Chapter 2 - THE BLUE COAT IN THE DUFFEL BAG
The silence in our hallway felt thick enough to shatter glass.
I looked at the woman in the red dress, then at my husband of twenty-eight years.
"Whose clothes, Natalie?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
Vincent stepped between us. "Claire, stop. Natalie is confused."
"I packed them," Natalie insisted, her voice trembling but defiant. "For three weeks, Vincent had me clear out the master bedroom. Silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, the gray winter coats. He told me you had moved to the summer house in Maine. He told me I was making room for my things."
I didn't own a gray winter coat. I despised the color.
But our daughter, Mia, owned three.
"Mia," I whispered.
Vincent’s face drained of color.
Our daughter had been living in New York for the past two years, finishing law school. She hadn't been home since Christmas.
"Vincent," I said, stepping toward him. "Why was Mia's clothing in our bedroom? Why was she hiding in my house?"
"She wasn't hiding," Vincent said, his voice dropping to that cold, authoritative register he used with his lieutenants. "She came home unexpectedly. She needed space."
"So you gave her our room? And then you had your mistress pack her things?" I shook my head, the pieces refusing to fit. "Where is she now?"
Vincent looked at the floor. "She's safe."
"That isn't an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting tonight, Claire. I brought Natalie here because the Marino family hit two of my safe houses an hour ago. They are looking for her. This is the only place they won't look."
I stared at him. The Marinos were Vincent’s oldest rivals. If they were hitting his safe houses, a war had already started.
"Answer me one thing," I said, pointing at Natalie. "Did you bring her here to protect her, or to use her as a trade?"
Natalie flinched, looking at Vincent.
Vincent didn't meet her eyes. His silence translated itself again. He was going to hand his mistress over to the Marinos.
Natalie let out a choked breath. She dropped her overnight bag. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, the zipper sliding open a few inches.
I looked down at the bag. Sticking out from the opening wasn't a silk nightgown or a makeup bag.
It was a child’s blue winter coat. Size 4T.
I knelt down and pulled the coat from the bag. It smelled like baby powder and rain.
May you like
I looked up at Natalie. "Whose is this?"
TITLE: THE TORN PHOTOGRAPH IN THE POCKET
