Chapter 5 - THE MUD ON THE CARPET
The rusted wire cutters felt heavy and cold, a violent anchor dragging the room into silence.
Luca stared at the tool in his hands.
He didn't shout. He didn't throw them.
His reaction was far more terrifying. He went utterly, dangerously still.
"She used these," he whispered, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "She cut my wife's brake lines. And then she hid the weapon in my daughter's bedroom."
"She wanted you to find them," I realized, the sickness rising in my throat. "Years from now. When Lucy was a teenager. When Vanessa had convinced you Lucy was disturbed."
"She would have claimed Lucy did it," Luca said. "That Lucy sabotaged the car because she was angry at her mother. She was going to frame my daughter for her own mother's murder."
He carefully placed the wire cutters inside a plastic evidence bag he retrieved from a small safe in his closet.
"Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice shaking. "We have to call the police now. This is physical evidence."
"It's evidence that was found in my daughter's drawer," Luca corrected, his eyes locking onto mine. "Julian would spin this in a heartbeat. He'd leak it to the press. 'Troubled heiress suspected in mother's death.' The police would have to question Lucy. They'd drag her through a public investigation. I will not let them put her in an interrogation room."
"Then what do we do?"
Luca zipped the plastic bag.
"We don't need the police to handle Vanessa. We need a confession."
Before I could ask how he planned to get one, a sharp, frantic knocking echoed from the front doors downstairs.
Luca frowned. He glanced at the clock. It was 2:00 AM.
"Stay here with Lucy," he ordered. "Lock the door."
I nodded, stepping back into the bedroom as he strode down the hall. I turned the deadbolt, my heart hammering against my ribs. I walked over to the window and peered through the heavy curtains down at the driveway.
A black town car was idling near the fountain.
Standing on the front steps, illuminated by the porch lights, was Mrs. Callahan.
I unlocked the door and hurried to the top of the stairs, staying out of sight as Luca opened the front door.
"Mrs. Callahan," Luca said, his tone guarded. "It's two in the morning."
The older woman looked terrified. She wasn't wearing her elegant navy gown anymore; she had thrown a trench coat over sweatpants.
"I am so sorry to come back, Mr. Moretti. I didn't want to call. I didn't trust the phone."
"Come in."
She stepped into the foyer. I crept down three steps to hear better.
"What happened?" Luca asked.
"It's Vanessa," Mrs. Callahan said, her hands trembling as she clutched her purse. "After I left your house tonight, I drove straight home. I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about that photograph she sent to the school board."
"I am having my legal team handle the board in the morning," Luca assured her.
"That's not why I'm here," she interrupted. She unclasped her purse and pulled out a small, mud-stained envelope. "When I got home... this was taped to my front door."
Luca took the envelope. He opened it.
Inside was a single photograph. Not a digital printout. A glossy, developed Polaroid.
I saw his shoulders instantly rigidify.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice lethal.
"Look at the date stamped on the bottom," Mrs. Callahan whispered.
"October 14th," Luca read. "Four years ago."
The day Caroline died.
Luca turned the photograph around. From my vantage point on the stairs, I couldn't see the image, but I saw the color completely drain from Luca's face.
"It's Vanessa," Mrs. Callahan said, crying now. "She's standing in the rain. Behind her... that's Caroline's car. Smashed against the trees."
My breath caught.
"Who took this picture?" Luca demanded.
"I don't know," Mrs. Callahan sobbed. "But there's a note written on the back."
Luca flipped the photograph over.
He read it out loud, his voice echoing in the massive foyer.
‘She didn't do it alone. Ask the maid what she saw.’
Luca slowly looked up from the photograph.
His eyes drifted past Mrs. Callahan.
They locked directly onto me, standing in the shadows of the staircase.
"Grace," Luca said, his voice echoing in the absolute silence of the house.
I froze.
"Sir, I swear, I don't know anything about that photo! I didn't work here four years ago! I was in college!"
"I know you were," Luca said, taking a slow step toward the stairs. "But the note doesn't say 'Ask Grace.' It says 'Ask the maid.'"
He looked down at the photograph again.
"Who was the head housekeeper four years ago?" he asked quietly.
My blood ran cold.
I knew exactly who it was. She was the one who had trained me when I first got hired. The woman who had abruptly retired and moved away just three months ago after securing a massive, unexplained pension.
"My mother," I whispered.
Luca stared at me.
Mrs. Callahan gasped.
"Your mother was the head housekeeper?" Luca asked.
"Yes," I choked out, tears instantly filling my eyes. "Eleanor Sullivan. She worked for your family for ten years. She broke her hip last spring and had to retire. That's why I took the job. To pay for her medical bills."
Luca looked at the mud-stained envelope in his hand.
"Grace. Where does your mother live?"
"In a ground-floor apartment in the city," I said, panic rising in my throat. "But she can barely walk! She's bedridden!"
Luca reached for his car keys on the console table.
"Call her. Right now."
I pulled my phone from my apron pocket. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely unlock the screen. I dialed her number and pressed it to my ear.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"She's not answering," I panicked. "She always answers."
"Keep trying," Luca ordered, throwing on his coat. "Mrs. Callahan, stay here with Lucy. Lock the doors. Do not let anyone inside except my security team."
"Wait," I cried as Luca headed for the door. "I'm coming with you."
"No. It isn't safe."
"She's my mother, Mr. Moretti! If Vanessa sent this... if Vanessa knows my mother has proof..."
Luca looked at my terrified face. He nodded once.
"Let's go."
We ran to the garage. Luca threw me the keys to his black SUV, and within seconds, we were tearing down the driveway, the tires screeching against the asphalt as the heavy iron gates swung open.
The drive to the city was a blur of streetlights and rain. I dialed her number fifteen times. Voice mail every time.
"Why would my mother know anything?" I cried, staring at my phone. "She loved Caroline! She practically helped raise Lucy!"
"Which is exactly why she would have been paying attention to Vanessa," Luca said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "If she saw Vanessa sabotage the car, why didn't she tell me?"
"Because Julian threatened her," I realized, the pieces violently clicking into place. "Vanessa had the money. Julian had the legal power. If they threatened to hurt me... to ruin our family... my mother would have stayed quiet to protect me."
Luca didn't answer. He pressed his foot harder on the gas.
We pulled into the parking lot of my mother's small apartment complex at 2:45 AM. The rain was coming down in sheets.
I jumped out of the car before Luca had even put it in park. I sprinted through the courtyard toward unit 1B.
"Mom!" I screamed, banging on the front door. "Mom, open up!"
No answer.
I fumbled for my keys, shoved the brass key into the lock, and threw the door open.
The apartment was pitch black.
And it was freezing.
The sliding glass door leading to the back patio had been shattered. Glass glittered across the worn living room carpet like ice.
"Mom!" I yelled, running down the short hallway toward her bedroom.
I slammed the bedroom door open and flicked on the light.
The bed was empty. The blankets were torn and dragged onto the floor.
Her wheelchair was tipped over on its side.
"Mr. Moretti!" I screamed, dropping to my knees.
Luca ran into the room. He took one look at the overturned wheelchair and pulled me up from the floor.
"She's gone," I sobbed hysterically. "They took her! They took my mother!"
Luca’s eyes scanned the room.
He walked over to her nightstand.
Sitting perfectly in the center of the wooden table was a silver champagne glass.
The exact same glasses we had used at the engagement dinner three hours ago.
Beneath it was a piece of hotel stationery.
Luca pulled it out and read it.
His jaw tightened.
May you like
He handed it to me.
‘I told you she was clumsy, Grace. She spilled a secret. Come alone to the boathouse, or she falls.’
