Chapter 8 - THE WIFE WHO WAS MEANT TO DIE|
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the beating of my own heart.
Five million dollars.
A life insurance policy I had never authorized.
A beneficiary who happened to be my father.
And an armed stranger positioned beside the exact doorway where Beatrice had forced me to serve champagne.
The pieces no longer looked accidental.
They looked like a plan.
I turned toward Dominic.
“The gunman wasn't only targeting Isabella.”
He nodded slowly.
“No.”
“He was waiting for me.”
Dominic's eyes moved toward my bandaged hands.
The tray.
The pitcher.
The humiliation.
Everything that had seemed like cruelty for its own sake now had another possible purpose.
Beatrice had wanted me separated from the family.
She'd wanted me standing near an exit.
She'd wanted Dominic to arrive and find me there.
And she'd known he would cross the ballroom to confront her.
I remembered the gunman's surprise when Dominic appeared.
“You weren't supposed to be here yet.”
He hadn't meant the wedding.
He'd meant that moment.
If Dominic had arrived five minutes later, I might have been alone beside the service corridor.
A servant carrying a tray.
A woman nobody was looking at.
An easy victim.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Dominic moved closer.
“Clara?”
I shook my head.
“Please don't touch me yet.”
He stopped.
I didn't say it because I was afraid of him.
I said it because I was terrified that if someone showed me kindness, I would collapse completely.
“I was supposed to die today.”
My voice sounded strange.
Detached.
Like someone else speaking.
Dominic's expression broke.
“We don't know that.”
I looked at him.
“Someone submitted a claim inquiry before I was even hurt.”
He couldn't answer.
“My aunt-in-law put me beside an exit where a gunman was waiting.”
I began shaking.
“And my own father was supposed to collect the money.”
My father made a broken sound.
“Clara, I swear—”
“Don't.”
He flinched.
I looked at him.
“Don't say another word until you're ready to tell the truth.”
He lowered his head.
Dominic turned toward Marco.
“Have the officers hold Evelyn for questioning.”
“Secure the insurance documents.”
“And confirm every signature.”
Marco nodded.
“The police are already working on it.”
Then Dominic looked at my father.
“You will give a complete statement.”
“You will provide every message, every payment, and every contact you've had with Beatrice.”
My father whispered, “Yes.”
“And if you lied to Clara about this policy, that ends tonight.”
I stepped toward the desk.
My hands were trembling.
But my thoughts were suddenly clear.
“Dominic, I think Beatrice made a mistake.”
He looked at me.
“What mistake?”
“She thought humiliating me would make me disappear.”
I swallowed.
“She thought nobody would notice me.”
“And because she believed that, she underestimated what I could see.”
Dominic remained silent.
I continued.
“She doesn't know about the thimble.”
“Not yet.”
“She doesn't know we spoke to Margaret Ellis.”
“Probably not.”
“And she doesn't know how much of the dress I repaired.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“What are you thinking?”
I looked at the old note from my grandmother.
“The gown isn't just evidence.”
“It's bait.”
Marco leaned forward.
“Explain.”
“Beatrice thinks I discovered something sewn into it.”
“That's why she wants me at Bellhaven.”
“But what if I tell her I found exactly what she's looking for?”
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
“Listen.”
“Clara, she tried to have you killed.”
“Then she already wants me dead.”
The words hurt him.
I could see it.
But they were true.
“She has Isabella.”
“She has the gown.”
“And she's waiting for me.”
I took a breath.
“If we convince her I have the evidence, she may keep Isabella alive long enough to bargain.”
Dominic stared at me.
“You're asking to walk into the house of the woman who murdered my mother.”
“I'm asking to help save your sister.”
His face tightened.
“You are not expendable.”
The words struck me harder than I expected.
For six months, I'd felt exactly that.
Expendable.
Replaceable.
A debt payment wearing a wedding ring.
I looked down.
“Then don't treat me like I am.”
Silence filled the room.
Finally, Dominic nodded.
“Tell me your plan.”
I didn't have every answer.
But I had one advantage Beatrice didn't know about.
I'd spent forty nights working with the wedding gown.
I'd examined every seam.
Every pearl.
Every hidden piece of lining.
If anyone could convince her I understood the secret, it was me.
And perhaps I really did understand more than I realized.
I looked toward Mrs. Alvarez.
“Did Elena sew symbols into her clothes?”
