Chapter 2 - The Girl Who Died Twice
Celeste did not wait to be accused.
She attacked first.
“This is insane.”
Her voice sliced through the ballroom.
“Some old photograph proves nothing.”
Grant looked at her.
“The security footage does.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“We watched you put something into Elena’s cart.”
Celeste’s composure slipped.
“I was moving the case.”
“Why?”
“For safekeeping.”
“In a housekeeper’s cart?”
“I panicked.”
Elena almost admired the speed of the lie.
Almost.
Grant did not.
“Daniel, nobody leaves.”
That produced immediate outrage.
A senator protested.
A producer demanded his driver.
Someone threatened Grant with a lawsuit.
Grant turned toward the room.
“You are guests in my home. I am not locking the doors. But a crime may have occurred here, and security footage needs to be preserved before anyone begins rewriting tonight.”
The room quieted.
Grant looked at Daniel.
“Call Greenwich police.”
Celeste grabbed his arm.
“Grant.”
He removed her hand.
The rejection was small.
Public.
Devastating.
“Don’t.”
“You planted evidence.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then the police will determine it.”
Celeste’s father appeared from the crowd.
Richard Harrington was sixty-eight, silver-haired, and accustomed to solving problems with one telephone call.
“You will not humiliate my daughter.”
Grant faced him.
“She just humiliated a member of my staff.”
Richard’s gaze moved to Elena.
“A maid.”
Grant’s expression changed.
“A person.”
That single word landed harder than a speech.
Richard looked at Vivian.
“This nonsense about some long-dead child is making everyone emotional.”
Vivian turned toward him.
“Long-dead?”
Richard realized his mistake half a second too late.
Vivian narrowed her eyes.
“I never said Elena was declared dead.”
Nobody spoke.
Richard recovered.
“I assumed.”
“From what?”
“The conversation.”
“You arrived after that part of the conversation.”
Celeste whispered, “Dad.”
Richard ignored her.
Elena watched him.
She had spent years cataloging court records.
People often thought lies were revealed by what someone said.
Usually, they were revealed by what someone knew.
Vivian said, “How did you know my granddaughter was declared dead?”
Richard smiled coldly.
“You’re eighty years old and distressed.”
Grant stepped forward.
“Answer her.”
Richard looked at him.
“You should be more concerned with the fact that some stranger has appeared in your home claiming to be family on the night of your engagement party.”
“I haven’t claimed anything,” Elena said.
Richard turned.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want nothing from these people.”
Grant looked at her.
Something in the answer surprised him.
Elena continued.
“I came here for a paycheck.”
Celeste laughed.
“You came here under a false identity.”
Elena’s eyes snapped toward her.
“How would you know?”
Silence.
Celeste realized what she had said.
Daniel took one step closer.
“What false identity?”
Celeste faltered.
“I mean if she’s actually a Whitmore.”
“That wouldn’t make Elena Hart false,” Daniel said.
Celeste lifted her chin.
“She admitted her mother changed names.”
“She admitted nothing of the kind.”
Elena looked at Celeste.
“How much do you know about me?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you know my résumé didn’t contain my courthouse work?”
Celeste’s face tightened.
Grant turned.
“When did she say that?”
“She didn’t.”
Elena remembered.
When she told Grant about the courthouse, Celeste had looked surprised—but not because the fact was new.
Because Elena had said it publicly.
“You investigated me.”
Celeste laughed.
“You’re staff. Of course we investigate staff.”
Daniel said, “Standard screening was performed by my office.”
Elena asked, “Did you find courthouse employment?”
“Yes.”
“Was it on the report sent to Miss Harrington?”
“No.”
Grant looked at Celeste.
“Then how did you know?”
Celeste said nothing.
Police arrived twelve minutes later.
The party died without anyone formally ending it.
Guests collected coats while reporters whispered into phones.
Elena sat in a small library wrapped in a blanket brought by one of the female housekeepers.
Vivian sat opposite her.
Grant remained near the fireplace.
Police interviewed Celeste elsewhere.
Nobody knew what to say.
Finally Elena asked, “Why would my mother run?”
Vivian’s face crumpled.
“I don’t know.”
“You said she disappeared.”
“She left a note.”
“What did it say?”
“That she had discovered something dangerous and she was taking you somewhere safe.”
Elena looked down.
“I remember moving.”
Grant spoke quietly.
“You were seven?”
“Yes.”
“What do you remember?”
“Rain.”
“Anything else?”
“A man shouting outside our motel.”
Vivian leaned forward.
“What man?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Memory came in flashes.
A yellow motel sign.
Sarah—or Eleanor—pulling curtains closed.
A suitcase on the bed.
Her mother whispering, If anyone asks, your name is Elena Hart.
Then fire.
Not the apartment fire at nine.
Another fire.
Earlier.
Elena opened her eyes.
“There was a car.”
Grant looked at her.
“What?”
“A black car.”
Vivian whispered, “Richard drove a black Lincoln.”
Everyone turned toward the doorway.
Daniel Ross stood there.
He had heard her.
Grant frowned.
“Why does that matter?”
Daniel shut the door.
“Because Richard Harrington worked for Whitmore Global twenty-four years ago.”
Elena stared at him.
“What?”
Vivian nodded.
“He was chief legal counsel.”
Grant’s expression darkened.
“My father fired him.”
“When?”
Vivian looked at Elena.
“Three days after Eleanor disappeared.”
The pieces moved again.
Grant asked, “Why have I never heard this?”
“Because your father refused to discuss Eleanor after the funeral.”
Elena stood.
“What funeral?”
Vivian went silent.
Grant said, “Mom.”
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“Eleven months after they vanished, police found a burned vehicle in Pennsylvania.”
Elena felt cold.
“There were bodies?”
“Two.”
“A woman and a child?”
Vivian nodded.
“DNA testing wasn’t what it is now. They used dental records and belongings.”
Elena stared at her.
“You buried them?”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“We buried two coffins.”
Elena moved away.
If Vivian was telling the truth, somebody had made her family believe Eleanor and Elena Whitmore were dead.
Why?
The library door opened.
A detective stepped inside.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
Grant turned.
“We finished an initial review of the necklace.”
“And?”
“No usable prints from Miss Hart.”
Celeste’s fingerprints were present.
So were another person’s.
“Whose?”
The detective looked uncomfortable.
“We got a database match.”
Richard Harrington.
Grant’s eyes hardened.
“Where is he?”
The detective hesitated.
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“He left the property eight minutes ago.”
Daniel swore.
Grant pulled out his phone.
“How?”
“One of the catering trucks.”
Elena stood.
“Celeste?”
“Still with officers.”
The detective continued.
“We searched Mr. Harrington’s coat before we realized he was gone.”
He held up an evidence bag.
Inside was an old brass key.
A paper tag hung from it.
Elena leaned closer.
On the tag was an address.
814 Harbor Road, New Haven.
Elena stopped breathing.
“What?”
Grant looked at her.
She whispered:
“That was my childhood address.”
Then the detective turned the tag over.
Someone had written a date on the back.
The date was tomorrow.
May you like
And beneath it were three words:
FINISH IT THIS TIME.
