Chapter 4 - THE GIRL WHO LOST HER MOTHER|
Marisol Delgado stood in the medical center lobby with her mother's handbag clutched against her chest.
She looked smaller than Hazel remembered.
Her dark hair was tied into a loose ponytail.
She wore an oversized gray sweatshirt.
And beneath her eyes were deep shadows that no amount of sleep could have erased.
When she saw Hazel, her expression changed.
“You.”
Hazel stopped.
“Marisol.”
The younger woman's eyes filled.
“Why did she say you took something?”
“I don't know.”
Marisol held up her phone.
“Then explain this.”
Hazel read the message.
It came from an unidentified number.
YOUR MOTHER DIDN'T DIE BY ACCIDENT.
HAZEL KEEN KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED.
ASK WHAT SHE HID IN HER ROOM.
Hazel felt her stomach tighten.
“What I hid?”
Marisol's voice cracked.
“Did you take something from the building?”
Hazel hesitated.
She could have said no.
She could have told Marisol that the message was a lie and walked away.
But Rosa had taught her something during their years working together.
A difficult truth was better than a comforting lie.
“I found a piece of leather on my shoe.”
Marisol stared.
“What?”
“After the fire.”
“I think it came from Vivian Castellano's bag.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“In my apartment.”
Marisol's face crumpled.
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
“I reported seeing Vivian.”
“But I haven't given them the fragment yet.”
“Why?”
Hazel looked down.
“Because I wasn't certain it meant anything.”
Marisol laughed bitterly.
“My mother is dead, Hazel.”
“I know.”
“No.”
“You don't.”
Her voice rose.
“You went home last night.”
“You took a shower.”
“You slept in your own bed.”
“My mother never came home.”
Hazel accepted every word.
Marisol had earned the right to be angry.
“I know I can't understand exactly what you're feeling.”
Hazel's voice shook.
“But I loved Rosa.”
Marisol looked away.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
“She was supposed to make breakfast this morning.”
The words broke something inside Hazel.
Marisol continued.
“She bought eggs yesterday.”
“She said we'd finally have a Sunday together.”
“She was going to make those awful pancakes she always burns.”
Hazel smiled through tears.
“Rosa never admitted they were burned.”
Marisol gave a tiny, broken laugh.
“She said they were caramelized.”
They both began crying.
For several moments, the hospital lobby disappeared around them.
Hazel stepped closer.
“Marisol, I promise I'm not hiding anything from you.”
“Then why is Mrs. Castellano sending me messages?”
“Because someone wants us to turn against each other.”
Marisol wiped her face.
“Why?”
Hazel looked toward the elevators.
“Because I saw her leave the fire.”
The younger woman's eyes widened.
“What?”
Hazel told her everything.
The broken heel.
The black leather case.
The waiting car.
The barred basement door.
And the man who nearly died beneath the fallen timber.
Marisol listened without interrupting.
When Hazel finished, she sat down.
“My mother said something strange last week.”
Hazel crouched beside her.
“What?”
“She said the building wasn't safe.”
“Because of the exit?”
“Not just the exit.”
Marisol stared at her mother's handbag.
“She said people were coming through the loading dock late at night.”
“People who weren't supposed to be there.”
Hazel frowned.
“Did she tell management?”
“Yes.”
“They ignored her.”
“What people?”
“She didn't know.”
Marisol swallowed.
“But she said they wore expensive suits.”
“Not delivery uniforms.”
Hazel remembered the ballroom's private events.
The black vehicles.
The security guards who watched certain corridors but never checked the exits.
“What else did she say?”
Marisol opened the handbag.
Inside were Rosa's wallet, keys, a small bottle of hand cream, and a folded piece of paper.
“I found this after the police returned her belongings.”
She handed Hazel the paper.
It was a maintenance request.
Dated eleven days before the fire.
WESTERN SERVICE EXIT.
LOCK MECHANISM JAMMING.
POTENTIAL LIFE-SAFETY HAZARD.
URGENT REPAIR REQUIRED.
Rosa's signature appeared at the bottom.
Hazel stared.
“Did she keep a copy?”
“Apparently.”
Hazel looked more closely.
There was a handwritten note beneath the signature.
Reported to V. Castellano's office.
Hazel's heart began pounding.
“Marisol.”
The younger woman looked up.
“Did your mother ever mention Vivian Castellano?”
Marisol shook her head.
“Only once.”
“When?”
“Thursday.”
“What did she say?”
Marisol closed her eyes.
“She told me a beautiful woman had come to inspect the service corridors.”
“She said the woman asked whether the western exit could be opened from outside.”
Hazel felt cold.
“Are you sure?”
Marisol nodded.
“She thought it was strange.”
“Why?”
“Because the woman didn't ask how to fix it.”
“She asked how to lock it.”
Hazel stared at the maintenance request.
Rosa had warned management.
And someone had used that warning to learn exactly how the door could become a trap.
A man approached from the elevators.
Raymond's attorney.
“Miss Keen.”
He stopped when he saw Marisol.
“Miss Delgado.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Who are you?”
“Gabriel Voss.”
