Chapter 3 - The Empty CoffinThe police arrived twenty minutes later.
Charles insisted it had been a prank.
Victoria said nothing.
She watched an officer bag the hospital bracelet.
She watched Bruno explain the missing kitchen bread.
She watched guests leave the estate through the front entrance, whispering behind gloved hands.
But Victoria was no longer thinking about the gala.
She was thinking about a hospital room eight years ago.
The room had smelled of antiseptic and roses.
She remembered holding Rosalind.
Her daughter had been born at 6:14 in the morning.
The first thing Victoria noticed had been the eyes.
One blue.
One green.
Her doctor had smiled.
“Rare.”
Victoria had laughed through tears.
“She looks stubborn.”
“She looks like you.”
Charles had kissed her forehead.
Everything after that became blurred.
A fever.
A doctor.
A sudden emergency.
Charles telling her to rest.
Then the fire.
Then the coffin.
Victoria pressed her fingertips to her temples.
“What happened in that hospital?”
She found the old medical records.
Most pages were missing.
She called the hospital.
The clerk transferred her to archives.
“No record,” the woman said.
Victoria frowned.
“That cannot be right.”
“There was a fire in the old records wing.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
Victoria sat still.
Rosalind supposedly died eight years ago.
The records were destroyed seven years ago.
Too convenient.
She turned.
Rosie was sitting near the window, eating soup.
The girl kept looking at the door.
“Rosie.”
“Yes?”
“What do you remember about your mama?”
“Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“She was nice.”
“What did she look like?”
“Brown hair. Small glasses.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
That was Eleanor.
“She told me stories.”
“What kind?”
“About a house.”
“What house?”
Rosie smiled faintly.
“Your house.”
Victoria's heart skipped.
“She used to draw it.”
“Do you have the drawings?”
Rosie nodded.
She reached inside her small bag and pulled out a folded sheet.
Victoria unfolded it.
A child’s drawing.
A giant house.
Two women.
A baby.
And a tall man standing behind them.
Victoria stared.
The man had a black X across his face.
“Who is this?”
Rosie shook her head.
“He said I must never say his name.”
“Charles?”
“No.”
“Who?”
The girl looked toward the hallway.
“The man Mama called the doctor.”
Victoria's pulse quickened.
“Which doctor?”
“Dr. Bell.”
Victoria stopped breathing.
Dr. Adrian Bell had been the family physician the night Rosalind disappeared.
He had signed the death certificate.
He had also disappeared two months later.
Victoria had assumed he retired.
She searched his name.
Nothing.
Then she remembered something.
A storage room.
Her father’s private records.
The Hale family kept documents no employee was allowed to access.
Victoria went downstairs.
Charles followed.
“You should not do this.”
She turned.
“What exactly should I not do?”
“Dig through things that belong in the past.”
Victoria stared at him.
“The past buried my daughter.”
Charles looked away.
They entered her father’s study.
Victoria opened the old safe.
Her hands shook as she entered the combination.
Inside were documents tied with dark ribbon.
She found a folder labeled:
ROSALIND VICTORIA HALE.
The folder was almost empty.
There was one page.
A payment ledger.
Victoria read it.
To Dr. Adrian Bell.
$250,000.
Reason: Emergency neonatal care.
A second payment.
$500,000.
Reason: Confidentiality.
A third.
$1,000,000.
Reason: Final arrangement.
Victoria felt sick.
“Charles.”
He stood behind her.
“I told you not to.”
“You paid him.”
Charles said nothing.
“You paid the doctor.”
“It was not what you think.”
“You said you didn’t know.”
“I didn't.”
“You’re lying.”
He stepped forward.
“Victoria, listen to me.”
“No.”
She slammed the folder closed.
“Eight years ago, who was in that hospital room?”
Charles’s face tightened.
“You.”
“Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Bell.”
“Yes.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“My father.”
Charles hesitated.
“Yes.”
Victoria whispered:
“And my baby.”
Charles looked toward the door.
“Yes.”
“Who took her?”
“I don't know.”
“Who ordered it?”
He didn't answer.
“Charles!”
A voice came from the hallway.
Rosie.
“Mrs. Hale?”
They turned.
The girl stood there holding another drawing.
“Mama made this before she died.”
Victoria took it.
Unlike the child’s drawing, this one was precise.
A hospital corridor.
A woman carrying a baby.
A man standing at the end of the corridor.
The man had a watch on his wrist.
Victoria stared at the watch.
Black leather strap.
Silver face.
A small crack through the center.
Charles wore the same watch.
Every day.
Victoria slowly looked at his wrist.
The watch was there.
She looked back at the drawing.
Rosie spoke softly.
“That was the night Mama saved me.”
Charles stepped backward.
Victoria felt every piece of the puzzle fall into place.
“You were there.”
Charles shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
“You were there.”
“I was trying to stop it.”
“Stop what?”
Charles's face collapsed.
“The murder.”
Victoria went still.
Whose murder?
Before she could ask, the study door burst open.
Bruno stumbled inside.
“Mr. Hale.”
Charles turned.
“What?”
Bruno was pale.
“We found something in the old cemetery.”
“What?”
“A grave.”
Victoria stepped forward.
“What grave?”
Bruno looked at her.
“Eleanor Hart.”
Victoria's heart stopped.
“You said she was dead.”
Charles didn't answer.
Bruno swallowed.
“The grave was opened this morning.”
Victoria stared.
“Is there a body?”
Bruno shook his head.
“No.”
“What is inside?”
“Nothing.”
Victoria whispered:
“Again?”
Bruno handed her a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a folded note.
Victoria opened it.
May you like
Four words.
ASK CHARLES WHO LIES.
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