Chapter 7 - The Woman Who Watched Her Die
“She's wearing Rebecca's bracelet?”
Vincent examined the photograph again.
I pointed to the little blue bead near Margaret's wrist.
“There's a scratch on the clasp. Rebecca caught it on the kitchen drawer the day we painted her apartment.”
My voice broke.
“I remember because I told her I'd buy a new one.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Could Daniel have given it to Margaret afterward?”
“Maybe.”
But the thought made me sick.
Daniel had told me the hospital misplaced it.
I'd spent months imagining my sister's belongings sitting somewhere in a forgotten drawer.
Now another woman was wearing a piece of her.
“I need to speak to Margaret,” I said.
Vincent hesitated.
“Emma—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“You've helped me more than anybody,” I whispered. “But this is my sister. I need to hear the truth from her myself.”
He nodded.
“Then I'll be there if you want me.”
Margaret appeared at the Grand Meridian the following afternoon.
She had agreed to meet after learning that Vincent had spoken to his father.
We sat in a private lounge near the hotel's main entrance.
Marco remained nearby.
Vincent sat beside me, but he let me speak.
Margaret wore a dark green coat.
Her silver-blonde hair was pinned back.
And around her wrist was Rebecca's bracelet.
I looked directly at it.
“Take that off.”
She flinched.
“Emma.”
“Please don't say my name like we're friends.”
Her eyes filled.
I pointed again.
“That belonged to my sister.”
Margaret looked down.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
Then she unclasped the bracelet and placed it on the table.
I picked it up.
The little blue bead was scratched.
The clasp was bent.
I held it against my chest.
“Why did you have it?”
Margaret swallowed.
“Rebecca gave it to me the night she died.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“She wanted me to give it to you.”
My hands began shaking.
“Then why didn't you?”
Margaret looked away.
“Because every time I saw you, I was ashamed of what I hadn't done.”
I felt anger rise through my grief.
“You sat in my kitchen every Sunday.”
“I know.”
“You brought food. You asked whether I was sleeping. You told me to stop looking for explanations.”
Tears slid down her cheeks.
“I know.”
“And you were keeping this?”
She nodded.
“I didn't deserve to.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Where's the sewing box?”
Margaret looked toward him.
“In my car.”
“Did Daniel take it?”
“He took it from Emma's apartment before the dinner. He'd made a copy of her spare key while I was visiting.”
I felt violated all over again.
“Did you know?”
“Not until he showed it to me in the hotel garage.”
“Then why did you say you already had it?”
Margaret wiped her face.
“Because Daniel was standing beside me when I called. He wanted you to believe I was helping him keep Emma away from the box.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“And you went along with it?”
“I'd been going along with things for years.”
She looked at me.
“That doesn't excuse it.”
“Why didn't Daniel keep the box?” I asked.
“He'd already searched through it. He thought it was only sewing supplies and wanted me to get rid of it.”
“But you kept it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what that handkerchief meant.”
Vincent sat forward.
“You told Rebecca about Hearth House?”
Margaret nodded.
“After I disappeared, I tried to help some of the women I'd let down. Rebecca became one of the few people I trusted.”
“Then why introduce her to Daniel?” I demanded.
Margaret looked devastated.
“Because I believed he'd changed.”
She told us how Daniel had once helped with the refuge's transportation.
How she'd known him before he met Rebecca.
How he'd apologized for the mistake that exposed Gloria's address.
“He said he'd spent years trying to make amends,” Margaret whispered.
I stared at her.
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
Vincent looked toward the windows.
His father had made the same mistake in a different way.
Both had wanted to believe the people they'd trusted.
Neither had checked what those people were doing.
Margaret continued.
“Rebecca loved Daniel. I was happy for her at first. She seemed to have the marriage she'd always wanted.”
My throat tightened.
“She did love him.”
“I know.”
“That's what makes this so awful.”
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then I asked the question I'd been carrying since the elevator.
“What happened the night she died?”
Margaret went still.
“Emma—”
“Tell me.”
Her hands began trembling.
“She confronted Daniel about the women whose addresses he'd been asking for.”
“Where?”
“At their apartment.”
“Were you there?”
Margaret nodded.
“I'd gone to help her leave. She was supposed to stay with me until her train the next morning.”
I looked at Vincent.
The two tickets.
The yellow handkerchief.
The sewing box.
Rebecca had made a plan.
And somebody had stopped her.
“What did Daniel do?” I whispered.
“He was angry. He accused Rebecca of ruining his life. He demanded to know who she'd told.”
“Did he hurt her?”
Margaret shut her eyes.
“I heard something fall in the bedroom. When I reached the hallway, Daniel had closed the door.”
My heart hammered.
“Was Rebecca inside?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Margaret covered her mouth.
“She said she couldn't breathe.”
I stopped moving.
“Did you call an ambulance?”
Margaret began crying.
“Not then.”
“Why not?”
“Daniel told me she was having a panic attack. He said if I involved anyone, he'd make sure you suffered for it.”
I stared at her.
“And you believed him?”
“No,” she whispered. “I was afraid of him.”
My voice rose.
“My sister was dying!”
“I know.”
Vincent reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
I needed to hear the rest.
Margaret looked directly at me.
“Rebecca kept calling from behind the door.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What was she saying?”
Margaret's voice collapsed into a whisper.
“She was calling your name, Emma.”
I felt the room tilt.
“And Daniel stood beside me and said something I'll never forget.”
May you like
She covered her face.
“He said, ‘Open that door, Vivian, and her little sister will be next.’”
