Chapter 2 - THE PEARL BRACELET IN THE LOCKER
Thirty-two guests stared at Evelyn Romano. For eight months, I had watched her talk her way out of everything. She had an excuse for the missing wine. An excuse for the scratched cars. An excuse for why Dominic’s teenage daughter, Sofia, suddenly didn’t want to spend weekends at the mansion anymore. But standing in the doorway of the dining room, holding her designer purse, she had no excuse at all. “A ticket to Switzerland?” Evelyn finally repeated, her voice remarkably steady. “Dominic, you’re being paranoid.” Dominic didn’t raise his voice. “Am I?” “I was planning a surprise honeymoon,” she said smoothly, her confidence returning. “You love the Alps. I bought the tickets this morning.” “I love the Alps,” Dominic agreed. “But you didn’t buy tickets. You bought one ticket. For yourself. Departing tomorrow at 6:00 AM.” Evelyn’s grip on her purse tightened. “There was a glitch in the booking system,” she lied. “Thomas,” Dominic said to the phone still in his hand. “Have Marco bring the car around. We are going to Union Station.” Evelyn stepped backward into the foyer. “I’m not going to a train station on Thanksgiving night.” “You are,” Dominic said, walking toward her. “Or you are leaving this house and never coming back.” He didn’t wait for her answer. He looked at me. “Maria. Get your coat.” “Sir?” I whispered, cradling my bandaged wrist. “I should stay and clean—” “You are the only person who saw my mother put her things in that cabinet,” Dominic said. “You’re coming with us.” Twenty minutes later, we were standing in the cavernous, echoing hall of Union Station. The station was mostly empty, the marble floors reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. Marco, Dominic’s massive head of security, walked a few paces ahead of us. Evelyn walked in silence, her arms crossed tightly over her expensive cashmere coat. We reached the bank of metal lockers near the west terminal. Locker 417. Dominic held up the scratched brass key I had found in the dining room. He looked at Evelyn one last time. “What is inside this locker, Evelyn?” “I don’t know,” she snapped. “I told you, Anthony acts on his own.” Dominic inserted the key. It turned with a heavy click. He pulled the metal door open. I held my breath, expecting to see a stack of legal documents. The trust amendment that protected Sofia’s future. But the locker was completely empty. Except for a small, faded black velvet pouch sitting in the center. Dominic frowned. He reached in and pulled it out. It was heavy. He untied the black silk drawstrings and emptied the contents into his palm. It wasn’t paperwork. It was a delicate, antique pearl bracelet with a silver clasp. Evelyn let out a sharp gasp, taking a step back. Dominic stared at the pearls, his face completely draining of color. His hands, which had been steady all night, began to tremble. “Mr. Russo?” I asked softly. He didn’t look at me. He couldn’t look away from the jewelry. “This belonged to Elena,” Dominic whispered. Elena. His first wife. Sofia’s mother. The woman who had died in a tragic car accident ten years ago. “I don’t understand,” Dominic said, his voice cracking. “How did Anthony get this?” “I don’t know,” Evelyn stammered, genuinely terrified now. “Dominic, I swear, I have never seen that before.” I stepped closer, looking at the velvet pouch in Dominic’s hand. “Mr. Russo,” I said quietly. “What, Maria?” I pointed to the bottom of the pouch. “There’s dirt on it.” Dominic turned it over. Stuck to the black velvet was a thick, dried layer of reddish clay. It wasn't ordinary dirt from the streets of Chicago. It was the distinct, imported red clay used in the landscaping of the Russo family’s private cemetery. Dominic realized it at the exact same second I did. Anthony hadn’t stolen this bracelet from the house. “She was wearing this when we buried her,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. He looked up at Evelyn. “Your brother dug up my wife’s grave?” Before Evelyn could answer, a loud, wet cough echoed from the shadows of the train platform. We all turned. Anthony Romano stumbled out from behind a concrete pillar. He was missing his expensive coat. His shirt was torn. And he was holding a silver revolver. He pointed it directly at his sister. “I didn’t dig her up, Dominic,” Anthony choked out, blood dripping from his chin. “Evelyn did.”
