Chapter 4 - The Two Tickets Rebecca Never Used
“Then Daniel knew who Vivian was.”
Vincent said it while staring at Rebecca's wedding photograph.
I held the frame so tightly my fingers hurt.
“Maybe.”
“Emma, look at them.”
He pointed toward Daniel's shoulder.
The woman I'd known as Margaret wasn't standing among the other wedding guests.
She was leaning toward Daniel.
Her expression was serious.
And Daniel appeared to be listening.
I felt the beginning of another terrible realization.
“Rebecca told me somebody introduced them.”
“Who?”
“I don't remember.”
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“She used to say it was funny how quickly her whole life changed. One day she was arranging flowers. The next she was dating a man who brought her dinner because she worked too late.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Did Daniel work at the flower shop?”
“No. He said he handled property investments.”
“And did Rebecca ever talk about his business?”
“Not much.”
I remembered her laughing about the way Daniel dressed for appointments.
Always polished shoes.
Always expensive watches.
Always somewhere important to be.
The more I thought about it, the less I liked how carefully he'd controlled what our family knew.
Vincent put the photograph into my overnight bag.
“Keep this.”
“Why?”
“Because it contradicts what Vivian told you.”
I looked around the apartment.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Somewhere you choose.”
“Daniel knows where I work. Margaret has my key.”
“Then you deserve a place where neither can walk in.”
His voice softened.
“I have a guest suite at the hotel. You can stay there tonight, with your own key. Marco can help you contact the police.”
I hesitated.
“You barely know me.”
“That's true.”
“Then why are you doing all this?”
He looked at the photograph.
“Because your sister tried to help people my family promised to protect.”
For the first time that night, I saw something besides anger in his face.
Shame.
The following morning, I asked Vincent to take me to Rebecca's former flower shop.
I'd avoided the place since Daniel sold it.
Walking past the windows had always felt like losing her again.
The shop stood between a bakery and a dry cleaner on a quiet Chicago street.
The old sign was still there.
Rebecca's Flowers.
But the window displays were empty.
Someone had taped a leasing notice inside the glass.
I stopped on the sidewalk.
“She built this place herself.”
Vincent stood beside me.
“I know.”
“She worked two jobs to buy her first refrigerator. She arranged flowers on our kitchen table before she could afford a proper counter.”
My voice cracked.
“Daniel sold everything before I could ask for one chair.”
Vincent didn't offer to buy the building.
He didn't tell me money would fix it.
He simply waited.
Then a woman called from behind us.
“Emma?”
I turned.
Mae Donnelly stood outside the bakery carrying a paper bag.
She was sixty-two, with short gray hair and the same practical expression I remembered from childhood.
She'd worked beside Rebecca for nearly fifteen years.
“Oh, honey.”
She set down her bag and hugged me.
I nearly fell apart.
“Mae.”
She held me at arm's length.
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
Then she noticed Vincent.
Her expression changed.
“Mr. Russo.”
He nodded politely.
“Mrs. Donnelly.”
I looked between them.
“You know each other?”
Mae gave a sad smile.
“Your sister arranged flowers for the Russo family's private residence more than once.”
I turned toward her.
“Did you know about Hearth House?”
She froze.
Then nodded.
“Rebecca told me she was helping women who needed somewhere safe.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she made me promise not to discuss their names.”
I looked at her.
“Daniel threatened me last night.”
Mae covered her mouth.
“Oh, Emma.”
“Margaret took Rebecca's sewing box. Vincent says Margaret is his stepmother, Vivian.”
Mae's face drained.
For a moment, she seemed unable to speak.
Then she whispered, “I knew that woman was trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
Mae looked toward the empty shop.
“She started coming around years ago. Always asking Rebecca questions about her deliveries.”
“Did Rebecca trust her?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Mae shook her head.
“Your sister stopped leaving her delivery books in the shop.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Why?”
“She said Daniel had been looking through them.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“What was he looking for?”
“Addresses. People Rebecca had helped move.”
I thought of the women Vincent had described.
Women who needed their locations kept private.
“My sister confronted him?”
Mae hesitated.
“Not immediately. She was terrified of what he'd do if he knew she'd figured it out.”
I swallowed.
“Then what happened?”
“Rebecca decided to leave him.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
“She never told me.”
Mae took my hand.
“She didn't want him to know until she was gone.”
“When?”
“Four days before she died.”
I stared at her.
Mae opened her purse and removed an envelope worn soft along the edges.
“Rebecca asked me to keep this until she was safely away.”
Inside were two Amtrak reservation confirmations.
Chicago to Cleveland.
Two seats.
One passenger was Rebecca Mercer.
I already knew who the other would be.
Still, I made myself read it.
Emma Parker.
I looked up.
“Why would she buy me a ticket?”
Mae's eyes filled.
“Because Rebecca was afraid Daniel might go after you when she left.”
My knees weakened.
I looked down at the departure date.
The train had been scheduled for the morning after Rebecca died.
She'd already paid for both seats.
Already planned our escape.
And I remembered the last evening I'd spoken to her.
She'd asked whether I could take a few days off work.
I'd said I couldn't afford it.
She'd gone quiet.
Then she'd told me she loved me.
I stared at the ticket.
“Vincent,” I whispered, “Rebecca wasn't planning to leave Daniel alone.”
He reached for my hand.
May you like
I could barely finish.
“She was trying to take me with her.”
