Chapter 2 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH|
"That's not the man we buried."
Frank Moretti's words echoed through the Christmas dining room like a gunshot.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Thirty wealthy guests stared at the photograph in Luca Moretti's hands.
Margaret Sullivan sat frozen in her chair, clutching the edge of the table.
And I stood beside her, wondering whether the elderly widow was about to faint.
"Father, explain yourself," Luca demanded.
Frank wiped his tears with trembling fingers.
"Twenty years ago, the police told us Daniel Sullivan had been murdered."
He looked at Margaret.
"They showed me a body wearing Daniel's coat and wedding ring."
Margaret began crying.
"I buried that man."
Frank slowly shook his head.
"But Daniel had a scar on his left wrist from pulling me out of the river."
He pointed toward the photograph.
"Look at his hand."
Luca brought the picture closer to the chandelier.
There, beneath the sleeve of the man's winter coat, was a pale scar shaped like a crooked hook.
"The body they showed me didn't have that scar," Frank whispered.
Margaret made a sound I would never forget.
It wasn't quite a scream.
It was the desperate gasp of someone whose entire world had suddenly become uncertain.
"You knew?" she asked.
Frank lowered his head.
"You knew that might not have been my husband?"
"I suspected it."
"And you let me bury a stranger?"
Her voice broke.
"You let me stand beside that grave every Christmas for twenty years?"
Frank covered his face.
"Someone threatened to kill you if I questioned the identification."
Luca slammed his hand against the table.
"Who threatened you?"
Before Frank could answer, Vanessa stepped forward.
"This is ridiculous."
Her diamond earrings glittered as she turned toward the guests.
"We have a confused old woman, an ancient photograph, and a very emotional man making accusations at Christmas dinner."
Margaret looked at her.
"That photograph was taken three weeks ago."
"Photographs can be manipulated," Vanessa snapped.
"People will believe anything when they want money."
I felt Margaret's fingers tighten around mine.
"She doesn't want money," I said.
Vanessa turned on me.
"Claire, I suggest you remember you're the help."
Luca's eyes moved toward his wife.
"That's enough, Vanessa."
His voice was quiet.
But the entire room seemed to grow colder.
He looked at Margaret again.
"Mrs. Sullivan, who sent you that Christmas card?"
"I don't know."
"The envelope?"
"There's no return address."
"Did someone call you?"
Margaret nodded slowly.
"Yesterday morning, a man telephoned my apartment."
"What did he say?"
"He told me to come here tonight and bring Daniel's Christmas plate."
Frank suddenly grabbed the table for support.
"The plate?"
Margaret looked confused.
"Yes."
Frank stared at the chipped porcelain covered in tiny blue flowers.
Then he whispered, "Daniel told me something before he disappeared."
Luca leaned closer.
"What?"
"He said that if anything happened to him, the truth would survive in the one place nobody thought to look."
Everyone turned toward the plate.
Vanessa immediately reached for it.
"Then perhaps we should examine it."
But I moved faster.
I lifted the plate from the table and held it against my apron.
"Careful," I said.
"It's the only thing she has left of her husband."
Vanessa's expression hardened.
For one terrible second, I thought she might slap me.
Instead, she smiled.
"How sentimental."
Across the room, a distinguished man with silver-framed glasses slowly rose from his chair.
I recognized him immediately.
Victor Bellini.
Vanessa's father.
He owned several transportation companies and had been a frequent visitor to the Moretti mansion since Luca's wedding.
"Frank," Victor said calmly, "you're upsetting your guests."
Frank turned toward him.
The look on his face frightened me more than any angry outburst could have.
It was pure hatred.
"You were there that night," Frank said.
Victor's smile disappeared.
"Be careful."
Luca stepped between them.
"What night?"
Victor adjusted his cufflinks.
"Your father is tired."
"No," Frank whispered.
"I'm finished being afraid."
He straightened his shoulders.
"For twenty years, I kept quiet because I thought silence would protect the people I loved."
He looked at Margaret.
"But my silence stole twenty Christmases from this woman."
Victor moved toward the door.
Luca raised one hand.
"Nobody leaves until I understand what's happening."
Two security guards quietly took positions near the entrance.
Victor stopped walking.
And Vanessa suddenly looked terrified.
Frank pointed a trembling finger across the table.
"The man who ordered Daniel Sullivan killed is standing in this room."
Margaret began sobbing.
Luca slowly turned toward Victor.
"Father," he said, "are you accusing my wife's family?"
Frank's answer was barely audible.
"I'm telling you that the night Daniel disappeared, someone inside this house opened the door for his killers."
He swallowed.
"And whoever opened that door knew exactly what would happen."
I looked down at the photograph in Luca's hand.
Only then did I notice something strange.
Daniel was standing outside the Moretti mansion.
But he wasn't standing near the front entrance.
He was standing beside the servants' entrance.
And pinned to his coat was a small identification badge.
I recognized the badge immediately.
It belonged to the temporary maintenance workers hired three weeks earlier.
May you like
The hiring paperwork had passed through my office.
And the person who authorized those workers had been Vanessa Moretti.
