Chapter 5 - THE MUSIC BOX THAT HELD A SECRET|
The mansion plunged into darkness.
For one terrible second, I couldn't see my own hands.
Then Isabella screamed.
“Emily!”
“I'm here!”
I reached toward the sound of her voice and found her trembling beside me.
Somewhere down the hall, heavy footsteps pounded against the floor.
A security alarm began wailing.
Luca shouted for everyone to stay where they were.
Then a loud crash came from the staircase.
I pulled Isabella behind an enormous antique dresser.
“Keep your head down,” I whispered.
She clutched my sleeve.
“Is somebody coming for Mommy?”
“I don't know.”
It was the truth.
And somehow, telling it frightened me more than pretending everything was fine.
Emergency lights flickered on along the hallway.
Their dim red glow revealed Luca standing beside Elena's stretcher.
Detective Bennett was speaking urgently into her radio.
Marco appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Sir, somebody cut the power to the west wing.”
“Who?” Luca demanded.
“We haven't found them.”
“Then protect the entrances and let the officers handle the search.”
Another crash sounded below.
I heard Vanessa shouting.
“You have no right to touch me!”
Detective Bennett hurried toward the staircase.
A moment later, an officer called up that Vanessa had attempted to reach a service exit during the blackout.
She had been stopped and was now being detained while investigators examined the circumstances.
Luca looked toward the paramedics.
“Get Elena to the ambulance.”
Elena grabbed his sleeve.
“The music box.”
“Don't worry about that now.”
“You don't understand.”
Her voice trembled.
“They'll kill Margaret if they think you can't find it.”
Luca's expression changed.
“Where is it?”
Elena looked toward Isabella.
“In her room.”
Isabella lifted her head.
“My ballerina box?”
Elena nodded.
“The one Nonna Sofia gave you.”
The little girl's eyes widened.
“Vanessa took it away.”
A terrible silence followed.
“When?” Luca asked.
“After Mommy went away.”
Isabella looked down.
“She said it was broken.”
I remembered the music box.
It was small, made from dark walnut, with a carved rose on its lid.
I had once seen it on a shelf in the upstairs storage room.
Or at least, I thought I had.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, “I might know where it is.”
Luca turned.
“Show me.”
Detective Bennett returned before we could leave.
She insisted that we remain with officers while the house was secured.
Luca agreed, though every moment seemed to test his patience.
By the time investigators confirmed that the immediate area was safe, Elena had been taken to the hospital under police protection.
Isabella cried as the ambulance departed.
I knelt beside her.
“Your mommy needs doctors to help her get stronger.”
“Will they bring her back?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
I looked toward Luca.
“She won't be alone.”
He crouched beside his daughter.
“I'll go to the hospital as soon as we finish helping the police.”
Isabella studied him.
“Promise?”
He kissed her forehead.
“Promise.”
I led Luca and Detective Bennett toward the upstairs storage room.
Two officers accompanied us.
The room smelled of cedar, dust, and expensive furniture polish.
Dozens of boxes stood beneath white sheets.
Vanessa had ordered me to organize the room months earlier.
She had specifically forbidden me to open the boxes labeled Private Family Property.
I had obeyed.
Now I pointed toward a cabinet beside the far wall.
“I saw the music box here when I was cleaning.”
Luca opened the cabinet.
Inside were several framed photographs, a pair of embroidered baby shoes, and a silver jewelry case.
But no music box.
My heart sank.
“I know it was here.”
Detective Bennett examined the shelves.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
I searched behind the picture frames.
Nothing.
Luca lifted the jewelry case.
Underneath it lay a folded piece of blue tissue paper.
He unfolded it.
The paper contained an impression of the carved rose from Isabella's music box.
It looked as though somebody had wrapped the box carefully and removed it.
“Someone moved it,” I whispered.
Luca stared at the paper.
Then his expression shifted.
“Elena used to hide things inside objects.”
He looked at me.
“Letters, jewelry, birthday surprises.”
“She said ordinary hiding places were too obvious.”
He gave a faint, devastated smile.
“I used to tease her about it.”
Detective Bennett placed the tissue paper into an evidence envelope.
“Who had access to this room?”
“Most senior staff,” Luca answered.
