Chapter 2 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE GREENHOUSE
The winter wind howled against the glass panes of the old greenhouse.
Dominic stood completely still.
The silence in the garden felt heavier than the freezing air.
He stared at Vincent Caruso, the man who had been his father’s most trusted advisor for forty years.
“She was breathing?” Dominic’s voice was barely a whisper.
Vincent swallowed hard. He looked down at the dead grass, refusing to meet Dominic’s eyes.
“Yes,” Vincent rasped. “Her pulse was weak, but she was alive.”
“Then why did the coroner’s report say she drowned in the lake?”
“Because that is where she died, Dominic.”
The words hit Dominic like a physical blow.
He took two steps forward, grabbing Vincent by the lapels of his expensive cashmere coat.
“What did you do to my sister?” Dominic roared, his legendary composure finally shattering.
“I didn't do anything!” Vincent cried, raising his hands. “I swear on my life! I was the one who pulled her out of the greenhouse! She was freezing. I carried her toward the house to get help.”
“And?”
“And someone stopped me.”
Dominic’s grip tightened. “Who?”
“I didn't see his face,” Vincent whimpered. “He struck me from behind. When I woke up in the snow ten minutes later, Emily was gone. An hour later, the police found her body in the frozen water.”
Claire stood a few feet away, her hand resting firmly on Bruno’s collar.
The old German shepherd let out a low, rumbling growl.
Not at Dominic. At Vincent.
“He’s lying,” Claire said softly.
Dominic snapped his head toward her. “How do you know?”
Claire didn't flinch. She had spent her entire life watching her father read dogs. Now, she was reading the dog herself.
“Because Bruno isn't looking at the path toward the lake,” Claire said. “He’s looking at Mr. Caruso’s pockets.”
Vincent’s face went completely pale.
He took a step back. “The maid is hysterical. She’s trying to protect her criminal father.”
Dominic released Vincent’s coat.
He held out his hand.
“Empty your pockets, Vincent.”
“Dominic, this is absurd! I have been loyal to this family since you were in diapers!”
“Empty them.”
The absolute lethality in Dominic’s voice left no room for argument.
Shaking violently, Vincent reached into his coat pockets.
He pulled out a set of car keys. A leather wallet.
And a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper.
He tried to keep it hidden in his palm, but Dominic saw it.
Dominic snatched the paper from the older man’s hand.
He carefully unfolded it in the freezing wind.
It wasn't a receipt. It wasn't a bank note.
It was a child’s drawing.
Crayon on heavy construction paper. It depicted a large black-and-tan dog, and a little girl holding a red balloon.
At the bottom, in messy, nine-year-old handwriting, it read: For Uncle Vincent.
Dominic stared at it. His chest heaved.
“Emily drew this,” Dominic whispered. “She drew this the day before she died.”
He looked up at Vincent. His eyes were entirely black with rage.
“Why was it in your pocket tonight, Vincent? After nine years?”
Vincent couldn't speak. He backed up against the cracked glass of the greenhouse.
Claire stepped forward.
“Because my father didn't just find Emily in the greenhouse that night,” Claire said quietly. “He found something she was holding.”
Dominic turned to her.
Claire looked at the drawing in Dominic’s hand.
“Turn it over, Mr. Moretti.”
Dominic flipped the child’s drawing.
On the back of the paper, smeared in what looked like dried, rust-colored blood, was a single, terrifying word.
May you like
Poison.
TITLE: THE COAT HANGING IN THE MUDROOM
