Chapter 2 - The Envelope
Arthur’s hand remained inside his pocket.
Norah watched it.
Her heart beat so violently that she could feel each pulse in her throat.
There were several things a man like Arthur Costello might carry in the inner pocket of a ruined suit.
A wallet.
A knife.
A gun.
Norah found herself wondering, with strange calm, whether a bullet would be loud enough to wake the staff upstairs.
Arthur withdrew a folded envelope.
He placed it on her desk.
“What is that?”
“Enough.”
“For what?”
“To leave.”
Norah stared at him.
Arthur buttoned what remained of his shirt, hiding the bandage beneath torn white cotton.
“You didn’t see me last night. I wasn’t here. You never heard anything I said.”
“I already told you that.”
“And I’m making certain you can afford to mean it.”
Norah picked up the envelope.
Inside were hundred-dollar bills.
A lot of them.
Her expression hardened.
“You think I’m blackmailing you?”
“No.”
“You think I need to be bought?”
“I think you have debt.”
Her eyes snapped upward.
Arthur realized his mistake a second too late.
“How do you know that?”
Silence.
Norah put the envelope down.
“How do you know about my debt?”
“I know who works in my house.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She pushed the money toward him.
“I don’t want it.”
Arthur looked almost irritated.
“Take it.”
“No.”
“Nora—”
“My name is Norah.”
He stopped.
For the first time, she saw embarrassment cross Arthur Costello’s face.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But real.
“Norah,” he corrected.
She folded her arms.
“If you want to thank me, forget last night happened.”
Arthur studied her for several seconds.
Then he picked up the envelope.
“Fine.”
He walked toward the door.
Norah moved aside.
His hand reached the knob.
Then footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Both froze.
A man laughed outside.
Another voice answered.
Tommy.
And Vincent Rizzo.
Arthur’s underboss.
Norah knew Vincent because everyone knew Vincent. Fifty years old, silver at the temples, immaculate suits, and a smile that never reached his eyes.
Arthur stepped away from the door.
The footsteps approached.
Norah looked around desperately.
There was nowhere to hide a six-foot-four crime boss in a room barely large enough for a bed.
The bathroom.
She pointed.
Arthur stared at her.
“Go.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Now.”
Something almost amused flashed through his eyes.
Then he obeyed.
Norah shut the bathroom door seconds before someone knocked.
She opened her bedroom door halfway.
Vincent stood outside.
His gaze dropped immediately to her pajamas.
Then to the wet floor.
Then to Arthur’s bloodstained jacket lying beside the bed.
Norah’s stomach dropped.
Vincent smiled.
“Early morning?”
“Pipe leaked.”
He looked past her.
Norah shifted subtly into the gap.
“What do you need, Mr. Rizzo?”
“Mr. Costello didn’t return to his room last night.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“No?”
“No.”
Vincent’s eyes moved over her shoulder again.
“Interesting.”
He reached toward the door.
Norah did not move.
His smile disappeared.
“Step aside.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“Nobody’s asking you to dance.”
He pushed.
Norah held the door.
It was an insane decision.
Vincent’s face changed.
Then a voice came from behind him.
“Is there a reason you’re harassing my staff before sunrise?”
Vincent turned.
So did Norah.
Arthur stood at the far end of the corridor.
Fully dressed.
Clean shirt.
Dry jacket.
Not the clothing he had worn into her room.
Norah nearly forgot to breathe.
Arthur walked toward them with measured calm.
Two guards followed him.
Vincent looked between Arthur and Norah.
“Boss. We were looking for you.”
“I was in the west garage.”
“Since last night?”
Arthur stopped inches from him.
“Are you asking me to explain my schedule?”
Vincent lowered his eyes.
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
Arthur glanced at Norah.
There was no recognition in his face.
Nothing from the night.
“Get dressed,” he said coolly. “Mrs. Alvarez needs help upstairs.”
“Yes, Mr. Costello.”
He walked away.
Vincent followed.
But before disappearing around the corner, Vincent looked back at Norah.
That look stayed with her.
