Chapter 3 - THE MAN BEHIND THE WINDOW
“She helped hide what happened to Carlo Ricci?”
I could barely get the words out.
Nathan nodded.
Matteo stood perfectly still.
For a moment, I thought he might lose control.
Instead, he pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, Whitmore.”
Nathan didn't move.
Matteo repeated himself.
“Sit.”
Something in his voice made Nathan obey.
Then Matteo looked at me.
“Anna, you don't have to listen to him alone.”
I nodded.
But I couldn't stop staring at my fiancé.
“Tell me what you mean.”
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
“Nineteen years ago, your mother went to Carlo's house carrying bank records.”
“Why?”
“Because she'd discovered irregularities in a property financing program.”
“What kind of irregularities?”
Nathan glanced toward Matteo.
“Homeowners thought they were getting assistance with medical expenses or mortgage payments. Some were actually signing away rights they didn't understand.”
My stomach tightened.
My mother had spent thirty-seven years working at a bank.
She'd always been particular about paperwork.
She read everything.
Even grocery store receipts.
“Mom wouldn't have helped people lose their homes.”
“I didn't say she did.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Nathan leaned forward.
“She knew where the records were kept after Carlo died. My father has been trying to recover them ever since.”
Matteo interrupted.
“Why didn't Victor report them missing?”
Nathan's expression changed.
“Because those records implicated him too.”
The silence that followed was terrible.
Matteo looked at Salvatore.
“Has Victor ever been questioned about my father's murder?”
“Twice,” Salvatore replied. “He gave an alibi. Investigators couldn't establish his presence at the house.”
Nathan looked away.
I studied him.
“Were you there?”
He froze.
“Nathan.”
He shook his head.
“Don't.”
“Were you inside that house when Carlo died?”
His jaw tightened.
“That's not a question you want answered tonight.”
I felt something inside me harden.
For six months, he'd controlled which questions I was allowed to ask.
He'd told me when I was being unreasonable.
When I needed rest.
When my mother was confused.
I was finished accepting that.
“Then I'll ask again tomorrow,” I said. “And the day after that.”
Nathan stared at me.
For the first time, he looked as though he didn't know who I was.
A uniformed officer appeared with Salvatore's permission.
He asked Nathan to accompany him for a formal interview.
Nathan rose.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
“Anna, I did care about you.”
I held my mother's broken brooch.
“You knew who I was before you ever asked me to dinner.”
His face fell.
“That doesn't mean everything was a lie.”
“No,” I whispered.
“But I don't know which parts weren't.”
He had no answer.
After he left, I sat down.
My hands were trembling.
Matteo quietly placed a glass of water beside me.
“Anna, would you like someone you trust to come sit with you?”
I shook my head.
“I just want Mom.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Salvatore returned carrying a folder.
“The police have confirmed that a vehicle connected to Whitmore Property Management entered the old house's service driveway earlier tonight.”
Matteo stood.
“Was Eleanor inside?”
“They're checking. Officers are securing the property now.”
I reached for my coat.
“I'm going.”
Matteo looked at me.
“Anna—”
“That's my mother.”
“I know.”
“She's seventy-six. She had hip surgery six weeks ago. She can't be left frightened in a strange place.”
His expression softened.
“I won't stop you from coming nearby. But we stay behind the officers until they tell us it's safe.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
He helped me into my coat.
Then looked at my wrist.
The bracelet Nathan had given me covered the bruise he'd left the night before.
Matteo hesitated.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you still wear that?”
I looked down.
It was a delicate gold chain with three little charms.
Nathan had given it to me after our first argument.
He'd apologized over dinner.
Then fastened it around my wrist himself.
I'd worn it every day since.
“I guess I forgot I could take it off.”
Matteo didn't touch it.
He simply waited.
I unclasped the bracelet.
Placed it in my purse.
And for the first time in months, my wrist felt like it belonged to me.
