Chapter 4 - MRS. CARUSO’S RED COAT
“That’s impossible.”
The words came from me.
Not Luca.
Everyone looked at me.
Mrs. Caruso had corrected my table settings without humiliating me.
She had given me leftover soup to take home after learning about my father.
She once caught me crying in the laundry room after Dad fell during physical therapy and pretended she needed help folding sheets so I would not be embarrassed.
She was strict.
Private.
Sometimes frightening.
But she had been kind to me.
Luca looked at Adrian.
“How did you get into her office?”
Adrian hesitated.
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed.
“Answer him.”
“I was looking for something.”
“What?”
Adrian looked at his sister.
“The photograph.”
Vanessa went pale.
“You knew about it?”
“I knew someone had sent one.”
“How?”
“I saw you arguing with Dad this afternoon.”
Vittorio muttered, “You should learn not to listen at doors.”
Adrian laughed bitterly.
“Maybe this family should learn to stop having conversations that can destroy people.”
Luca interrupted.
“What were you looking for in Mrs. Caruso’s office?”
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck.
“A matching copy.”
“Why would she have one?”
“Because I saw her speaking to the courier who delivered Vanessa’s.”
The room shifted again.
Vanessa stared.
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know what I saw.”
“When?”
“Eleven this morning.”
Luca turned toward one of his guards.
“Find Mrs. Caruso.”
The man left.
I looked at the restaurant receipt.
“Why write dinner instructions on this?”
Adrian pushed it toward me.
“Look at the front.”
I turned it over.
The receipt came from Moretti’s Trattoria on Taylor Street.
Dated fourteen years earlier.
Christmas Eve.
At the bottom, beside the total, someone had written:
TABLE 12 — G. MORETTI.
Luca took it.
“My father ate there that night.”
Vittorio went still.
Luca noticed.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You’re becoming terrible at that word.”
Before Vittorio could answer, the guard returned.
“Mrs. Caruso isn’t in the kitchen.”
“Her apartment?”
“Empty.”
Luca stood.
“Car?”
“Still outside.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“She wouldn’t leave without her coat.”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“Mrs. Caruso wears the same red wool coat every winter. She keeps it beside the staff entrance.”
The guard shook his head.
“Rack is empty.”
A strange feeling settled over me.
I had seen that coat tonight.
At seven-thirty.
Mrs. Caruso had come through the service hall wearing it, even though dinner was beginning.
I remembered because snow had been melting on the shoulders.
“She went outside before dinner.”
Luca looked at me.
“How long?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“Did she carry anything?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A paper grocery bag.”
Vanessa looked toward the silver box.
“The leaves?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca started toward the service wing.
He stopped beside me.
“You stay here.”
Normally, I would have.
Then I looked at my father’s photograph.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I’m sorry, sir, but my parents are in that picture. Mrs. Caruso hired me. If this concerns my family, I’m done being told which room I’m allowed to stand in.”
For two seconds, Luca Moretti simply stared at me.
Vanessa made a small sound that might have been disbelief.
Then Luca nodded.
“Fine.”
We found Mrs. Caruso in the greenhouse.
The mansion had a glass conservatory at the rear overlooking the frozen garden.
She sat alone on a wrought-iron bench.
Still wearing her black housekeeping dress.
No coat.
No shoes.
Her gray hair had come loose from its usual tight bun.
Snow blew through an open side door.
“Mrs. Caruso.”
She looked at me.
Her face broke.
“Oh, Emma.”
Luca stepped past me.
“Where is the red coat?”
Mrs. Caruso’s eyes moved to him.
“Burned.”
My heart dropped.
“Why?”
“Because it was time.”
Luca crouched in front of her.
“What did you put in Vanessa’s food?”
“Nothing.”
“Someone altered the menu.”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Why?”
Mrs. Caruso looked at her.
“To make you afraid.”
Vanessa’s face twisted.
“You nearly killed Luca.”
“No.”
“You put mushrooms on my plate and knew I would switch it.”
Mrs. Caruso’s expression changed.
Surprise.
Genuine surprise.
“I didn’t know you would switch anything.”
Vanessa froze.
Mrs. Caruso continued.
“I ordered the mushroom dish because Luca never touches another person’s plate.”
Luca’s eyes sharpened.
“Then why alter hers?”
“So she would notice.”
“Notice what?”
“The smell.”
I thought of the strange scent beneath the Madeira sauce.
Mrs. Caruso looked at me.
“You noticed it first.”
“What was it?”
“Nothing harmful.”
