Chapter 7 - THE HUSBAND WHO WASN'T DEAD|
At three forty-five that afternoon, I stood outside the shuttered bakery beside St. Agnes.
The streets were almost deserted.
Christmas decorations hung from the windows of neighboring apartments.
Somewhere nearby, children were laughing as they played in the snow.
I had told Michael where I was going and asked him to remain close enough to help if anything happened.
But I hadn't told Vanessa.
And I hadn't told Luca.
The note had asked me to come alone.
I wasn't foolish enough to trust a stranger completely.
Yet I couldn't ignore the possibility that Margaret's husband was waiting.
At exactly four o'clock, an elderly man emerged from the narrow passage behind the bakery.
He wore a dark wool coat and carried a walking stick.
His hair was almost completely white.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
They were the same eyes I had seen in the funeral photograph.
"Claire Bennett?" he asked.
I nodded.
He stopped several feet away.
"I'm Daniel Sullivan."
I stared at him.
For a moment, every question disappeared.
All I could see was a man who had been buried twenty years ago.
"Mrs. Sullivan thinks you're dead," I whispered.
His expression crumpled.
"I know."
"She cried over your photograph last night."
Daniel closed his eyes.
A tear rolled down his weathered cheek.
"Did she bring the plate?"
"Yes."
He covered his mouth.
"God bless her."
"Why haven't you gone to her?"
He looked toward the street.
"Because the people who tried to kill me are still watching."
I stepped closer.
"Then tell me what happened."
Daniel leaned against the brick wall.
"Twenty years ago, I worked for a transportation company connected to Victor Bellini."
He swallowed.
"I discovered records showing that money and cargo had been moved through businesses Frank Moretti believed were legitimate."
"Victor was stealing from him?"
"Stealing, bribing officials, and using the companies to hide crimes."
Daniel looked at me.
"When Frank started asking questions, Victor decided he was a liability."
"You warned Frank."
"I tried."
His voice became rough.
"Andrew Cole found out Victor had ordered men to kill Frank."
He paused.
"Andrew helped me copy records and offered to get me into the Moretti mansion."
"What happened?"
"Someone learned what we were doing."
Daniel stared at the snow.
"They caught Andrew first."
His hands tightened around the walking stick.
"They killed him and dressed his body in my clothes."
I felt sick.
"Then they told everyone he was you."
Daniel nodded.
"They wanted Frank to believe the man who could prove Victor's betrayal was gone."
"How did you escape?"
"Andrew warned me before they reached him."
Daniel touched the scar on his wrist.
"I ran through the warehouse yard, broke a window, and climbed into an outbound freight truck."
He looked exhausted.
"I was badly injured."
"For months, I couldn't move without help."
"Who helped you?"
"An old friend who didn't ask questions."
His voice cracked.
"When I finally tried to find Margaret, I discovered that the house we'd rented had burned."
My heart sank.
"She wasn't living there anymore."
"I didn't know that."
Daniel's eyes filled.
"Someone sent me a newspaper notice saying Margaret had died in the fire."
I stared at him.
"She believed you were buried."
"And I believed she was dead."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The cruelty of it was almost impossible to understand.
"Why didn't you go to the police later?"
Daniel shook his head.
"The detective who helped identify Andrew's body was working for Victor."
"Every time I tried to contact someone connected to the old case, another warning reached me."
He looked toward the bakery.
"I kept moving, using different names, waiting for evidence that could survive in court."
"And now?"
"Victor started moving money through Frank's companies again."
Daniel's expression hardened.
"Then he placed his daughter inside Luca's family."
"Vanessa?"
He nodded.
"I came back to find what Victor was looking for in the old study."
"Did you find it?"
"Not yet."
I remembered the note hidden in Daniel's coat.
"Someone attacked you in the west wing."
"Two men."
He touched his shoulder.
"I managed to escape, but I couldn't get back to Margaret."
I hesitated.
"Who mailed her that photograph?"
Daniel shook his head.
"I didn't."
"Then who did?"
"Someone who knew I'd returned."
His eyes grew dark.
"And someone who wanted Margaret to bring the plate to the Moretti mansion."
I felt cold despite my winter coat.
"Victor?"
"That's what I believe."
"Why the plate?"
"Because Victor knows I left a clue with Margaret before I disappeared."
Daniel took a slow breath.
"I learned only days ago that she was alive, when I saw her name in a file one of Victor's investigators had compiled."
His voice cracked again.
"I wanted to go to her immediately."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I knew the photograph had already been sent, and I was afraid the same men would be waiting at her door."
I looked at the old man standing before me.
He had lost his home, his identity, his wife, and twenty years of ordinary happiness.
Yet he had returned to protect the people who had failed to protect him.
"Daniel," I whispered, "Margaret deserves to see you."
He nodded.
"I know."
"Then let me help."
He reached into his coat and removed a small brass key.
"First, there's something Luca Moretti needs to remember."
"What?"
Daniel's expression became painfully serious.
"The night Andrew died, someone gave Victor access to Frank's private study."
"Who?"
Daniel looked straight into my eyes.
"Luca."
I stepped backward.
"That's impossible."
Daniel shook his head.
"He didn't know what he was doing."
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Then he added something that made my heart nearly stop.
"But if Luca doesn't remember that night, Victor can destroy his father all over again."
