Chapter 8 - THE LOCKED ROOM IN NEWPORT
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The summer house stood above a gray stretch of ocean, its white paint peeling and its windows clouded with salt.
I hadn't visited since my mother's funeral.
Dorian parked near the front steps, but I refused his offer to accompany me inside.
"If we're going to find the truth," I told him, "I need to know I can stand in a room without you controlling what I see."
He looked wounded.
Then he handed me the key.
"I'll wait outside."
For once, he kept his word.
The house smelled of dust and damp wood. I walked through the living room, past the fireplace where my father used to read to me, and stopped at the narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms.
The final door was still locked.
The silver key from Margaret's box fit perfectly.
Inside was a small room filled with boxes, old toys, and photographs. My mother's handwriting appeared on labels attached to several containers.
I found a child's drawing taped to the wall.
It showed a little girl holding hands with two adults beneath a yellow sun.
I had drawn it when I was seven.
Beneath it, my mother had written: Before the lies began.
I searched the room carefully until I discovered a loose floorboard beneath an old trunk.
Underneath lay a leather ledger wrapped in oilcloth.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Names. Dates. Payments. Bank transfers.
And beside several entries, a small black mark.
The same mark appeared next to a series of transactions involving Victor Kincaid.
But one page contained a name I recognized immediately.
Margaret Hale.
Our housekeeper.
I felt the room tilt.
Beneath Margaret's name were payments made over seventeen years. The amounts were small at first, then increased dramatically during the months before my mother's death.
I heard a floorboard creak behind me.
Dorian stood in the doorway.
"You found it."
I held up the ledger.
"Why was Margaret being paid by your father?"
His face changed.
"I don't know."
"Don't lie to me again."
He approached slowly.
"Some payments were made to employees who were being threatened. Victor used money to control people. That doesn't mean Margaret was involved in your mother's death."
"Then what does it mean?"
He examined the page.
"These last payments were made after my father died."
I looked at him sharply.
"Your father died six years ago."
"Exactly."
Someone had continued paying Margaret long after Victor's death.
Someone with access to the family accounts.
Someone who knew the ledger existed.
I turned another page.
A handwritten note had been tucked between the entries.
The original recording is in the blue room. If anything happens to me, find the girl before they do.
Below it was a date.
The day my mother died.
And a second name.
Blythe Sorrell.
I looked at Dorian.
"Your mistress has been involved in this for longer than ten months."
His face hardened.
"Then we need to find her."
A crash sounded outside.
We rushed to the window.
A black SUV was speeding down the driveway.
May you like
Blythe was behind the wheel.
And in the passenger seat sat Margaret.
