A Knock At The Hotel Room Door

Nico stared at the rusted key in Marcus’s hand.

The hallway lights hit the jagged edges of the metal.

Ruby tightened her grip around Nico’s neck, hiding her face against his coat.

“You have five minutes to pack her things, June,” Nico said, his eyes never leaving Marcus. “We’re leaving.”

June nodded quickly, retreating into the room and pulling the door half-closed behind her.

Brielle stepped forward, trying to block Nico’s path.

“Nico, you aren’t thinking clearly,” she pleaded, letting her voice tremble. “Marcus is threatening us. I only came here to pay him off. To protect you.”

Nico finally looked at her.

His dark eyes were empty of the warmth he usually gave her.

“To protect me?” he asked.

“Yes! He called me this afternoon. He said he’d drag Ruby through a custody battle. You know the press would destroy us.”

It was a good lie.

It almost worked.

But I was standing right beside Marcus, and I saw his jaw clench.

“Pay me off?” Marcus barked, his calm facade breaking. “You called me, Brielle. You told me to get here tonight because the maid was asking too many questions.”

Brielle spun toward him. “Shut up!”

I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

She wasn’t talking about Mrs. Turner.

She was talking about me.

Nico turned slowly. He looked at my bruised arm, still wrapped in the cold compress.

Then he looked at Brielle.

“You called him,” Nico said. It wasn’t a question.

“Nico, he’s lying!” Brielle reached for his arm.

He stepped back before she could touch him.

“The paper,” Nico said, pointing to the guardianship document resting on the carpet. “Beth signed that two weeks before she died. She hadn’t spoken to you in six months. She told me she couldn’t trust you.”

Brielle’s eyes widened. “She was paranoid, Nico. The medication—”

“She wasn’t on medication then.”

Nico’s voice cut through the hallway like broken glass.

June opened the hotel door, carrying Ruby’s small suitcase.

Nico adjusted his grip on his daughter, making sure she couldn’t see Marcus’s face.

“Hannah,” Nico said. “Take the bag.”

I reached out with my good arm and took the suitcase from June.

“We’re going to the car,” Nico told June. “You’re coming with us.”

“Nico, wait!” Brielle stepped in front of the elevator doors. “You can’t just leave! We have a wedding in three weeks. We have a life!”

Nico stared at the woman he had asked to marry him.

“Go back to the house, Brielle. Pack your things. If you are still there when I return, I will have you removed.”

Brielle gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Marcus just laughed. It was a ugly, grating sound.

“You think kicking her out solves your problem, DeSantis?” Marcus pocketed the rusty key. “Brielle doesn’t have the money to pay me what she promised. But you do.”

Nico pressed the elevator button. “I don’t pay blackmail.”

“It’s not blackmail,” Marcus said. “It’s the price of a silver bird.”

The elevator doors chimed and slid open.

Nico ushered June and me inside.

Just before the doors closed, I looked at Marcus’s coat pocket.

The silver chain was hanging out again.

But this time, I saw the clasp.

It wasn’t just a necklace.

I recognized the delicate braiding of the silver. I had seen it in an old photograph on Ruby’s nightstand.

“Mr. DeSantis,” I whispered as the elevator descended.

He didn’t look down. He was gently stroking Ruby’s hair. “What is it, Hannah?”

“That necklace,” I breathed. “The silver bird.”

“Beth’s,” he said tightly. “She was wearing it the night she died.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“No, sir,” I said. “She wasn’t.”

Nico finally looked at me.

“I packed Ruby’s things today,” I said, my voice shaking. “I saw the police report from the accident. It was tucked inside Beth’s old journal.”

Nico’s eyes narrowed. “The police gave me her personal effects in a plastic bag. The necklace wasn’t in it. They said it must have been lost in the crash.”

“It wasn’t lost,” I said.

I reached into my uniform pocket with my good hand.

When I was rescuing Ruby’s things from the donation bag, one of the small photographs had fallen out of its frame.

I pulled the photo out now and handed it to Nico.

It was a picture of Beth, smiling in a diner booth.

Across from her, only partially in the frame, was a man’s hand reaching for a coffee cup.

He was wearing a tan trench coat.

The date stamp in the corner was the exact day Beth died.

And resting on the table, caught perfectly in the flash of the camera, was the silver bird necklace.

“She didn’t lose it,” I whispered. “She gave it to him.”

Nico stared at the photo.

He turned it over.