Chapter 4 - THE THIRD MAN ON THE BOAT
The silence in the ruined kitchen was deafening. The only sound was the distant wail of a Chicago police siren, miles away.
Vincent stared down into the open earth, his gun hanging loosely at his side. The skeleton wore the unmistakable diamond cross of his father, Salvatore Caruso.
“Rose,” Vincent said, his voice dangerously low. “Explain this. Now.”
Rose was leaning heavily against my shoulder. Her face was the color of ash. She stared at the bones, shaking her head in violent, panicked jerks. “No. No, no. He was on the boat. Evelyn said he was on the boat.”
Richard Mercer began to laugh. It was a sick, desperate sound.
“She lied to you, Rose,” Richard spat, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Evelyn played you just like she played everyone else.”
Vincent grabbed Richard by the throat and slammed him against the stainless steel refrigerator. Jars of homemade jam rattled on the shelves.
“Who is in the grave, Richard?” Vincent roared.
“I don't know!” Richard choked out. “I swear to God, Vincent! I thought your father was in the grave. I came here tonight to dig up Frankie's body. I thought Frankie was buried here!”
I felt a chill race down my spine. The Reversal hit me like a physical blow.
Richard hadn't been blackmailing Evelyn because he knew she killed her husband. He was blackmailing her because he thought she killed his brother, Frankie.
But Frankie wasn't under the floorboards. Vincent’s father was.
“Let him go, Vince.”
A new voice echoed from the dark hallway leading to the alley.
We all turned.
Anthony Caruso stepped into the dim light of the kitchen. He wore a black leather jacket, his face battered, a fresh cut bleeding above his left eye.
But what made my breath catch was what he held in his right hand.
A small, dirty wooden box.
“Anthony,” Vincent said, releasing Richard. “Where have you been? What happened to your face?”
“I’ve been busy,” Anthony said, his eyes flicking to Richard. “Trying to find this.” He lifted the box.
Rose gasped. “The letter.”
“Yeah,” Anthony said bitterly. “The letter Mom hid. The one you were supposed to protect, Rose.”
“I didn't know he was under the floor, Anthony!” Rose cried. “I swear on my life!”
Anthony ignored her. He walked over to the hole, looked down at the bones, and spat. Then he looked at his older brother.
“Mom didn't shoot Dad on the boat, Vince. Because Dad never made it to the boat.”
Vincent stepped forward. “Then who did she shoot?”
Anthony opened the wooden box. He didn't pull out a letter. He pulled out a piece of faded, yellowed construction paper. It was a child’s drawing in crayon.
He handed it to Vincent.
I leaned in to look. It was a drawing of a boat on a blue lake. But there weren't two stick figures on the boat. There were three.
And drawn above the third figure, in a child's messy handwriting, was the name: UNCLE DANIEL.
Vincent’s head snapped up. He looked around the kitchen.
“Where is Daniel?” Vincent asked.
I turned around. Daniel, the silver-haired attorney who had been standing right behind us in the dining room, who had ridden in the car with us, was gone.
“He slipped out while you were kicking down the door,” Anthony said coldly.
“Why?” Vincent demanded. “Why would Daniel be on the boat with Mom?”
“Because Daniel was sleeping with her,” a voice sneered.
It was Richard Mercer. He was sliding along the wall, trying to edge toward the door. “Everybody in the neighborhood knew it, Vincent. Your lawyer has been sleeping with your mother since you were in diapers.”
Vincent raised his gun and fired a single shot.
The bullet shattered the tile two inches from Richard’s ear. Richard collapsed to the floor, screaming, covering his head.
“Say one more word about my mother,” Vincent whispered, “and the next one goes through your teeth.”
Anthony grabbed Vincent’s arm. “He’s telling the truth, Vince. Daniel and Mom killed Dad right here in this kitchen. They buried him under the floor. Then they took Frankie Mercer out on the boat, put Dad's watch and ring on him, and shot him in the face so the cops couldn't identify him.”
Vincent looked at the drawing. “How do you know this?”
“Because I was awake,” Anthony said, his voice breaking for the first time. “I was seven years old, Vince. I came downstairs for a glass of water. I saw Daniel hit Dad with a cast-iron pan. I saw them dig the hole.”
Rose covered her face, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.
Vincent stared at his younger brother. “You kept this secret? For twenty-five years?”
“I had to protect Mom,” Anthony cried. “But I didn't know Daniel was still pulling the strings. I didn't know Daniel was the one forcing the sale of the restaurant.”
Vincent frowned. “Daniel? Richard is the one who forged the documents.”
“No,” Anthony said, reaching into the box again. This time, he pulled out a folded, bloodstained piece of paper. The original letter. “Read it, Vince. Richard is just a pawn. Daniel has been running the Caruso family from the shadows since the day Dad died.”
Vincent took the letter. He unfolded it.
As he read, his eyes widened.
May you like
Then he looked up at me.
“Mia,” Vincent said, his voice suddenly thick with absolute terror. “Where is your sister tonight?”
