Chapter 5 - THE KEYS TO THE PLAYROOM
~900 words
The silence in the study was suffocating.
Vincent let go of Arthur’s hair and stood up, stumbling back a step. “No. The police report said it was a drunk driver. A man. He died on impact.”
“A man who happened to be my brother,” Arthur said coldly. “He was driving my car. Charlotte was in the passenger seat. They had been drinking for hours.”
June let out a stifled sob. I gripped her shoulder, my own heart pounding in my ears.
“Charlotte survived,” Arthur continued, struggling against Marcus’s weight. “But she fled the scene before the cops arrived. She left my brother there to take the blame. She left Maria bleeding in the other car. But before she ran, she stole the necklace right off Maria’s neck. Said it was collateral for the trauma.”
Vincent looked like he was going to be sick. He gripped the edge of his desk. “And the charity? The hospital wing?”
“Charlotte knew you were rich. She spent years reinventing herself, waiting for the right moment to bump into the grieving widower,” Arthur sneered. “She played you, Vincent. And I played her. Now I have your house, and I have the money from the hospital wing.”
“Where is Charlotte?” Vincent asked, his voice suddenly void of all emotion.
“Downstairs,” Marcus said. “I had two men detain her in the wine cellar when we cleared the guests.”
Vincent turned to the door. “Bring him.”
Marcus hauled Arthur to his feet.
“Evelyn,” Vincent said without looking back. “Take June home. Get out of this house. It’s not safe for you anymore.”
“Mr. Romano,” I started, but he was already gone down the hall.
I looked at June. The elderly woman was pale, leaning heavily on her cane. “Evelyn, we have to help him.”
“He has men for that, Mrs. June. We need to go.”
But as we walked out into the hallway, the house was eerily silent. The guests were gone. The staff had fled.
We made our way toward the back staircase. But as we passed the long corridor on the second floor, June stopped.
She was staring at the end of the hall.
At the door to Lily’s playroom.
“Evelyn,” she whispered.
The door, which had been locked for five years, was slightly ajar. A sliver of warm, yellow light spilled out onto the Persian rug.
“June, don't,” I said, pulling her arm. “We have to leave.”
“Vincent never unlocked that door,” June murmured, pulling away from me. “Never.”
Before I could stop her, she walked down the hall and pushed the door open.
I followed her, my heart in my throat.
The playroom was perfectly preserved. Dolls sat neatly on shelves. A small easel stood in the corner, a half-painted canvas still resting on it. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.
But sitting in the middle of the floor was a small, dusty wooden lockbox. It was broken open.
And next to it sat Charlotte.
She had escaped the wine cellar.
She looked up at us, her eyes wide and manic. In her hands, she held a stack of child’s drawings.
“She knew,” Charlotte whispered, her voice cracking.
I stepped in front of June. “What are you talking about?”
Charlotte held up one of the drawings. It was done in crayon. It showed a little girl with a silver bracelet. Standing next to her was a woman with blonde hair.
Charlotte’s hair.
“Lily drew this,” Charlotte said, tears streaming down her ruined makeup. “She drew this two months before she died.”
“So?” I asked. “She drew you. She knew you were dating her father.”
Charlotte shook her head frantically. “No. I didn't meet Vincent until Lily had been dead for two years.”
A chill swept through the room.
June gasped. “If you didn't know Vincent... how did Lily know what you looked like?”
Charlotte dropped the drawing. “Because I was the nurse who took care of her at the hospital.”
She looked up at me, her eyes filled with absolute terror.
“I didn't steal the hospital wing money, Evelyn. I was paying them to keep quiet.”
“Keep quiet about what?” a voice demanded from the doorway.
Vincent stood there, Marcus right behind him.
Charlotte began to violently sob. “About how she really died, Vincent. The leukemia was in remission. She didn't die from the cancer.”
Vincent crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed Charlotte by the shoulders. “What did you do to my daughter?!”
Charlotte looked at him, shaking her head.
“I didn't do it, Vincent! I was trying to save her!” She pointed a trembling finger at the doorway.
May you like
Right at June.
“She did.”
