Chapter 10 - THE COAT ON THE PORCH
I put the car in park and stared at the porch.
“Dad,” I whispered. “Did you order something?”
My father’s face drained of color. He gripped the dashboard so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Stay in the car, Emma,” he commanded, his voice suddenly sharp.
“No, I’m coming with you.”
We walked up the concrete steps together.
The coat was dark navy wool, impeccably tailored, but clearly decades old.
It smelled faintly of expensive cigar smoke and old leather.
My father reached down with a trembling hand and touched the lapel.
“It’s Michael’s,” he whispered. “This is the coat he was wearing the night he died.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Julian had confessed to cutting the brakes. Julian was in federal custody. The nightmare was supposed to be over.
I reached into the front pocket of the heavy coat.
My fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.
I pulled it out.
It was a heavy brass key.
It looked exactly like the key Arthur Bell had used to open the grandfather clock at the mansion.
But tied to it was a small white tag.
Written in perfectly elegant handwriting were three words:
Check the time.
“Dad,” I said, holding up the key. “Who left this here?”
My father took the key, his eyes darting up and down our quiet suburban street.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tight with fear. “But if they have Michael’s coat, they were at the crash site before the police were.”
“You mean Julian didn’t act alone?”
My father shook his head slowly.
“Julian was the muscle. He cut the brakes. But he was never smart enough to cover up the crash perfectly. Someone else was there that night. Someone who took this coat off Michael’s body.”
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I jumped.
I pulled it out. It was an unknown number.
I answered it on speakerphone.
“Hello?” I said.
“Did you like the coat, Emma?” a smooth, cultured voice asked.
My father gasped, stumbling back against the porch railing.
“It can’t be,” my father whispered in horror.
“Who is this?” I demanded.
“Bring the key to Arthur’s shop,” the voice said calmly. “Come alone. Or I’ll finish the job Julian started on your father.”
The line went dead.
I looked at my dad. He looked like he had just seen a ghost.
“Dad, whose voice was that?”
May you like
My father looked at me, tears forming in his eyes.
“It’s Enzo Bellini,” he whispered. “Vanessa’s father.”
