Chapter 5 - THE LOCKED DRAWER IN ROSA'S BEDROOM|
By Thursday afternoon, the Moretti mansion felt like a different house.
The grand entrance remained beautiful.
Crystal chandeliers still sparkled over imported marble.
Fresh flowers stood in every hallway.
But police officers were moving through rooms where wealthy guests had been laughing only twenty-four hours earlier.
Vanessa was no longer there.
She had been questioned by investigators and had retained an attorney.
The police had not yet announced charges.
Her lawyer insisted the allegations were nothing more than a family disagreement fueled by an elderly woman's confusion.
I wanted to scream when I heard that.
Instead, I accompanied Detective Torres to Rosa's bedroom.
Rosa had given permission for us to gather her personal belongings and check the room.
Luca had also authorized a search of the areas under his control.
The detective explained that anything requiring additional legal authorization would be handled separately.
I appreciated her carefulness.
After everything Vanessa had done, I wanted evidence that would survive in court.
Rosa's room was at the end of the east hallway.
It had once been the warmest room in the mansion.
She kept photographs of Luca as a child, a collection of porcelain birds, and an old wooden rocking chair beside the window.
But when I opened the door, something was terribly wrong.
Her favorite pictures were gone.
The rocking chair had disappeared.
Even the colorful quilt I'd given her for Christmas was missing.
The room smelled strongly of disinfectant.
"What happened here?"
Detective Torres stepped inside.
"Was it like this before?"
"No."
I walked toward the closet.
"Mrs. Moretti loved this room."
Someone had stripped it of nearly everything personal.
Her dresses hung in neat rows.
Her slippers were placed under the bed.
But every photograph, handwritten card, and family keepsake had vanished.
I opened the bedside cabinet.
The top drawer was empty.
The second contained tissues and a small prayer book.
The third was locked.
I stared at it.
"I've never seen this drawer locked before."
Torres examined the cabinet.
"Do you know who has the key?"
"Vanessa began keeping all the household keys."
"All right."
She photographed the drawer and made arrangements for the appropriate evidence collection.
While we waited, I checked the closet for Rosa's missing quilt.
Instead, I found a cardboard box behind a stack of folded sheets.
Inside were several pieces of old clothing.
A pair of worn leather shoes.
A faded blue sweater.
And a tiny red apron.
I recognized the apron immediately.
Rosa had once shown it to me.
She wore it when she worked at the first restaurant Luca ever owned.
Back then, the business was only a small diner on the South Side.
Rosa had washed dishes and served breakfast to help him keep it open.
I lifted the apron carefully.
Something crinkled inside its front pocket.
It was a folded receipt.
Across the top were the words NORTHBROOK HAVEN RECOVERY SERVICES.
The date was less than a month old.
The description read:
Private patient assessment and extended residential placement.
The patient was Rosa Moretti.
I stared at the total.
Forty-eight thousand dollars.
Someone had already arranged expensive long-term care for a woman who had never agreed to leave her home.
"Detective?"
Torres photographed the receipt.
"Where did you find it?"
"In the apron pocket."
She examined the name.
"Have you heard of Northbrook Haven?"
"No."
Then I remembered something.
"Vanessa mentioned a private facility once."
"What did she say?"
"She told Mrs. Moretti she'd be sent somewhere nobody would have to listen to her complaining."
Torres wrote that down.
The door opened behind us.
Elena Alvarez, our longtime head cook, stood in the hallway.
Her eyes were red from crying.
"Miss Claire?"
I hurried toward her.
"Elena, are you okay?"
She shook her head.
"I should have said something."
Detective Torres stepped closer.
"About Mrs. Moretti?"
Elena nodded.
For fifteen years, Elena had managed the kitchen.
She'd prepared Rosa's favorite soups, baked birthday cakes, and cooked enormous family dinners.
But Vanessa had recently forbidden her from preparing Rosa's evening meals.
"Mrs. Vanessa told me the doctor had ordered a special diet."
Elena twisted her hands.
"She said I wasn't allowed to question medical instructions."
"Did you prepare the soup?"
"Sometimes."
Her voice trembled.
"But I only made the broth and vegetables."
She looked directly at me.
"Vanessa took the bowls upstairs herself."
"Did you ever see her adding anything?"
Elena hesitated.
"Once."
My heart stopped.
"Tell us."
"She was standing beside the pantry counter."
Elena swallowed.
"She had a small packet in her hand."
"Did you see what was inside?"
"No."
"What happened afterward?"
"She told me to leave."
Tears ran down Elena's cheeks.
"That night, Mrs. Moretti asked me for toast."
I covered my mouth.
"Vanessa found out."
Elena nodded miserably.
"She said she'd fire me if I fed her again."
Detective Torres gently asked Elena whether she would provide a formal statement.
"Yes."
Elena wiped her face.
"I should have spoken sooner."
A technician arrived to help document and examine the locked drawer.
When it was opened, we discovered a folder containing medical reports.
Every report described Rosa as increasingly confused.
Every report recommended residential placement.
And every report carried Dr. Harrison's signature.
Beneath them lay a photograph.
It showed Vanessa standing beside Dominic Rinaldi outside a private medical office.
On the back, someone had written a date and three words.
FRIDAY. EVERYTHING CHANGES.
Then my phone rang.
It was an unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice whispered.
"Claire Bennett?"
"Yes."
"My name is Lena Price."
I glanced at Detective Torres.
"I used to be Mrs. Moretti's night nurse."
My heart began racing.
"I was fired six weeks ago."
"Why?"
There was a long silence.
Then Lena said something that made my hands turn cold.
"Because I caught Dr. Harrison giving Rosa medication she wasn't supposed to receive."
She began crying.
"And Claire, you need to listen carefully."
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"Why?"
"Rosa isn't the first elderly woman they've done this to."
