Chapter 6 - The Father Who Had Stayed Silent
“He'd been watching her.”
I stared at the photograph in Gloria's hands.
Rebecca stood on the front steps of Hearth House holding two paper grocery bags.
Her hair was tied back.
She wore the green coat I'd bought her for Christmas.
She looked tired.
But alive.
Behind her, across the street, Daniel stood beside his car.
Waiting.
I couldn't stop looking at my sister's face.
“Who took this?”
“One of our volunteers,” Gloria answered. “We were putting together photographs for a small thank-you display. She happened to catch Daniel in the background.”
“Did Rebecca know?”
“She saw him a few minutes later.”
I traced the edge of the photograph.
“I'd give anything to have been there.”
Gloria squeezed my hand.
“You couldn't have known.”
“But she was trying to tell me.”
“She was trying to find a way to tell you safely.”
Vincent asked Gloria whether she would speak to an investigator.
“Of course,” she said.
“Even if it means discussing what happened eleven years ago?”
Gloria looked at him.
“Especially that.”
By evening, Vincent had arranged for me to speak with a Chicago police detective.
I explained Daniel's threats at the hotel.
Showed the red mark on my wrist.
Handed over copies of the photograph and train reservations.
Vincent made his own statement.
He didn't interrupt when I spoke.
When the detective asked whether I wanted help arranging a safe place to stay, I said yes.
I was tired of pretending I could handle everything alone.
Afterward, Vincent asked whether I'd meet his father.
“Why?”
“Because he knows what happened when Vivian disappeared. And because Gloria's account doesn't match the story I grew up believing.”
I hesitated.
“Will he talk to me?”
“He'll talk.”
Vincent looked away.
“Whether he'll tell the truth is another question.”
Frank Russo lived in a large house overlooking Lake Michigan.
He was seventy-four, with thick gray hair, a silver-handled walking cane, and the tired eyes of a man who'd spent too many years regretting things he couldn't change.
He sat beside the living-room fireplace.
When Vincent introduced me, Frank studied my face.
“Rebecca Parker's sister?”
I nodded.
He closed his eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Those two words nearly broke me.
“You knew her?”
“Yes. She used to bring flowers to my wife.”
I stiffened.
“Vivian?”
Frank nodded.
“Before everything went wrong.”
Vincent stood near the fireplace, arms folded.
“Dad, Gloria Salazar told us Vivian never sold her address.”
Frank's expression changed.
“Gloria said that?”
“Yes.”
For a long moment, the old man said nothing.
Then he reached for a faded photograph on the side table.
It showed Frank and Vivian at the opening of Hearth House.
They were younger.
Smiling.
Vivian held a yellow handkerchief in her hand.
“I gave her that on opening day,” Frank said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because she wanted the women to have a way to recognize someone who would help them, even when they couldn't safely explain their situation.”
He smiled sadly.
“One of the residents stitched two little white marks into the corner.”
Vincent sat opposite him.
“Why did you tell me she betrayed us?”
Frank looked down.
“Because I believed she had.”
“Based on what?”
“Daniel Mercer had been given access to a woman's transportation details. Vivian authorized him to drive her.”
“And?”
“The woman's husband found her. She was badly hurt. Vivian blamed herself, and I blamed her, too.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Did you ever prove she sold the information?”
“No.”
The room went quiet.
“Then you let me believe it for eleven years?”
Frank's eyes filled.
“I was angry. Our family had promised those women safety. I didn't know how to live with the fact that we'd failed.”
“So you blamed your wife?”
Frank nodded.
“Yes.”
“Did you ever apologize?”
“I tried after she disappeared. She wouldn't speak to me.”
Vincent stood abruptly.
“You could have told me that.”
“I should have.”
His father looked smaller than he had when we'd arrived.
Not because he'd stopped being powerful.
Because he'd finally admitted where he'd been weak.
I sat beside Frank.
“Did Rebecca know Vivian was alive?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Vivian contacted her through the flower shop years later. Rebecca believed she was trying to repair the harm she'd caused.”
“Did you know Vivian was calling herself Margaret Ellis?”
Frank hesitated.
“Not until after Rebecca died.”
My heart tightened.
“Then why didn't you tell Vincent?”
He looked toward his son.
“I'd already lost his trust over the refuge. I was afraid he'd think I was protecting Vivian again.”
Vincent gave a bitter laugh.
“You were protecting yourself.”
Frank nodded.
“I was.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I asked the question that mattered most.
“Did Rebecca ever tell you she was afraid of Daniel?”
Frank's eyes filled.
“She came here shortly before she died.”
“How shortly?”
“Two days.”
“What did she say?”
“That Daniel had been asking where the women from Hearth House had relocated. She'd found requests in the flower shop's records that didn't match any legitimate deliveries.”
“Did she show you?”
“She showed me enough to make me concerned.”
“What did you do?”
“I urged her to contact the police.”
“Did you help her?”
Frank looked ashamed.
“I told her I'd arrange a safe place to stay. She said she couldn't leave without Emma.”
I covered my mouth.
My sister had been trying to bring me with her.
Even while I was complaining about missing work.
Frank reached for an old silver watch.
“Vivian gave me this on our first anniversary. I kept it after she left.”
He turned it over in his hands.
“Rebecca told me she wanted the truth about Hearth House to come out. Not to hurt our family. To stop somebody else from getting hurt.”
Vincent leaned toward him.
“Dad, did she mention anything about the night she died?”
“No. I never saw her again.”
I looked down.
Then something occurred to me.
“Margaret said she was with Rebecca when she died?”
Frank frowned.
“Who told you that?”
“Daniel told me Margaret helped with the hospital.”
Frank looked toward Vincent.
His expression changed.
“Vivian wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Daniel by then.”
“What do you mean?” Vincent asked.
“After Rebecca warned me, I asked Vivian to stay away from Mercer. I told her we'd handle it.”
He swallowed.
“She promised.”
I thought of the photograph from the hotel garage.
Margaret standing beside Daniel eighteen months after Rebecca's death.
The woman who visited me every Sunday.
Who told me not to ask questions.
Vincent reached for Marco's phone and examined the security image again.
I leaned closer.
The cream-colored coat.
The familiar face.
And something else.
Around Margaret's wrist was a delicate silver bracelet with one tiny blue bead.
I knew that bracelet.
I'd bought it with my first real paycheck.
Rebecca wore it every day.
Daniel had told me it was lost among her hospital belongings.
My hand began shaking.
“Vincent,” I whispered, “that's my sister's bracelet.”
He looked at me.
May you like
I pointed toward the screen.
“Margaret was wearing it last night.”