I hesitated.
“Actually, Vanessa changed that.”
Both turned toward me.
“Six months ago, she told the housekeeping staff that only Victor and her personal assistant could enter the storage room.”
“Her assistant?” Bennett asked.
“Clara Whitmore.”
Luca frowned.
“Clara resigned last week.”
I nodded.
“She said she was moving to Denver.”
The detective immediately wrote down the name.
“Did you see her leave?”
“No.”
I tried to remember our last conversation.
Clara had been a quiet woman in her thirties.
She dressed neatly, worked long hours, and avoided arguments with Vanessa.
On her final afternoon, she had approached me near the laundry room.
“Emily,” she'd said, “some jobs aren't worth the paycheck.”
I'd laughed awkwardly.
She hadn't.
Then she'd handed me a small packet of peppermint candies.
“For your mother.”
I remembered finding the gift strange.
Clara barely knew Margaret.
Now I wondered whether those candies had been a warning.
I turned toward Luca.
“Clara knew something.”
Detective Bennett looked interested.
“Why do you say that?”
I repeated her words.
Then I remembered another detail.
“She asked whether I still kept my grandmother's recipes.”
Luca looked confused.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don't know.”
But my grandmother had taught me Italian through recipes and songs.
She used to write little notes on the backs of recipe cards.
Sometimes she hid money inside old cookbooks because she didn't trust banks.
Clara knew that because I'd once told her the story.
I began thinking about the packet of candies.
I'd placed it inside my apron pocket.
Then I had taken it home.
It was probably still on the kitchen counter.
At my mother's house.
The house someone had entered.
My stomach tightened.
“Detective, I need to tell you something.”
I explained the candies.
Bennett immediately contacted the officers searching my mother's home.
While she spoke, Luca walked toward the window.
I watched him stare across the dark grounds.
He looked exhausted.
His wife was alive.
His daughter had been imprisoned.
His security director had betrayed him.
And a woman who had done nothing except protect a child was now missing because of his household's secrets.
“Mr. Moretti?” I said.
He turned.
“I'm sorry.”
He frowned.
“For what?”
“For not telling you sooner about Isabella's bedroom.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he shook his head.
“You tried to tell me tonight.”
“But before tonight—”
“Before tonight, I wasn't listening.”
The honesty in his voice surprised me.
He looked toward the empty doorway.
“I told myself that providing for my daughter made me a good father.”
“I thought expensive schools, security, and a beautiful home were enough.”
His jaw tightened.
“All she needed was somebody who would believe her.”
I didn't know what to say.
Then his phone rang.
Detective Bennett answered after checking the caller information.
It was Officer Ramirez.
They had discovered that Margaret's neighbor saw her being led into a dark SUV earlier that evening.
The neighbor had believed she was leaving willingly because Margaret appeared to recognize the driver.
“Who was driving?” I asked.
Bennett listened.
Then she looked at Luca.
“An older man with silver hair.”
Luca frowned.
“That could describe dozens of people.”
The detective continued listening.
Then her expression changed.
“The neighbor remembered something else.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“The man walked with a cane.”
Luca went completely still.
“Did she describe the cane?”
Bennett repeated the question into her phone.
A few seconds later, she answered.
“Black wood, silver handle.”
Luca stared at the floor.
I watched his face lose all color.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He swallowed.
“That cane belonged to my father.”
I blinked.
“But your father died.”
“Yes.”
“Seven years ago.”
Detective Bennett studied him.
“Who has the cane now?”
Luca looked toward the hallway.
Then he whispered a name.
“My uncle, Dominic Moretti.”
The detective checked her notes.
“Isn't Dominic the man who identified Elena's personal belongings after the crash?”
Luca nodded.
My heart began pounding.
Then Bennett's phone vibrated with a new message.
It was a photograph recovered from a traffic camera.
She enlarged the image.
A black SUV sat beneath a streetlight.
An older man stood beside the passenger door.
Even through the grainy footage, his face was recognizable.
Luca stared at the screen.
“That's Uncle Dominic.”
And beside him, climbing into the vehicle, was my mother.
But the most frightening detail wasn't the car.
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It was the expression on Margaret's face.
She appeared to be smiling at the man who was taking her away.
