Chapter 4 - THE SECRET BENEATH THE BLUE FLOWERS|
The mansion had never felt so quiet.
Even after the guests departed, the scent of roasted turkey and cinnamon remained in the air.
Christmas music continued playing somewhere in the kitchen.
But nobody was celebrating anymore.
Luca ordered Michael to secure the west wing and contact the police.
Vanessa protested immediately.
"You're going to bring detectives into our home because someone cut his hand?"
Luca turned toward her.
"There's blood on a staircase and a missing employee who may be a murder victim."
His voice hardened.
"I don't need your permission."
Vanessa looked toward her father.
Victor said nothing.
Margaret sat beside Frank, holding Daniel's old coat against her chest.
I watched her run her fingertips along the repaired seam.
"He always ruined his winter coats," she murmured.
"He would give them away to anyone who was cold."
Frank smiled through his tears.
"He gave me his jacket after pulling me from that river."
Margaret looked up.
"He came home with pneumonia because of you."
Frank lowered his eyes.
"I never deserved what he did."
"Daniel didn't think kindness had to be deserved."
Her words silenced him.
I carefully placed the chipped plate on a folded towel beside her.
"Mrs. Sullivan, may I look at the bottom?"
She nodded.
"Of course, dear."
I turned it over.
Three small felt pads had been attached beneath the porcelain to keep it from scratching tables.
One pad was newer than the others.
Its edges were uneven.
"Did your husband repair this?" I asked.
Margaret leaned closer.
"He put those pads on years ago."
I pointed to the newer one.
"And this?"
She frowned.
"I don't remember."
Frank moved beside us.
"Daniel came to see me shortly before he disappeared."
He stared at the plate.
"He told me he had left something important in Margaret's care."
Margaret shook her head.
"He never gave me any documents."
"Perhaps he couldn't risk telling you what it was."
I took a butter knife from the table.
"May I?"
Margaret nodded again.
Very gently, I lifted the loose felt pad.
A tiny folded piece of paper had been secured beneath it.
My heart began pounding.
Luca moved closer.
"What is it?"
I unfolded the paper.
The ink had faded, but several words remained legible.
ST. AGNES.
LOCKER 24.
KEEP THE PROMISE.
Margaret covered her mouth.
"St. Agnes."
Frank seemed to recognize the name immediately.
"The community kitchen."
Margaret nodded.
"Daniel volunteered there every Saturday."
She looked at the note.
"He always said nobody should have to earn a place at a dinner table."
I glanced toward Vanessa.
For once, she had no clever remark.
Luca took a photograph of the note.
"We'll go there tomorrow."
Victor suddenly spoke.
"That building has been closed for years."
Frank turned.
"How would you know?"
Victor adjusted his glasses.
"My transportation company made charitable deliveries there."
"Daniel made those deliveries," Frank replied.
Victor's expression darkened.
"Frank, you're allowing grief to rewrite history."
"No," Margaret whispered.
"I'm finally learning what history was stolen from me."
Luca instructed Michael to arrange for independent investigators to examine the old employment records.
He also asked the police to preserve the staircase evidence.
Then he looked at me.
"Claire, would you stay with Mrs. Sullivan tonight?"
"Of course."
Vanessa gave a sharp laugh.
"Wonderful."
"Now we're turning the mansion into a shelter."
Luca stared at her.
"Margaret is my father's guest."
"She's a stranger."
"She's the wife of the man who saved his life."
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Luca spoke again.
"And the next time you insult her, you can explain why you brought Daniel Sullivan into this house without telling anyone."
His words ended the argument.
Shortly after midnight, I helped Margaret into a guest bedroom overlooking the snowy garden.
She placed Daniel's empty plate on the bedside table.
For several minutes, she simply stared at it.
Then she looked at me.
"Claire, can I tell you something terrible?"
I sat beside her.
"Anything."
"Part of me is afraid he's alive."
I looked at her in surprise.
"Why?"
"Because if Daniel survived, then he stayed away from me for twenty years."
Her voice trembled.
"And I don't know how to survive learning why."
I held her hand.
"Whatever happened, you deserve the truth."
She nodded.
"I used to pray every Christmas for one more conversation with him."
She glanced at the plate.
"Now I'm terrified that prayer might finally be answered."
The following morning, Christmas Day, Luca drove us to St. Agnes.
The building stood on a quiet Chicago street between a shuttered bakery and an old brick church.
Its front doors were locked.
But a woman named Nora Alvarez, who had managed the kitchen for decades, answered after Luca knocked.
When she heard Daniel's name, she began crying.
"You're too late," she whispered.
Margaret nearly collapsed.
"What do you mean?"
Nora stepped aside.
"Come inside."
She led us to a narrow storage room.
Locker twenty-four stood open.
Its metal door was bent.
The shelves were empty.
Luca examined the broken lock.
"Who opened this?"
Nora's hands trembled.
"Daniel."
Margaret stopped breathing.
Nora looked directly at her.
"He was here yesterday."
Margaret clutched my arm.
"Yesterday?"
"Yes."
Nora began crying harder.
"He told me that if an elderly woman named Margaret came looking for him, I was to tell her something."
I could hear Margaret's heartbeat through the silence.
"What?" she whispered.
Nora reached into her pocket and removed a folded Christmas napkin.
Written across it were six words.
MARGARET, I NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU.
Then Nora looked toward Luca.
"There's one more thing."
She swallowed.
"Daniel said somebody inside the Moretti family was planning another murder."
"And who was the target?" Luca demanded.
May you like
Nora looked directly at me.
"Your father, Frank Moretti."