“I represent Raymond Castellano.”
Marisol's expression hardened.
“Your boss owns the building where my mother died.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then tell me why nobody repaired that door.”
“I intend to find out.”
Marisol stood.
“That's not good enough.”
Gabriel didn't argue.
“No.”
“It isn't.”
He looked at the maintenance report.
“May I see that?”
Marisol hesitated.
Then handed it over.
Gabriel read the note.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Mom's handbag.”
He looked toward Hazel.
“Raymond needs to see it.”
Marisol crossed her arms.
“Not before the police.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Agreed.”
The answer seemed to surprise her.
He continued.
“I'll make a copy with your permission.”
“The original should be provided to investigators.”
Marisol looked at Hazel.
Hazel nodded.
“That's what Rosa would have wanted.”
Twenty minutes later, Detective Lena Brooks arrived at the medical center.
She was a tall woman with short dark hair and a notebook tucked beneath her arm.
She introduced herself without ceremony.
“I understand you have information about the fire.”
Hazel told her about Vivian.
Again.
This time, in person.
Detective Brooks listened carefully.
She asked Hazel to describe the woman.
The car.
The case.
The timing.
Then she turned toward Marisol.
“Your mother's report may be important.”
Marisol's voice shook.
“Will you investigate it?”
“Yes.”
“And the people who ignored her?”
“We'll investigate their decisions too.”
Marisol lowered her eyes.
Detective Brooks looked toward Hazel.
“Did anyone approach you after the fire?”
Hazel described the men at the laundromat.
Their envelope.
Their warning.
The detective wrote everything down.
Then she asked a question Hazel hadn't expected.
“Did they mention Mrs. Castellano by name?”
“Yes.”
“Did you recognize either man?”
“No.”
“Could you identify them from photographs?”
“Probably.”
Detective Brooks nodded.
“We'll arrange that.”
Hazel looked at her.
“Do you believe me?”
The detective closed her notebook.
“I believe you witnessed something important.”
“That doesn't mean I've finished determining what happened.”
Hazel accepted the distinction.
It was more than anyone else had offered.
When the detective left to speak with the hospital security team, Marisol remained beside Hazel.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Marisol said, “I was angry at you.”
“I know.”
“I still am.”
Hazel nodded.
“That's okay.”
Marisol looked at her.
“But I don't think you're lying.”
Hazel felt tears gathering again.
“Thank you.”
Marisol wiped her face.
“I want to find out who killed my mother.”
Hazel glanced toward the elevators.
“So do I.”
That evening, Hazel returned to her apartment under police escort.
The detective had insisted on documenting the leather fragment.
Hazel led her upstairs.
The apartment was exactly as she'd left it.
The chipped blue mug beside the sink.
The folded blanket on the couch.
The little envelope on the kitchen table.
She reached for it.
Then stopped.
The envelope was open.
Hazel stared.
She hadn't opened it since placing the fragment inside.
Now the flap was torn.
The little piece of red leather was gone.
Detective Brooks moved beside her.
“Did you leave it like this?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Hazel looked around the room.
Her bedroom door stood slightly ajar.
She remembered closing it before leaving.
The detective drew her radio.
“Stay here.”
Hazel's heart pounded.
An officer entered from the hallway.
Together, they checked the apartment.
Nobody remained inside.
But someone had searched her bedroom.
The mattress had been moved.
Her dresser drawers stood open.
And the box beneath her bed had been overturned.
Hazel crouched.
Inside that box were photographs of her late parents.
Old letters.
Her birth certificate.
And the last birthday card her father had written before he died.
Everything had been scattered across the floor.
She reached for the card.
Then noticed something beneath it.
A white envelope.
Not hers.
She opened it carefully after the detective photographed it.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Hazel leaving the burning ballroom with Raymond Castellano.
Their faces were clearly visible.
Someone had circled Hazel's face in red ink.
On the back were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIM THERE.
Hazel's hands began shaking.
Detective Brooks took the photograph.
“Hazel.”
She looked up.
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”
Hazel shook her head.
The detective's expression tightened.
“Then we'll arrange something.”
Before Hazel could answer, her phone rang.
RAYMOND CASTELLANO.
She stared at the screen.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
“Hazel?”
His voice sounded stronger.
“Yes.”
“I just heard someone entered your apartment.”
She looked toward the scattered photographs.
“How?”
“Gabriel spoke with Detective Brooks.”
Hazel closed her eyes.
“Someone stole the leather fragment.”
Raymond went quiet.
Then he asked, “Did they take anything else?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Us.”
She swallowed.
“Outside the fire.”
Raymond's next breath sounded sharp.
“Hazel, I need you to remember something.”
“What?”
“Vivian didn't only take documents from my office.”
“She took a list.”
Hazel felt cold.
“What list?”
“A list of people who knew what she'd been doing.”
Hazel looked at the photograph in Detective Brooks's hand.
“And?”
Raymond's voice dropped.
“Your supervisor's name was on it.”
Marisol had lost her mother because Rosa knew too much.
May you like
And now someone was searching Hazel's home.
Because Hazel might be the only living person who saw how the killer escaped.
