Chapter 2 - The Girl Who Was Never Buried
The first thing I noticed about Adrian Vale's mansion was that it didn't look like a criminal's home.
It looked like a museum.
Tall windows overlooked a frozen garden.
Marble floors reflected enormous chandeliers.
Paintings lined the walls.
A grand staircase curved toward the second floor.
Everything was expensive.
Everything was beautiful.
And everything felt strangely empty.
I stood near the entrance, still wearing my waitress uniform beneath a borrowed coat.
Adrian's bodyguards had escorted us through a private garage after the shooting.
Nobody had explained what was happening.
Nobody had asked whether I wanted to come.
Now I was surrounded by strangers in a house worth more money than I could imagine.
Adrian entered behind me.
"Make sure she's comfortable," he told an older woman approaching from the hallway.
The woman wore a navy dress and had silver hair pinned neatly behind her head.
"Of course, Mr. Vale."
He turned toward Nolan.
"Office. Now."
I stepped forward.
"Wait."
Adrian stopped.
"I want to go home."
His expression softened slightly.
"I understand."
"Then let me leave."
"You can leave when it's safe."
"Safe from what?"
He looked at the locket in his hand.
"That's what I intend to find out."
***
The older woman's name was Mrs. Whitmore.
She had worked for the Vale family for almost thirty years.
She brought me tea and a plate of sandwiches, then showed me to a guest room larger than my entire apartment.
The bed had four enormous pillows.
Fresh flowers stood beside the window.
A fire burned in the marble fireplace.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling completely out of place.
Mrs. Whitmore watched me carefully.
"You're the young woman who brought the necklace?"
I nodded.
She pressed a hand against her chest.
"May I see it?"
"Mr. Vale has it."
Her expression changed.
"Then it's true."
"What is?"
She looked toward the hallway.
"I haven't seen him say Lucy's name in years."
I hesitated.
"Did you know her?"
Mrs. Whitmore smiled sadly.
"She was a wonderful little girl."
"Everyone says she died in the fire."
The woman's smile disappeared.
"That's what we were told."
Something about her answer bothered me.
"What do you mean?"
Mrs. Whitmore looked away.
"That was a terrible night."
"Did you see what happened?"
"No."
She folded her hands.
"I was visiting my sister in Milwaukee. When I returned, the house was gone."
I studied her.
"Did you attend the funeral?"
"Yes."
"Was Lucy there?"
Mrs. Whitmore's eyes filled with tears.
"The caskets were closed."
My stomach tightened.
"All of them?"
She nodded.
Before I could ask another question, someone knocked.
Nolan stood in the doorway.
"Mr. Vale wants to speak with you."
***
Adrian's office occupied the entire west wing.
Bookshelves covered one wall.
A large desk stood before the windows.
A fire crackled beneath a stone mantel.
But the first thing I noticed was a framed photograph beside his desk.
Lucy.
She wore a red Christmas dress and held a stuffed rabbit.
Adrian stood beside the fireplace, holding the silver locket.
"Sit down, Mara."
I remained standing.
"I didn't come here to cause trouble."
"I know."
"Then why are you treating me like a suspect?"
He lowered his eyes.
"Because someone tried to kill us tonight."
"That doesn't mean they were after me."
"No," he admitted. "It doesn't."
He gestured toward the chair.
"Please."
I sat.
Adrian placed the locket on his desk.
"Tell me everything about the coat."
I explained where I'd bought it, how I'd found the necklace, and why I'd researched his family.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he opened a drawer and removed a photograph.
It showed a woman with dark hair and kind eyes.
"Do you recognize her?"
I shook my head.
"Should I?"
"Her name was Eleanor Vale. My mother."
He placed another photograph beside it.
A smiling man stood beside a Christmas tree.
"My father."
I looked between the photographs.
"They seem happy."
"They were."
His voice became distant.
"For a long time, I believed happiness was something that happened to other families."
I waited.
He stared at the fire.
"Christmas Eve, 1998. I was seventeen. My father and I argued."
