Chapter 6 - The House Nobody Was Supposed to Save
“June Ward couldn't have received that money.”
Luca said it again the following morning.
We were sitting in his study at the mansion.
The little blue notebook lay between us.
Outside the windows, the gardens were covered with the first yellow leaves of autumn.
Molly was downstairs having breakfast with Mrs. Carter.
For the first time in months, I'd heard my daughter laugh without immediately asking when she could see her father.
I wanted to keep it that way.
“Could Daniel have made a mistake?” I asked.
Luca shook his head.
“Daniel recorded the payment exactly as it appeared in the foundation's disbursement list. That doesn't mean the recipient was real.”
“Then someone invented it.”
“Or deliberately used June's identity.”
I rubbed my wedding ring.
“Vanessa must have known her mother was listed.”
“Maybe. But I'm not assuming anything until we talk to someone who remembers Maple Street House.”
As if she'd heard us, Vanessa appeared in the doorway.
She wore a simple gray sweater instead of her usual expensive dresses.
Without her makeup, she looked younger.
And exhausted.
“I know someone,” she said.
Luca stood.
“Who?”
“Ada Flores.”
Vanessa looked at the notebook.
“She lived at Maple Street House when my mother worked there. She stayed after most of the others left.”
“Is she still there?”
“Yes.”
“Then we're going.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“I'm coming with you.”
Luca hesitated.
“That's not a good idea.”
“She knew my mother.”
Her voice tightened.
“Whatever you think of me, Luca, I have a right to know what happened to her.”
He looked toward me.
I didn't particularly want Vanessa sitting beside me in a car.
But I understood wanting answers about someone you loved.
“Let her come,” I said.
Vanessa looked surprised.
I avoided her eyes.
Twenty-five minutes later, we reached Maple Street House.
It stood on a quiet block on Chicago's West Side.
The brick building had faded green shutters and a narrow front porch.
A wooden sign hung crookedly beside the entrance.
Once, it must have been beautiful.
Now several windows were patched, and the front steps had cracks running through them.
Vanessa stopped beside the gate.
“My mother planted those roses.”
Only a few dried stems remained.
Luca looked at the building.
“I came here with my father when I was twelve.”
Vanessa turned.
“You remember?”
“He used to bring groceries before Thanksgiving. I helped carry the bags.”
He smiled sadly.
“Someone here always gave me too much pie.”
A voice came from the doorway.
“That was me.”
An elderly woman stood holding the frame.
She had white hair, a purple cardigan, and the steady expression of someone who'd spent a lifetime refusing to be intimidated.
“Lucas Moretti?”
Luca stepped forward.
“Mrs. Flores?”
“Well, I'll be.”
She opened her arms.
He hugged her carefully.
“You got tall,” she said.
He laughed softly.
“It's been a while.”
“Too long.”
Then she noticed Vanessa.
Her smile disappeared.
“Elena.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Hello, Ada.”
For a moment, neither woman moved.
Then Ada said, “You have your mother's eyes.”
Vanessa began crying.
Ada embraced her.
Watching them, I felt an unexpected ache.
I'd spent eighteen months wishing someone could tell my daughter that her father was still a good man.
Vanessa had apparently spent years searching for something similar.
Inside, the house smelled of old wood and coffee.
Nine elderly residents still occupied rooms there, although much of the building had been closed.
Ada led us into a small dining room.
A brass service bell sat on the counter.
“Your father bought that,” she told Luca. “June rang it when supper was ready.”
Vanessa touched the bell.
“I remember.”
Ada studied her.
“Your mother would've hated what this place became.”
Vanessa looked away.
“Charles told me Salvatore refused to repair the heating.”
Ada's expression changed.
“Is that what he said?”
“Yes.”
Ada turned toward Luca.
“Your father paid for temporary rooms when the furnace became unsafe.”
Vanessa stiffened.
“No.”
“He did. Out of his own pocket at first.”
“That's not possible.”
“I was here.”
Ada walked toward a framed photograph hanging near the kitchen.
It showed Salvatore Moretti standing beside June Ward.
Both were smiling.
Behind them were several elderly residents.
Ada pointed to the photograph.
“Salvatore loved this place. He and June fought sometimes, but they wanted the same thing.”
“Then why was my mother dismissed?” Vanessa asked.
Ada hesitated.
“Because the foundation claimed she had approved payments that never reached the residents.”
My heart pounded.
“Like the payments in Daniel's notebook?”
I opened the book.
Ada put on her glasses.
She read the names slowly.
Then she began shaking her head.
“Mr. Harrison never got this money.”
She pointed to another name.
“Neither did Mrs. Doyle.”
Then another.
“She moved in with her daughter because there was nowhere else to go.”
I felt sick.
The people on Daniel's list weren't accounting entries.
They were elderly men and women who'd needed somewhere warm to sleep.
Vanessa stared at her mother's name.
“Why would somebody use her name?”
Ada looked at her for a long moment.
“Your mother asked that same question years ago, when the earlier heating money disappeared.”
Vanessa whispered, “What?”
“June said someone was using her name to approve things she had never seen.”
“Who?”
Ada's eyes moved toward Luca.
“Your father was trying to find out.”
Vanessa gripped the table.
“But Charles said Salvatore blamed her.”
“He was angry about what happened. That's true. But he was angry because people were suffering.”
Ada walked toward the window.
“I remember the day the heating was shut off. Salvatore had arranged payment for repairs and temporary rooms.”
She swallowed.
“Two men arrived to inspect the furnace. Charles Whitcomb came with them.”
Luca went still.
“What did Charles do?”
Ada looked directly at him.
“He told the men to turn the heat off.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Ada's voice trembled.
“June begged him to wait until the residents had somewhere else to go.”
“What did he say?” I whispered.
Ada looked at Vanessa.
“He said the foundation couldn't afford to keep people alive just because your mother felt sorry for them.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
May you like
Then Ada added something worse.
“And your mother heard Charles say he needed Salvatore Moretti out of the way before anybody discovered where the money had gone.”
