Chapter 3: The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
"Put the photograph down, Eleanor.""
Daniel's voice was quiet, almost conversational.
That frightened me more than shouting would have.
I lowered the picture onto the desk, keeping my eyes on the pistol.
Charlotte stepped between us.
"Daniel, what are you doing?""
"Move.""
"No.""
He pointed the gun toward the floor, then raised it again when Charlotte refused to step aside.
"I said move.""
She stood perfectly still.
For eleven years, I had imagined a thousand versions of seeing Daniel again. In none of them had I pictured my sister protecting me from a man she was about to marry.
I moved slowly toward the desk.
"Is your father Thomas Whitmore?""
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"Don't play games.""
"Then answer the question.""
He looked at Charlotte.
"Get out.""
She shook her head.
"Not this time.""
Daniel's expression hardened. He crossed the room, grabbed the leather folder, and threw it into the fireplace.
The papers scattered across the stone hearth.
He struck a match.
I lunged forward, but Charlotte caught my arm.
"Don't!""
The match fell onto the papers.
Flames licked the corners of the first page.
Daniel watched them burn.
"Your mother was a foolish woman," he said.
"She believed she could protect everyone by keeping them ignorant.""
I grabbed the fireplace poker and pushed the burning papers apart.
"You're destroying evidence.""
"Evidence of what?""
"That my father is alive.""
Daniel laughed once.
"Your father is a criminal.""
"Then why did my mother hide him?""
"Ask her.""
"She's dead.""
"Then I suppose you'll never know.""
I swung the poker toward the flames, rescuing a half-burned document. Daniel seized my wrist.
His fingers dug into my skin.
"Let it go.""
I stared at him.
"You're afraid of what's in that folder.""
"I'm afraid of what you'll do when you learn the truth.""
"Try me.""
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Charlotte struck him across the face.
The sound cracked through the room.
Daniel released me.
"You little—"
"Don't touch her," Charlotte said.
He rubbed his cheek, staring at my sister as though she had become a stranger.
"You have no idea what I've sacrificed for you.""
Charlotte's voice shook.
"You've sacrificed nothing. You've controlled me for eleven years.""
He laughed bitterly.
"Your mother begged me to keep you safe.""
"Safe from what?""
"From him!""
Daniel pointed toward the photograph.
"From your father.""
I stepped between them.
"What did he do?""
Daniel looked at me for a long moment.
Then he holstered the pistol.
"Ask the man himself.""
He turned toward the door.
"Where is he?"" I demanded.
Daniel stopped.
"Vermont.""
"Where in Vermont?""
He looked back over his shoulder.
"Your mother arranged everything. I was only the messenger.""
"You're lying.""
"Perhaps."" He straightened his jacket.
"But there's one thing you should know before you decide to become a detective.""
He glanced at Charlotte.
"Your sister isn't the only person in this family who has secrets.""
Then he walked away.
The door slammed.
For several seconds, I listened to his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Charlotte sank into the green armchair.
"He won't let you leave.""
I crouched in front of her.
"What does that mean?""
She covered her face.
"He has people watching the estate. People who report every car that comes and goes. He knows where you work, where you live, and which clients you've represented.""
My stomach tightened.
"How?""
"He hired someone to investigate you.""
"Why?""
"Because he thinks you have the photograph.""
I pulled the picture from the desk and slipped it into my coat.
"Then he thinks correctly.""
Charlotte grabbed my hand.
"Eleanor, listen to me. You can't go to Vermont.""
"Why not?""
"Because Daniel isn't the only one who wants your father to remain hidden.""
I stared at her.
"Who else?""
She swallowed.
"Mom.""
The word seemed to hang between us.
"She's dead," I said.
"I know.""
"Then stop speaking in riddles.""
Charlotte rose and walked to the window. Beyond the glass, the garden stretched toward a stand of bare maple trees.
"Three months before Mom died, she made me promise something.""
"What?""
