Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPHNobody spoke during the drive back to the mansion.
The photograph sat on Luca’s lap.
I kept thinking about those six words.
Never let her marry you.
Not don't trust her.
Not be careful.
Never let her marry you.
The difference mattered.
There was something about Vanessa that Vivian had known years before any of us did.
When we arrived, the mansion was still lit, but every guest had been sent home.
The long dinner table was abandoned.
Half-empty wine glasses reflected the chandelier.
A single napkin lay crumpled beside Vanessa’s chair.
Daniel entered first.
“The bridal suite is empty.”
Luca looked at him.
“Empty?”
“No luggage. No phone. No jewelry.”
“Then she left.”
“Not exactly.”
Daniel held up a small velvet box.
“We found this under the mattress.”
Luca opened it.
Inside was a key.
Old brass.
Stamped with a number.
17.
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Luca looked at the key.
“I don't know.”
Daniel interrupted.
“There's more.”
He handed him a tablet.
Security footage from the bridal hallway played.
At 6:07 p.m., Vanessa walked into her room.
At 6:18 p.m., she walked out.
At 6:21 p.m., the stranger from the kennel entered.
He stayed inside for four minutes.
When he left, he was carrying a black suitcase.
At 7:04 p.m., Vanessa returned to the room.
At 7:09, she left again.
But this time she wasn't alone.
A woman walked beside her.
Older.
Gray hair.
Head lowered.
Luca leaned toward the screen.
“Who is that?”
“We don't know.”
I watched the woman's posture.
Something about her looked familiar.
Then she lifted her face toward the camera.
My breath stopped.
“Wait.”
Luca paused the video.
The woman had a scar beside her left eyebrow.
I recognized her.
I had seen her once before.
Years ago.
At Vivian Moretti's funeral.
“You know her?” Luca asked.
I nodded slowly.
“She was your mother's maid.”
Luca stared at the screen.
“Maria.”
Daniel looked confused.
“Where is she now?”
“No one knows,” Luca said.
I pointed.
“She was there that night.”
“What night?”
“The night your mother died.”
The room became silent.
Luca looked at me.
“What are you saying?”
“I don't know exactly. But I remember seeing her crying outside your mother's bedroom.”
“My mother died in the hospital.”
“I know.”
“Then why was Maria in the house?”
I didn't have an answer.
Luca stared at the photograph.
Suddenly his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a woman's voice whispered,
“She knows about the room.”
Luca froze.
“Who is this?”
“You should never have trusted Vanessa.”
“Where is Bruno?”
The woman took a breath.
“Alive.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
“No.”
Luca gripped the phone.
“Tell me where my dog is.”
“He isn't the problem anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your mother hid something.”
“What?”
“The dog knows where.”
The call ended.
Daniel immediately started tracing it.
“No good. Burner phone.”
Luca stared at the dead screen.
I stepped closer.
“What room?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“Maybe the key.”
He held up the brass key marked 17.
“Where did your mother keep things?”
“My mother owned half this house.”
“Which rooms were numbered?”
He thought.
“The old west wing.”
Daniel frowned.
“That wing has been sealed for twelve years.”
“Why?”
Luca looked toward the hallway.
“After my mother died.”
“Why seal it?”
“I was told it was unsafe.”
“By who?”
Luca's expression changed.
“Vanessa.”
We went to the west wing.
Dust covered the hallway.
The air smelled old and damp.
At the end stood a heavy wooden door.
A rusted brass plate read:
17.
Luca inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a narrow room filled with boxes.
Old photographs.
Furniture.
Documents.
And a wooden writing desk.
On the wall hung a portrait of Vivian.
I stepped closer.
There was something strange about it.
The painting was slightly crooked.
Luca touched the frame.
The portrait swung outward.
Behind it was a small hidden compartment.
Inside sat a cassette recorder.
An envelope rested beside it.
On the front was one word.
LUCA.
He opened it.
His mother's handwriting filled the page.
He read silently.
Then his face went white.
I reached for the paper.
He handed it to me.
The note said:
If you are reading this, Vanessa has already entered my house.
Do not confront her.
Do not tell her about Bruno.
And most importantly...
The sentence ended halfway down the page.
The bottom had been torn away.
I looked at Luca.
“What was on the missing part?”
He didn't answer.
Because something behind us moved.
We turned.
The portrait had swung back into place.
May you like
And scratched into the wooden frame, as though someone had written it with a knife, were four fresh words.
SHE'S IN THE HOUSE.
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