She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small paper packet.
Inside was a pinch of dried leaves.
“The same herb Vanessa’s mother used.”
Vanessa stared.
“How do you know about that?”
Mrs. Caruso’s eyes softened.
“Because I knew your mother.”
The room fell silent.
Vanessa whispered, “Everyone suddenly knew my mother except me.”
Mrs. Caruso flinched.
“She deserved better.”
“Better than what?”
Mrs. Caruso looked toward Vittorio.
The old man had followed us.
His face became gray.
“No.”
Mrs. Caruso stood.
“You had thirty years.”
“Rosa.”
My skin prickled.
Rosa.
I had never heard anyone call Mrs. Caruso by her first name.
Vittorio said, “Not tonight.”
She laughed sadly.
“You said that when Maria died.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled.
“My mother died from an aneurysm.”
Mrs. Caruso looked at her.
“No, sweetheart.”
The tenderness in her voice made it worse.
“She died because she learned what your father did after Elevator Six.”
Vittorio stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Luca blocked him.
“Let her speak.”
Mrs. Caruso looked at me.
“Your father saved Catherine that night.”
I nodded.
“But after the rescue, Thomas found something inside the machine room.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Vittorio cursed under his breath.
Mrs. Caruso continued.
“Marco Bellini had been stealing from Giuseppe Moretti, yes. But he wasn’t doing it alone.”
Luca’s attention shifted to Vittorio.
“My father?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mrs. Caruso’s eyes stayed on Vittorio.
“His brother.”
Vanessa backed away.
Vittorio shook his head.
“That’s a lie.”
“Thomas kept the ledger.”
My mouth went dry.
“No.”
“He knew what it proved. He knew Marco had taken the blame for money Vittorio had also stolen.”
Vanessa looked at her father.
“Is that true?”
Vittorio’s face tightened.
“It was more complicated.”
“That usually means yes.”
Mrs. Caruso turned back to me.
“Your mother wanted Thomas to go to the police.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Giuseppe Moretti came to your house.”
I looked at Luca.
He looked equally stunned.
Mrs. Caruso said, “Your father was offered a choice. Give back the ledger and your family would be left alone. Keep it, and nobody could promise what happened next.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“My father threatened them.”
“Yes.”
The truth clearly hurt him.
Mrs. Caruso continued.
“Thomas gave Giuseppe something.”
“The ledger?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“A copy.”
My pulse jumped.
“And the original?”
“Nobody ever found it.”
Vanessa whispered, “Until now?”
Mrs. Caruso looked toward the open greenhouse door.
“My red coat was Catherine Reed’s.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She gave it to me the winter before she died.”
My mother.
Her bracelet.
Her old secrets.
Now a coat.
Mrs. Caruso continued.
“She stitched something into the lining and told me never to open it unless somebody came looking for Elevator Six.”
Luca said, “You burned the coat.”
“I burned part of it.”
Mrs. Caruso reached beneath the bench.
She lifted a rectangular piece of red wool, carefully cut from the inner lining.
A narrow leather pouch had been sewn beneath it.
She handed it to me.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was no ledger.
Only a child’s drawing.
Crayon on yellow paper.
A family of four.
A tall man.
A woman.
A little girl.
A smaller boy.
At the bottom, in childish handwriting:
DADDY FIXES ELEVATORS.
I recognized it immediately.
“I drew this.”
My voice broke.
“I was six.”
Something hard was taped behind the paper.
I peeled it free.
A small brass key.
Number 314 stamped into the head.
Luca frowned.
“A locker?”
I stared at it.
Then memory struck so suddenly I had to grip the bench.
My father used to take me to Union Station every Christmas.
There had been old rental lockers near the lower concourse.
He always chose the same one.
I looked at Luca.
“Three-fourteen.”
“What?”
“My father used locker 314.”
Mrs. Caruso closed her eyes.
“Then Catherine wanted you to find what Thomas hid.”
Vanessa whispered, “The ledger?”
Before anyone answered, Vittorio moved.
Fast for a man his age.
He grabbed the brass key from my hand.
Luca seized his wrist.
“Give it back.”
Vittorio struggled.
“You have no idea what opening that locker will do.”
Luca tightened his grip.
“Then explain.”
Vittorio’s face twisted with fear.
Not for himself.
For Vanessa.
For Adrian.
For all of us.
“If Thomas Reed kept what I think he kept,” he whispered, “this isn’t about stolen money anymore.”
I stared at him.
“What is it about?”
May you like
Vittorio looked at Luca.
“Your father’s murder.”