"That if you ever returned, I would keep you away from your father.""
"Why?""
"She said he had ruined everything.""
"Everything?""
Charlotte turned.
"She said you were in danger because of what happened the night Dad disappeared.""
I felt the room grow cold.
"What happened that night?""
"I don't know.""
I almost shouted at her, but the expression on her face stopped me.
She was telling the truth.
Or at least, she believed she was.
I sat on the edge of the desk and forced myself to breathe.
"Start at the beginning. Tell me everything you remember.""
Charlotte folded her arms around herself.
"I was twelve. You were fourteen. Dad had been gone for three days. Mom said he was away on business, but she kept checking the driveway every time a car passed.""
I remembered that.
I remembered standing at the kitchen window with my sister, watching the road.
On the fourth night, my mother had woken us after midnight.
She had been wearing a coat over her nightgown.
"Get dressed," she had said.
"Where are we going?"" I asked.
"Somewhere safe.""
I remembered the car ride. The smell of gasoline. My sister crying in the back seat.
Then a hospital corridor.
My mother telling us to wait.
And a man behind a glass door.
I had always thought it was a doctor.
Now I wasn't sure.
Charlotte continued.
"Mom came back before dawn. She had blood on her sleeve.""
My mouth went dry.
"Whose blood?""
"I don't know.""
"What did she tell you?""
"That Dad had been in an accident.""
"And you believed her?""
"I was twelve, Eleanor.""
She said it so quietly that I looked away.
I had been fourteen.
Old enough to remember. Old enough to ask questions.
But I had spent the following years trusting the adults around me to tell the truth.
That was the most humiliating part.
Not that they had lied.
That I had helped them do it.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
We both froze.
Mrs. Price entered carrying a silver tray with two cups of tea. She set it on the desk, then closed the door behind her.
"I heard Mr. Ashford leave," she said.
"Where did he go?"" I asked.
"Downstairs. He told the driver to bring the car around.""
"Is he leaving?""
Mrs. Price shook her head.
"He's going to the airport.""
Charlotte frowned.
"Why?""
The housekeeper looked at me.
"Because someone has told him your father is moving.""
My heart stopped.
"Moving where?""
Mrs. Price reached into her apron pocket and placed a folded piece of paper on the desk.
It was a handwritten address in Vermont.
Beneath it was a date.
Tomorrow.
And a sentence.
If you want the truth, come before he disappears again.
I stared at the handwriting.
It wasn't my mother's.
It wasn't Charlotte's.
It was Daniel's.
"Why would he give me this?"" I asked.
Mrs. Price's expression darkened.
"Because he knows something you don't.""
"What?""
She looked toward the locked door.
"Your father isn't hiding from you, Miss Eleanor.""
"Then who is he hiding from?""
The housekeeper hesitated.
Then she whispered, "The police.""
I felt my blood turn cold.
"Why?""
Mrs. Price glanced at Charlotte before answering.
"Because eleven years ago, someone was found dead in your mother's garden house.""
I stopped breathing.
The garden house.
The broken vase.
Daniel's white shirt.
Charlotte wearing my ring.
I remembered the smell that night.
Not perfume.
Not rain.
Blood.
"Who was dead?"" I whispered.
Mrs. Price closed her eyes.
"Your father's business partner.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"What was his name?""
The housekeeper looked directly at me.
"Robert Ashford.""
Daniel's father.
Before I could speak, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
If you're coming to Vermont, come alone.
A second message arrived.
And don't believe the story about the garden house.
I looked up at Charlotte.
"Who sent this?""
She shook her head.
"I don't know.""
I turned the phone toward Mrs. Price.
For the first time since I had arrived, the old woman's face showed genuine terror.
"Where did you get that number?"" she whispered.
"I didn't. Whoever sent it has mine.""
Mrs. Price stepped backward.
"Then he knows you're here.""
"Who?""
May you like
She looked at the photograph in my hand.
"The man your mother spent eleven years trying to keep dead.""