The old Ricci house stood behind a stone wall in Bridgeport.
It was larger than I expected.
Three stories of weathered brick.
Tall windows.
An iron gate that looked as though it hadn't been painted in years.
Police vehicles were parked outside.
Matteo stopped beside the gate.
For a moment, he couldn't move.
I looked at him.
“When were you here last?”
“Nineteen years ago.”
“The night your father died?”
He nodded.
“I came home after the police had already taken him away.”
His voice was rough.
“I was nineteen. My mother had died two years earlier. After Dad was killed, there wasn't anyone left who knew how to make that house feel like home.”
My heart hurt for him.
“You never went back?”
“I couldn't.”
He looked toward the dark windows.
“And eventually, I convinced myself there was no reason to.”
An officer approached.
“We're clearing the building. Please remain here.”
Matteo nodded.
I tried to be patient.
But every minute felt unbearable.
Then Salvatore pointed toward an upstairs window.
“Boss.”
A curtain moved.
I looked up.
A figure stood behind the glass.
A woman.
Gray hair.
Small shoulders.
One hand pressed against the window.
My heart nearly stopped.
“Mom!”
She disappeared.
I rushed toward the gate, but Matteo caught my arm gently.
“Anna, wait.”
“She's there!”
“I saw her.”
He looked toward the officer.
“You need to get her out.”
The officer spoke into his radio and hurried toward the house.
I stood trembling.
Then another figure appeared behind the upstairs window.
A tall older man in a dark coat.
Silver hair.
A face I'd never seen before.
Matteo went absolutely still.
“Victor.”
I turned.
“Victor Whitmore?”
He nodded.
The man looked down at us.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then he stepped away from the window.
A terrible memory seemed to pass across Matteo's face.
“What?” I whispered.
He shook his head.
“My father trusted that man for twenty years.”
I looked toward the window.
“And you think he killed him?”
Matteo's eyes darkened.
“I think I need to hear what your mother saw.”
A few minutes later, the front door opened.
Officers escorted Victor outside.
He wore an expensive camel-colored coat.
His expression was furious.
“You have no authority to turn a property dispute into a public spectacle,” he snapped.
Matteo stepped forward.
“This is my property.”
Victor stopped.
Then he smiled.
“Carlo's son.”
Matteo didn't return the smile.
“Where's Eleanor?”
Victor adjusted his cuff.
“She's an elderly woman who's been under tremendous strain.”
I felt sick.
He sounded exactly like Nathan.
“She needs medical care,” Victor continued. “And your interference isn't helping.”
I stepped forward.
“My mother needs to come home.”
Victor looked at me.
For the first time, his expression changed.
“You must be Anna.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know me?”
His smile returned.
“Nathan speaks highly of you.”
I couldn't bear hearing my fiancé's name from his mouth.
An officer asked Victor to remain with him.
Then a paramedic appeared in the doorway.
“Ms. Collins?”
I nearly ran toward him.
“Is she all right?”
“She's conscious. She's upset and having difficulty standing. We're assessing her now.”
I covered my mouth.
“Can I see her?”
“In a moment.”
He glanced toward Matteo.
“There's something unusual.”
Matteo frowned.
“What?”
“When we found her, she was sitting in your father's old study.”
My chest tightened.
The paramedic continued.
“She had a man's black wool coat across her lap.”
Matteo looked toward Victor.
The older man's expression became unreadable.
“And?” Matteo asked.
The paramedic hesitated.
“The coat lining had been cut open.”
I felt cold.
“Was something inside?”
“We don't know. But your mother was holding it tightly.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Where's the coat?”
“Officers have secured it.”
Then the paramedic looked at me.
“Your mother asked us to tell you something.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
He lowered his voice.
“She said the coat was never the thing they should've been looking for.”
I stared.
May you like
Then he repeated her words.
“Tell Anna the real evidence is in the pocket her father sewed shut.”
