Chapter 2 - The Note Hidden Inside His Mother's Locket|
“WHERE IS MY SISTER, VANESSA?”
Luca Moretti's voice carried across the dining room.
Thirty-four guests sat motionless beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Vanessa Bellini stood beside the head table, her red satin gown trembling slightly as she gripped the back of a chair.
I remained beside the damaged piano, staring at the tiny gold locket in Luca's hand.
Inside was a folded note written by his mother.
A woman who had been dead for seventeen years.
A woman whose piano Vanessa had tried to throw away before dinner.
“Luca,” Vanessa whispered, “you're embarrassing yourself.”
He didn't blink.
“My sister was supposed to be in Boston.”
“She is in Boston.”
“Then why did my mother leave a note about her inside a hidden compartment you opened this afternoon?”
Vanessa looked toward the door.
That was when I noticed something.
She wasn't frightened of the guests.
She wasn't even particularly frightened of Luca.
She was frightened of what he might discover next.
Luca unfolded the note again.
His expression changed.
Then he read aloud.
My darling Luca, if Isabella ever tells you someone is trying to take away what belongs to her, please believe her.
My stomach tightened.
Luca swallowed.
Your sister carries something important. When the time comes, the seventh key will tell you where to look.
Silence.
Then Luca lowered the paper.
“Seventh key.”
His eyes moved toward the piano.
Six ivory keytops had been turned into the comb Vanessa wore.
But there was a seventh missing key.
One that hadn't been used in the jewelry.
One that Vanessa claimed she knew nothing about.
“Where is it?” Luca asked.
Vanessa's lips parted.
“Darling, I don't know what your mother meant.”
He stared at her.
“Then explain why you opened Isabella's bench.”
“It was damaged.”
“The compartment was concealed.”
“I didn't know that.”
“The mover watched you take something out.”
She folded her arms.
“And I gave you the locket.”
“After you hid it under your champagne glass.”
Vanessa went silent.
Luca turned toward the guests.
“I'm sorry, but dinner is over.”
A wealthy businessman near the fireplace cleared his throat.
“Luca, perhaps we should discuss—”
“No.”
One word.
Nobody argued.
Within minutes, guests were gathering coats and whispering as they hurried toward the entrance.
Vanessa's father, Richard Bellini, approached Luca.
He was a silver-haired man with sharp blue eyes and an expensive watch.
“Son, I think you're letting sentiment cloud your judgment.”
Luca slowly turned.
“Don't call me son.”
Richard stopped.
“My daughter was trying to update a room for your wedding.”
“She destroyed something my mother left us.”
“Six pieces of ivory hardly constitute destruction.”
Luca looked toward the piano.
Then back at Richard.
“Seven.”
Richard's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
And so did Luca.
“You knew there were seven?” he asked.
Richard smiled stiffly.
“I'm simply repeating what you said.”
Luca studied him.
Then looked toward Marco, his head of security.
“Find out whether Isabella actually boarded her flight to Boston.”
Marco nodded.
“And contact her directly,” Luca added. “Not through Vanessa. Not through Richard. Her own phone.”
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
“She's busy with her research fellowship.”
Luca's eyes narrowed.
“What fellowship?”
“The one at Harvard.”
“Harvard is in Cambridge.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Obviously.”
“Isabella told me she was visiting Boston for a medical conference.”
I felt a chill move through me.
Two completely different explanations.
From the woman who supposedly arranged the trip.
Luca took out his phone.
Dialed his sister.
Waited.
Straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“Who drove Isabella to the airport?”
She stared at him.
“I don't remember.”
“You arranged the car.”
“Luca—”
“Who drove her?”
Vanessa looked toward her father.
Richard's jaw tightened.
And suddenly I understood why they had spent the afternoon trying to remove the piano.
They weren't redecorating.
They were searching.
Or destroying evidence.
Perhaps both.
I looked at the damaged keyboard.
Then the little bench.
Then the note in Luca's hand.
Something bothered me.
His mother hadn't written that the seventh key contained the answer.
She had written that it would tell him where to look.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca turned.
“Yes, Emma?”
I swallowed.
“May I see the note?”
Vanessa snapped, “Absolutely not.”
Luca ignored her.
He handed it to me.
I examined the handwriting.
There was a tiny drawing beneath the final sentence.
A flower.
Seven petals.
One petal colored blue.
I remembered the painted flower above the piano in the old family photographs.
And then I remembered something my mother used to say when repairing instruments.
Every piano has more than one kind of key.
I looked up.
“Mr. Moretti, I don't think your mother meant the missing ivory.”
Luca frowned.
“What?”
I pointed toward the drawing.
“I think she meant a real key.”
Vanessa's face turned white.
And before anyone could speak, Marco returned.
His expression was grim.
“Boss.”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“Isabella never checked into her Boston hotel.”
A terrible silence followed.
Marco continued.
“And the driver who took her from this house wasn't employed by our transportation company.”
Luca slowly looked at Vanessa.
“Then who was he?”
May you like
Marco swallowed.
“A man working for Bellini Holdings.”
