Chapter 3 - Isabelle's SecretThe silver key opened a box.
The box was hidden beneath the floorboard in Isabelle's old sewing room.
I hadn't entered that room since she died.
I couldn't.
Every object still smelled like her.
Perfume.
Lavender.
Paper.
The ghost of a life that had ended with one gunshot.
Grace followed me inside.
“Why are you helping me?”
She hesitated.
“Because someone killed her.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is to me.”
I looked at her.
“You knew Isabelle.”
Grace went silent.
My hand tightened around the key.
“How?”
“I worked for her.”
“Where?”
“Three years ago.”
“At the preschool?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
Grace looked down.
“At a private investigation firm.”
My blood went cold.
“What was she investigating?”
“She believed someone was following your family.”
“Who?”
“She never knew.”
“That's convenient.”
“She didn't trust the police.”
“She trusted you?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
Grace's eyes softened.
“Because she was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Protect me?”
“Yes.”
“From what?”
“From the truth.”
The key turned.
The floorboard opened.
Inside was a metal box.
I lifted it out.
Inside were passports.
Bank records.
Photographs.
And a small notebook.
The first page contained one sentence.
IF I DIE, DON'T TRUST THE PEOPLE CLOSEST TO US.
I stopped breathing.
Page after page contained names.
Politicians.
Businessmen.
Police officers.
Judges.
But one name appeared more often than the others.
Marcus Reed.
I stared at it.
Marcus had been my closest security chief for nine years.
He had stood beside Isabelle at funerals.
He had carried Nora when she was sick.
He had slept in the mansion hallway during the first weeks after the murder.
And Isabelle had been investigating him.
Grace touched my arm.
“You understand now.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I understand nothing.”
She pointed to the notebook.
“Read the last page.”
I did.
Isabelle had written:
HE DOESN'T WORK ALONE.
Below that:
ONE OF THEM LIVES UNDER OUR ROOF.
Then:
THE GIRLS KNOW.
My throat tightened.
The girls knew?
How?
I closed the notebook.
“We talk to Olivia.”
“No.”
I turned.
Grace shook her head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is watching them already knows we're looking.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone was walking toward us.
I pulled my gun.
Grace grabbed my wrist.
“Don't shoot.”
The door opened.
Marcus stood there.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
“Everything okay?”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
He looked at Grace.
Then at the box.
His face didn't change.
But his eyes did.
For less than a second.
Fear.
Then it vanished.
“I've been looking for you,” he said.
“Why?”
“Your daughters are asking for you.”
I stepped toward him.
“How did you know they were here?”
Marcus frowned.
“In the hallway.”
“I didn't tell you.”
Silence.
I watched him carefully.
He looked back at me.
Then smiled.
“You've become paranoid since Isabelle died.”
Maybe.
Or maybe I had simply become awake.
That night, I put the girls into a safe room.
I stayed outside.
At 2:41 a.m., Olivia opened the door.
She was crying.
“Daddy.”
I crouched.
“What happened?”
She whispered:
“Mommy told us never to trust the man who wears two watches.”
My heart stopped.
“Who wears two watches?”
Olivia pointed down the hallway.
At Marcus.
He was standing in the shadows.
I looked at his wrists.
One watch.
I glanced down.
Then back up.
Marcus had one watch on his left wrist.
But there was a second outline beneath his sleeve.
My gun was in my hand before I realized it.
Marcus lifted both hands.
“What are you doing?”
I stepped closer.
“Show me your right wrist.”
He smiled.
“No.”
The lights went out.
A gunshot exploded through the hallway.
Something hit the wall beside my head.
I fired back.
Marcus disappeared.
When the emergency lights returned, there was blood on the floor.
But no body.
Only a trail leading toward the basement.
And beside the blood was a child's drawing.
Three girls.
Their mother.
And a tall man standing behind them.
The man's face had been colored completely black.
May you like
Across the bottom, in Olivia's handwriting, were four words:
HE WAS HERE THAT DAY.
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