The housekeeper blinked.
“Symbols?”
“Little markings.”
“Patterns only another seamstress would recognize.”
Mrs. Alvarez thought for a moment.
“Yes.”
“She and Margaret used tiny crosses to mark hidden pockets.”
My heart leaped.
“What kind of crosses?”
“Three stitches.”
“One vertical, two diagonal.”
I closed my eyes.
I'd seen that exact marking.
Beneath Isabella's left shoulder seam.
I'd assumed it was a repair guide.
Now I understood.
My grandmother had left a message inside the dress.
“What did it mean?” I asked.
Mrs. Alvarez stared at me.
“Elena called it the sparrow stitch.”
“Her sister loved birds.”
“The stitch meant something was hidden nearby.”
I pressed my fingers against the desk.
“There's a sparrow stitch in the gown.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Where?”
“Inside the bodice.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
I paused.
“Because I didn't open the original lining.”
Mrs. Alvarez's eyes widened.
“Then the evidence could still be there.”
“Maybe.”
I shook my head.
“But Beatrice has the gown now.”
Dominic looked at the map.
“We need Isabella out before we search it.”
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated again.
This time, the message came from Isabella's number.
CLARA, PLEASE DON'T TRUST MY HUSBAND.
A second message appeared.
HE HAS A KEY TO THE BASEMENT.
Then a third.
HE TOLD BEATRICE ABOUT THE PEARLS.
I stared at the screen.
A fourth message arrived.
I HID SOMETHING IN YOUR BAG BEFORE THE CEREMONY.
My breath stopped.
My bag.
I'd left it in the bridal suite.
No.
I'd brought it home with us in the car.
It was upstairs.
I ran from the library.
Dominic followed.
“Clara!”
I climbed the staircase two steps at a time.
My fingertips screamed as I opened my bedroom door.
The small champagne-colored clutch rested on the dressing table.
I emptied it onto the bed.
Lipstick.
Tissues.
A compact mirror.
Two hairpins.
And a folded square of ivory fabric.
I stared.
I'd never seen it before.
Dominic appeared behind me.
“What is that?”
I unfolded the fabric.
Inside was a small brass key.
Attached to it was a piece of paper bearing Isabella's handwriting.
Aunt Beatrice told Adrian the real wedding gift was in the old chapel.
I heard them arguing before the ceremony.
If anything happens to me, don't let him reach the altar beneath the floor.
Dominic looked at the key.
“Bellhaven chapel.”
I nodded.
But my attention remained on the fabric.
There was embroidery along one edge.
Three tiny crossed stitches.
A sparrow mark.
And beside them, stitched in faded blue thread, were six letters.
M. E. L. E. N. A.
I frowned.
“That isn't a word.”
Dominic studied it.
“Margaret and Elena.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Their names.”
He pointed.
“M and E.”
“Margaret Ellis and Elena.”
My mind raced.
Then I remembered the old chapel.
Mrs. Alvarez had said Elena left something there.
Something Margaret Bennett couldn't move.
What if it wasn't a second ledger?
What if it was the original evidence?
And the brass key opened a compartment beneath the altar.
Dominic reached for the phone.
“Marco, get the chapel plans.”
I stopped him.
“Wait.”
He turned.
I looked at the note again.
The sentence.
Don't let him reach the altar beneath the floor.
Not beneath the altar.
The altar beneath the floor.
Two different things.
“Dominic, is there an underground chapel at Bellhaven?”
He stared at me.
Then his face changed.
“There used to be.”
I felt a chill.
“My grandfather built a private prayer room beneath the main chapel.”
“Why?”
“It was used during Prohibition as a hiding place.”
I looked at the brass key.
“Then that's where Elena hid the evidence.”
Dominic nodded.
“Possibly.”
But before either of us could speak again, Mrs. Alvarez appeared in the doorway.
She was holding the house phone.
“Mr. Coretti.”
Her voice trembled.
“Someone is asking for Clara.”
I looked up.
“Who?”
Mrs. Alvarez swallowed.
“Her mother.”
My heart stopped.
“She says she's outside the front gate.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Why is she here?”
The housekeeper looked directly at me.
“She says she knows who signed Clara's life insurance policy.”
I couldn't move.
May you like
Mrs. Alvarez continued.
“And she says Thomas Bennett wasn't the person Beatrice intended to pay.”
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