Chapter 6 - THE DEAD MAN’S RING
Vincent did not shout.
That frightened Paul more than shouting would have.
“Start talking.”
Paul remained beside the door.
“I didn’t take Emily.”
“Then why did Mara draw your ring?”
Mara corrected him.
“Emily drew it.”
Paul looked at the picture.
“I met her once.”
Vincent moved closer.
“When?”
“Eight months after she disappeared.”
The room seemed to shrink.
For nearly three years, Paul had been leading searches for Emily.
Checking airports.
Reviewing surveillance.
Questioning employees.
And eight months into that search, he had seen her.
“You looked me in the face every morning,” Vincent said.
“I was trying to keep her alive.”
“So was everyone who lied to me.”
Paul’s voice hardened.
“Dominic was not working alone.”
That was the second sentence that changed everything.
According to Paul, he discovered Dominic’s involvement eight months after Emily disappeared.
He followed a money transfer to Maine and found Mara.
He intended to bring Emily home.
Then somebody sent him photographs of his daughter leaving college.
Just as Camille would later receive photographs of her mother.
A pattern.
Whoever controlled Emily had been controlling everyone through the people they loved.
Paul agreed to stay silent.
But he also began quietly sabotaging Dominic.
Moving money.
Changing drivers.
Sending anonymous warnings to Mara whenever a location became dangerous.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Vincent asked.
“Because every time I was about to, something happened inside your house.”
Paul looked directly at him.
“The calls weren’t coming from outside.”
Vincent stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“The person coordinating everything had access to your private schedule, your family records, the security rotation, even Julia’s storage room.”
Mara whispered, “Dominic?”
Paul shook his head.
“Dominic had access to the businesses. Not to all of that.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“Then who?”
Paul looked at Camille.
Not accusingly.
Sadly.
“Somebody who had been there before Camille ever arrived.”
The answer was in the old Caruso house.
Emily’s bedroom.
The same place whose keypad had once been 643.
We returned to Beacon Hill despite Emily’s warning.
But not through the front entrance.
Vincent took us through an old basement corridor beneath the adjoining carriage house.
The mansion felt different now.
Every hallway seemed capable of hiding a secret.
Emily’s bedroom was on the third floor.
Nothing had changed.
Pink curtains.
Books arranged by height.
A stuffed rabbit on the bed.
Vincent stood in the doorway for several seconds before entering.
“I haven’t moved anything.”
I understood why.
The room wasn’t a bedroom anymore.
It was a place where time had stopped.
Paul entered 643 on a small keypad inside the closet.
A narrow cabinet opened.
Empty.
Or so it appeared.
I ran my fingers along the inside panel.
Old habits.
My father taught me that antique cabinetry often lied about its dimensions.
The back wall was too shallow.
I pressed it.
A false panel released.
Behind it were envelopes.
Dozens.
All addressed to Vincent.
All written in Julia’s handwriting.
Vincent sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
Julia had been dead five years.
These letters had been hidden longer than Emily had been missing.
The first letter was dated six weeks before Julia died.
Vincent read silently.
Then handed it to me.
Julia believed someone close to the family was stealing from the shipping company.
Not money.
Information.
Routes.
Manifests.
Names of employees.
She was terrified the leak would eventually endanger Emily.
The second letter named Dominic.
But the third cleared him.
Julia had discovered Dominic was only passing information because somebody higher in the family had ordered him to.
She never identified who.
The final letter was different.
Short.
Vincent,
If anything happens to me, do not assume the danger came from outside.
And do not let them make Emily afraid of you.
She knows where the real record is.
V.
Vincent read the last line twice.
“V?”
I asked.
“Julia always signed J.”
Then it wasn’t Julia.
Somebody had added that line later.
Paul examined the paper.
“Same ink?”
“No.”
I could see it even without laboratory testing.
The last line was darker.
Newer.
Another manipulated message.
We began searching the room.
Emily’s drawings.
Books.
Toy chest.
Nothing.
Then I noticed scratches beneath the wooden rocking horse near the window.
I turned it over.
A small brass plate had been screwed beneath the base.
Behind it was a folded sheet of paper.
A child’s drawing.
A man in a black coat standing at the front door.
Beside him, little Emily.
Across the top, in purple crayon:
DADDY CAME HOME EARLY.
Vincent stared.
“What day is this?”
Mara looked at the corner.
Emily had written the date.
The night she disappeared.
Vincent shook his head immediately.
“I was in New York.”
Paul nodded.
“I was with you.”
But Emily had drawn the black coat.
Vincent’s ring.
Vincent’s car.
And underneath the picture she had written:
DADDY SAID WE HAD TO GO QUICK.
I felt cold.
Whoever took Emily had not simply frightened her.
They had made her believe her own father came for her.
I turned the paper over.
On the back was one more drawing.
The same man.
But this time he was taking off the black coat.
Underneath, Emily had written only four words.
HE WASN’T MY DADDY.
Then Vincent noticed something I had missed.
The man’s right hand.
A small square ring.
Black stone.
The same style Paul wore.
Paul removed his ring and placed it on the table.
“It isn’t mine.”
Vincent looked up.
Paul turned it over.
Inside were engraved initials.
A.C.
Vincent’s face changed completely.
I asked, “Who is A.C.?”
He didn’t answer at first.
Then he looked toward the hallway.
“My uncle.”
“Where is he?”
Vincent’s voice became almost a whisper.
“Anthony Caruso died four years ago.”
Mara shook her head.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She was staring at the ring.
May you like
“I saw that man two months ago.”
---
