Inside, the air smelled of damp soil and fresh coffee.
I saw the overturned plate immediately.
It sat on a wooden desk.
One red cherry rested at its center.
But there was something beneath the plate.
A folded piece of paper.
Luca lifted it carefully.
Four words were written in blue ink.
You brought her back.
I looked at Sophie.
She was staring toward a narrow shelf filled with dusty gardening books.
“Daddy?”
Luca turned.
“There's my drawing.”
On the shelf stood a small picture frame.
Inside was a child's crayon drawing.
Three stick figures stood beneath a yellow sun.
Mommy.
Daddy.
Sophie.
But the drawing wasn't dusty.
Someone had recently cleaned the glass.
Luca reached for it.
On the back was a tiny metal compartment.
He opened it.
Inside lay a photograph and a folded hospital bracelet.
The bracelet belonged to Elena Moretti.
The date was six months after her reported death.
Luca stared at it.
“She was admitted to a hospital?”
Antonio leaned closer.
The printed hospital name was partially faded.
But I could still read it.
St. Catherine's Rehabilitation Center.
“I know that place,” I said.
Luca looked up.
“My mother was treated there last year. It's outside Milwaukee.”
“Was it operating three years ago?”
“Yes. It's a private facility.”
He turned the photograph over.
It showed Elena sitting in a wheelchair beside a window.
Her hair was much shorter.
Her face was thinner.
She was holding a small stuffed rabbit.
Sophie's favorite toy when she was five.
Luca touched the image.
For a moment, the powerful man disappeared.
There was only a husband looking at a photograph of the wife he'd mourned.
“She was alive,” he whispered.
Antonio placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, sir.”
Sophie reached toward the picture.
“Mommy looks tired.”
Luca swallowed.
“She does, princess.”
“Can we bring her soup?”
Nobody answered.
Then I noticed something written beneath the hospital date.
A room number.
214\.
I pointed.
“That's strange.”
Luca looked at me.
“What?”
“My mother was in Room 214 during her first treatment.”
He stared.
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
Antonio frowned.
“Are you saying Elena was in the same room?”
“I don't know.”
But a memory surfaced.
My mother had once mentioned a quiet woman at the rehabilitation center.
A woman who rarely spoke.
A woman who sat by the window and hummed songs to herself.
I remembered dismissing the story.
Now my stomach twisted.
Luca saw my expression.
“What is it, Emily?”
“My mother told me about a patient who wore a silver bracelet with a blue bird.”
Sophie looked up.
“Mommy's bracelet?”
I nodded slowly.
Luca gripped the edge of the desk.
“Your mother saw Elena?”
“Maybe.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know.”
He stepped back.
And I saw regret cross his face.
“I'm sorry. Of course you didn't.”
Marco approached with a thin ledger he'd found inside the desk drawer.
“Sir, these are medical payments.”
Luca took the book.
Every page contained dates, account numbers, and initials.
Payments had been made monthly for nearly three years.
All through a private trust.
And each payment bore the same authorization code.
V.B.
Vanessa Bellini.
Luca closed the ledger.
“She paid to keep Elena there.”
But Antonio shook his head.
“Look at the final page.”
Luca opened it.
The last payment had been made eleven months earlier.
The date caught my eye.
The exact week I'd started working at the mansion.
Beside the payment was a handwritten instruction.
Transfer care to E.C. Contact secured.
I stared at my initials.
Emily Carter.
Luca slowly looked at me.
For one dreadful second, I saw suspicion return to his eyes.
“Emily,” he said, “what does this mean?”
“I don't know.”
But before I could explain, Sophie tugged at my sleeve.
“Emily, Mommy knows your mommy.”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
She pointed at the photograph.
“She showed me a picture before she went away.”
“What picture?”
Sophie looked confused.
Then she answered.
“Your mommy. She said that lady helped her.”
Luca stared at me.
The old chef crossed himself.
And I remembered something my mother had told me when I'd accepted the job.
If the Morettis ever offer you work, Emily, don't say no.
At the time, I'd thought she was worried about money.
Now I wasn't sure.
Then Marco turned the final ledger page.
A small envelope fell out.
Inside was a photocopy of my employment application.
May you like
Across the top, someone had written:
SHE IS NOT HERE BY ACCIDENT.