"About what?"
"He wanted me to leave Chicago. Go to college somewhere far away."
"Why?"
"Because he knew dangerous men."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"He wanted me away from them."
"What happened?"
"I stormed out."
He swallowed.
"Lucy followed me to the front door. She was wearing her red Christmas dress."
I glanced at the photograph.
"She asked me to stay," he continued.
His voice cracked.
"I told her I'd be back before midnight."
He stared at the flames.
"That was the last time I saw her."
I felt a knot form in my throat.
"Mr. Vale..."
"When I returned, the house was burning."
He stopped.
"I tried to get inside. The firefighters pulled me away."
He looked at his hands.
"I remember screaming her name."
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, I asked the question that had troubled me since meeting Mrs. Whitmore.
"Did you see her body?"
Adrian looked up sharply.
"What?"
"Lucy's body. Did you see it?"
"No."
"Then how did they know she died?"
"Investigators found remains."
"Did they identify them?"
"Yes."
"How?"
He stared at me.
"I don't know."
The room became very quiet.
Adrian slowly reached for his phone.
"Nolan. Bring me the original fire report."
***
An hour later, Nolan returned carrying a thick folder.
He looked uneasy.
"The records weren't easy to retrieve."
Adrian opened it.
I watched his eyes move across the pages.
Then he stopped.
"What is this?"
Nolan leaned forward.
"Which part?"
Adrian turned the report toward him.
"Lucy Vale. Presumed deceased."
Nolan frowned.
"Presumed?"
Adrian flipped another page.
"No confirmed dental identification. No surviving medical comparison."
He stood.
"Why was I told her remains had been identified?"
Nolan said nothing.
Adrian read further.
"The body recovered from the upstairs bedroom was identified as Eleanor Vale."
He turned another page.
"Thomas Vale was found near the rear staircase."
His voice became increasingly strained.
"Where is Lucy?"
Nolan looked down.
"There was no separately identified body."
Adrian stared at him.
For twenty-eight years, he'd believed three people had died.
But the report documented only two confirmed identities.
His parents.
Not his sister.
He gripped the desk.
"Who signed this?"
Nolan studied the final page.
"Detective Samuel Bellano."
The name hung in the room.
I remembered Adrian's reaction at the club.
"Bellano," I whispered.
Adrian nodded slowly.
"His father was a police detective."
"Whose father?"
"Vincent Bellano."
I knew the name from newspapers.
A businessman.
A rival of Adrian's.
A man rumored to control several criminal operations across Chicago.
Adrian looked at Nolan.
"Samuel Bellano told me Lucy was dead."
Nolan's face hardened.
"And his son just attacked your warehouse."
Adrian closed the folder.
"Find Samuel Bellano."
***
Near midnight, I was still in Adrian's office.
Nolan had left.
Adrian sat alone at his desk, studying the photograph.
I should have gone to bed.
Instead, I asked another question.
"Why would someone hide the locket in a coat?"
Adrian looked up.
"That's what troubles me."
"Maybe Lucy hid it."
"Why?"
"Maybe she was afraid someone would find it."
He considered that.
Then I remembered something.
"The coat had a label."
"What label?"
"An old name sewn into the collar."
Adrian leaned forward.
"Do you remember it?"
I closed my eyes.
I'd noticed the stitching while repairing the lining.
A small white tag.
Blue thread.
Two words.
"I think it said Rose Mercer."
Adrian's face changed.
He stood so quickly his chair rolled backward.
"What did you say?"
"Rose Mercer."
He crossed the room toward a cabinet.
Unlocked it.
Removed an old leather notebook.
His fingers moved quickly through the pages.
Then he stopped.
He turned the book toward me.
A name was written in faded ink.
Rose Mercer — St. Catherine's Children's Home.
Below it was a date.
December 27, 1998.
Three days after the fire.
Adrian stared at the page.
"Rose Mercer was a nurse."
"What happened to her?"
May you like
He looked up.
"She disappeared the same week my sister died."
