Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
The shawl arrived at the estate shortly after midnight.
Victor placed it on the table in Lorenzo's private office, sealed inside a transparent evidence bag.
Lorenzo stared at it for a long time.
The cashmere was ruined. One corner had been torn, and a dark stain remained near the hem.
He recognized the perfume immediately.
Isabella had worn it during their first winter together, when she insisted that expensive things were only worth buying if they carried a memory.
He had purchased the shawl for her birthday.
It had disappeared after her death.
"Where did you find this?" he asked.
"Inside a storage room at the Chatsworth," Victor replied. "A member of the night staff had collected the items left near the dumpster. The police hadn't cataloged it yet."
"Who had access to the room?"
"We're checking."
Lorenzo looked at the stain.
"Have it tested."
Victor nodded.
"And find out who last saw Isabella wearing it."
"There may be a problem with that."
Lorenzo lifted his eyes.
"What problem?"
Victor placed a second item on the desk.
A photograph.
It showed Isabella standing beside a woman in a dark coat outside a private clinic. The picture was grainy, apparently taken from a surveillance recording.
Lorenzo recognized the location immediately.
The clinic had treated Isabella during the final months of her pregnancy.
"Who is the woman?"
"We don't know yet."
Lorenzo examined the photograph.
The woman's face was partially turned away, but he noticed a distinctive silver bracelet around her wrist.
He had seen it before.
At the estate.
On the arm of someone who had been beside his daughter since the day she was born.
***
The following morning, Elena was summoned to the breakfast room.
She expected to find Lorenzo alone.
Instead, she found a woman wearing a cream-colored suit and a diamond bracelet.
The woman stood beside the fireplace with the confidence of someone who had never been asked to leave a room.
"Elena, this is Vivian Cross," Lorenzo said. "She oversees the household."
Vivian smiled.
It was a beautiful smile that never reached her eyes.
"So you're the girl who found Sophia."
"Yes."
"How fortunate."
The words sounded like an insult disguised as gratitude.
Vivian glanced at Elena's inexpensive clothes.
"Mr. Moretti tells me you've agreed to stay with us temporarily."
"Until Sophia is well."
"How noble."
Lorenzo's expression tightened.
"Vivian."
She raised both hands.
"I'm only welcoming her."
She turned back to Elena.
"You'll be given a room in the staff wing. Your responsibilities will be limited to assisting with Sophia's routine. The medical staff will handle anything requiring professional care."
"That's fine."
"Good. And I assume you understand the importance of discretion."
Elena met her gaze.
"I do."
"Excellent. Then we shouldn't have any problems."
Vivian walked out.
Elena watched her go.
"Does she always talk like that?" she asked.
Lorenzo almost smiled.
"Only when she's being polite."
***
By afternoon, Sophia was awake.
Elena sat beside her crib, speaking softly while the baby watched her with curious eyes.
"You're going to be all right," Elena whispered. "You have a whole house full of people who love you."
Sophia reached toward her.
Elena offered one finger, and the baby closed her tiny hand around it.
For a moment, the room felt peaceful.
Then Sophia began to cry.
Elena lifted her only after checking with the nurse, who had confirmed that the baby could be held.
As she settled Sophia against her shoulder, she noticed the child staring toward the hallway.
A woman's voice drifted from outside.
"She should never have been brought here."
Sophia began crying harder.
Elena turned.
Vivian stood in the doorway.
"What did you say?"
Vivian's face remained composed.
"I said the baby should be resting."
"No. Before that."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Elena looked down at Sophia.
The baby was gripping her uniform with surprising strength.
"She seems frightened of you."
Vivian's expression hardened.
"Babies are frightened of many things. Strange voices. Unfamiliar faces. People who don't understand boundaries."
Elena did not respond.
Vivian stepped closer.
"Listen carefully. Mr. Moretti is grieving. He's not thinking clearly. You should be grateful he's allowing you to remain here."
"I am grateful that Sophia is safe."
"Then remember your place."
Vivian left before Elena could answer.
That evening, Lorenzo returned to the nursery.
He found Sophia asleep in Elena's arms.
"She's been calmer today," Elena said.
He sat beside her.
"She always slept better when Isabella held her."
Elena looked at him.
"Tell me about her."
Lorenzo seemed surprised.
"Isabella?"
"Yes."
He stared at his daughter.
"She was stubborn. She hated being told what to do. She once fired a florist because he called white roses ivory."
Elena smiled.
"That sounds familiar."
"She was also the only person who ever told me I was wrong without checking whether I'd agree."
His smile faded.
"She died six months ago. A car accident on the Connecticut Turnpike. The police said the driver lost control."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
He reached toward Sophia, gently brushing a curl from her forehead.
"Sometimes I think I can still hear Isabella walking down this hallway."
Elena hesitated.
"Do you believe the accident was an accident?"
Lorenzo looked at her.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he answered quietly.
"No."
He explained that the brakes had failed, that the vehicle had been serviced only two days earlier, and that the mechanic responsible had disappeared before the investigation was complete.
He had spent months searching for answers.
Now the shawl had appeared.
The photograph had surfaced.
And the woman in the photograph wore Vivian's bracelet.
"Have you asked Vivian about it?" Elena asked.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because if she's involved, she'll know I'm looking."
Elena looked toward the doorway.
"Then maybe she already knows."
Lorenzo followed her gaze.
Across the hall, a shadow moved away from the nursery.
Neither of them noticed the small red light blinking inside the decorative smoke detector above the door.
Someone had been listening.
May you like
And whoever it was had just heard Lorenzo admit that he suspected Isabella's death was murder.
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