Chapter 4 - THE GHOST IN THE HALLWAY
~900 words
I didn't breathe. The bronze paperweight in my hand suddenly felt entirely useless against the matte-black weapon pointed at my chest.
Arthur Vale stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't look like a mastermind. He looked like a tired accountant—thinning hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a cheap tuxedo that didn't fit right.
But his hand was perfectly steady.
“Put the paperweight down, Evelyn,” he said.
My blood ran cold. “How do you know my name?”
“I know everything about the staff in my new house,” he replied smoothly. He extended his left hand. “The photograph. Now.”
“Don't give it to him,” June whispered fiercely from the chair.
Arthur’s eyes shifted to the elderly woman. “June Miller. Seventy-four. Two daughters in Ohio. You really should have retired when Charlotte told you to.”
I slowly lowered the paperweight onto the desk, but I kept my grip on the photograph. “You’re the one who mailed her the hospital documents.”
Arthur smiled, a thin, humorless line. “Smart maid. Yes, I mailed them. I needed Vincent distracted tonight. I needed him looking at Charlotte’s petty theft so he wouldn't notice the larger transaction.”
“You set your own ex-wife up?”
“Charlotte is a parasite,” Arthur said bitterly. “She stole everything from me when she left. I just used her greed to get inside this house. She thought we were partners. She thought she was transferring the deed to a joint trust so we could sell it and split the cash. She didn't read the fine print.”
He took a step closer, raising the gun slightly. “The photograph, Evelyn. It doesn't belong to you.”
I looked at the picture of Maria. “Why do you want this? It’s just a picture of Vincent’s first wife.”
“Because of what she’s wearing,” Arthur snapped, losing his patience. “Give it to me!”
He lunged forward. I stepped back, knocking over a stack of files on Vincent’s desk. As the folders hit the floor, paper spilled everywhere.
And suddenly, the study door burst open again.
Marcus came through it like a freight train. He tackled Arthur around the waist, slamming the smaller man into the mahogany bookshelves. The suppressed pistol went off with a quiet pfft, shattering a crystal lamp on the desk.
I threw myself over June, covering her as glass rained down.
In seconds, Marcus had Arthur pinned to the floor, his knee planted firmly between Arthur’s shoulder blades.
Vincent walked into the room a moment later. He looked at the shattered lamp, then at us. “Are you two hurt?”
“We’re fine,” I gasped, helping June sit up.
Vincent looked down at Arthur. “You have a lot of nerve walking into my home, Vale.”
“It’s my home now, Romano,” Arthur spat into the carpet.
Vincent pulled a chair over and sat down, staring at the man on the floor. “Marcus, check his pockets.”
Marcus patted Arthur down and pulled out a folded piece of paper and a velvet jewelry box. He handed them to Vincent.
Vincent opened the paper first. It was a flight itinerary. Two first-class tickets to Switzerland. Departing at midnight.
“Running away?” Vincent asked softly. “With my house?”
“With everything,” Arthur sneered.
Vincent opened the velvet box. He stared inside for a long time. The muscles in his jaw tight.
He stood up, walked over to me, and held out his hand. “Evelyn. What are you holding?”
I looked at the photograph in my hand, then at the velvet box. Slowly, I handed the picture to him.
Vincent looked at the image of his dead wife. Then he looked at the open box.
Inside the box was the gold and ruby teardrop necklace. The one Charlotte had been wearing downstairs. The one Maria was supposedly buried in.
“I don't understand,” Vincent whispered. His voice was broken, sounding more like a lost child than a mafia boss. “Charlotte told me she found this at an antique shop in Paris.”
“She lied,” Arthur laughed from the floor. “She’s been lying to you since the day you met her, Vincent.”
Vincent knelt next to Arthur. He grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. “How did Charlotte get my dead wife’s necklace?”
Arthur grinned, blood on his teeth. “She didn't dig it up, if that’s what you’re thinking. Maria gave it to her.”
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Vincent froze. “Charlotte didn't know Maria. I met Charlotte three years after Maria died.”
“That’s what she told you,” Arthur whispered. “But who do you think was driving the other car the night Maria was killed?”