Because Vincent knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Twenty minutes later, Norah discovered how Arthur had escaped.
The tiny bathroom had an old maintenance door behind a shelving unit, leading into a utility passage connecting the boiler rooms.
She had lived there six months and never known it existed.
That bothered her.
Everything in Arthur’s house seemed to contain another door.
Another corridor.
Another secret.
By eight, she was polishing silver in the dining room.
Arthur sat at the long table with Vincent and three senior men.
He did not look at her once.
She preferred it.
She told herself she did.
“Paulie was skimming from us for almost two years,” Vincent said.
Norah’s hand stopped.
Paulie.
The old friend.
The man Arthur said he had killed.
Arthur’s coffee remained untouched.
“The matter is closed.”
“Is it?”
Vincent leaned back.
“Because his body hasn’t been found.”
Arthur finally looked up.
Norah’s fingers tightened around the cloth.
Vincent continued.
“Neither has his car.”
A long silence followed.
Arthur’s face gave nothing away.
“You have a point?”
“My point is maybe somebody helped him.”
“Then find them.”
“I intend to.”
Vincent’s eyes shifted.
Directly to Norah.
She dropped her gaze.
That afternoon, Arthur summoned her.
Not to his office.
To the greenhouse.
The estate’s winter garden was warm and strangely beautiful, full of citrus trees and white orchids while ice covered the windows outside.
Arthur stood beside a lemon tree.
Sober now.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
“Paulie isn’t dead,” Norah said before he could speak.
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“You heard too much.”
“You talked too much.”
A reluctant breath left him.
Almost laughter.
Then his expression darkened.
“I was supposed to kill him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Arthur looked through the glass.
“Because he taught me how to shoot when I was twelve.”
The same sentence.
But now it meant something completely different.
Norah understood.
“You let him go.”
“I gave him twelve hours.”
“And you got drunk because—”
“Because I knew what happens if anyone finds out.”
“Vincent?”
Arthur looked at her.
That was answer enough.
Norah’s stomach tightened.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Vincent saw my jacket in your room.”
“He saw a jacket.”
“He notices everything.”
“So do you.”
“Yes.”
Arthur stepped closer.
Not threateningly.
Still, Norah’s body became alert.
“He’ll watch you now.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It became yours the moment you opened that door.”
Anger flashed through her.
“You begged me to open it.”
“I know.”
The answer stopped her.
Arthur looked almost ashamed.
“I know.”
Norah folded her arms.
“Then let me leave.”
“I can’t.”
Her face changed.
Arthur immediately added, “Not because I want to keep you prisoner.”
“That clarification isn’t helping.”
“If you quit today, Vincent will assume I told you something worth running from.”
“And if I stay?”
“He may decide you know something worth killing for.”
“Excellent choices.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“Try harder.”
Arthur stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, his mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Norah hated noticing.
“Your father’s debt,” he said. “How much?”
Her expression closed.
“None of your business.”
“I can make it disappear.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the condition.”
“There’s always a condition with men like you.”
Arthur’s gaze hardened at that.
But he did not deny it.
“Stay here for thirty days. Behave normally. Let me find out who Vincent is working with.”
“And then?”
“You leave Chicago with enough money to start over.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Then leave without it.”
Norah looked toward the snow-covered grounds.
Thirty days.
She had survived six months by being invisible.
Now the most dangerous man in the house had made invisibility impossible.
“Thirty days,” she said.
Arthur nodded.
Then Norah turned toward the door.
“Norah.”
She stopped.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“I shouldn’t have been in your room.”
She looked back.
Arthur’s expression was unreadable.
“But I’m glad you opened the door.”
For reasons she refused to examine, that frightened her more than anything else he had said.
That night, Norah returned to the basement.
An envelope had been pushed beneath her door.
No money this time.
Only a photograph.
It showed Arthur entering her room at 3:17 a.m.
On the back, someone had written four words.
I KNOW WHAT YOU SAW.
May you like
And beneath them:
ASK ARTHUR WHO KILLED YOUR FATHER.
