Chapter 2 - The Photograph on Table Four
Harper stared at the photograph.
It had been taken outside Briarwood Care Center on Wednesday afternoon.
She was wearing her faded denim jacket and carrying a plastic grocery bag.
Her mother's favorite strawberry yogurt was visible through the thin plastic.
Someone had followed her.
She looked at Vincent.
"Where did you get that?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he removed his wet coat and folded it over the booth.
"Sit down."
"No."
"Harper—"
"I asked you a question."
Two nearby customers looked over.
Vincent lowered his voice.
"Someone sent it to me."
"Who?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
Harper folded her arms.
"Try harder."
For a moment, his expression tightened.
Then he pushed the photograph across the table.
"There's something written on the back."
She turned it over.
Three words.
She knows something.
Harper's stomach dropped.
"My mother?"
Vincent nodded.
"Possibly."
"My mother's recovering from a stroke. She can barely speak."
"I know."
That frightened Harper more than anything else.
"You know?"
Vincent leaned forward.
"Three months ago, my younger sister died."
Harper said nothing.
"Her name was Iris. She was thirty-two. She worked as a registered nurse at Briarwood."
Harper remembered her.
A dark-haired woman who brought extra blankets to residents and argued with administrators about medication schedules.
She had disappeared from the facility just before Christmas.
The staff said she'd quit.
Harper looked at Vincent.
"She was your sister?"
"Yes."
"They told us she moved."
"She didn't."
Rain rattled against the windows.
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"Her car was found in the river."
Harper sat down.
"I'm sorry."
He looked at his hands.
"Police classified the death as suspicious. They haven't established exactly what happened."
"Why are you telling me?"
"Because Iris was trying to expose something at Briarwood before she died."
Harper's pulse quickened.
"What?"
"I don't know everything."
"That's not reassuring."
"No. It isn't."
He removed a folded paper from his pocket.
It was a photocopy of a handwritten note.
Mrs. Ellis has the originals.
Harper recognized the handwriting.
Iris.
She had seen it on her mother's birthday card.
Vincent watched her face.
"Does that mean anything to you?"
Harper shook her head.
"No."
"Has your mother given you anything unusual?"
"Like what?"
"Documents. A notebook. An envelope."
"No."
"Think carefully."
Her temper flared.
"Don't interrogate me."
He leaned back.
"You're right."
She blinked.
"I am?"
"Yes."
He took a breath.
"I'm sorry."
Harper wasn't accustomed to apologies from men who looked like Vincent Rossi.
Especially sincere ones.
She studied the photograph again.
"Why would Iris trust my mother?"
Vincent's expression changed.
"That's the question."
Harper suddenly remembered something.
Two weeks earlier, her mother had tried to give her a folded napkin.
A nurse had entered before Harper could open it.
The nurse smiled and said her mother was confused.
Then she'd thrown the napkin away.
Harper had been too exhausted to question it.
Now she felt sick.
"I need to see her."
Vincent nodded.
"I'll drive."
"No."
"Your brakes—"
Harper froze.
"How do you know about my brakes?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"Simon mentioned them."
"Simon?"
"I asked whether you were okay."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You investigated me?"
"I asked questions."
"About my car? My mother? My rent?"
He didn't answer.
Harper stood.
"That money."
Vincent looked up.
"What?"
"The tip. Was that payment?"
"No."
"Then what was it?"
He hesitated.
"I watched you work fourteen hours while your manager treated you like garbage. You were the only person in that restaurant who talked to me like I was human."
Harper stared at him.
"So you gave me twenty-five hundred dollars?"
"Yes."
"That's ridiculous."
"Possibly."
She grabbed her coat.
"I'm returning it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to owe you anything."
"You don't."
"That's easy for a rich man to say."
Vincent stood.
For a moment, Harper thought he would become angry.
Instead, he said quietly, "Keep it. Or don't. That was never the point."
He placed a business card on the table.
"If you discover something dangerous, call this number."
Harper left without taking it.
Outside, rain poured down the sidewalk.
She reached her Honda and turned the key.
The engine started.
She pressed the brake pedal.
It sank alarmingly toward the floor.
Her heart stopped.
She pumped it twice.
The pressure returned, but something felt wrong.
A knock sounded at her window.
Vincent stood outside, rain running down his face.
"Don't drive that car."
Harper rolled the window down.
"Go away."
"Your rear brake line is leaking."
She stared at him.
"How would you know?"
He pointed.
"There's fluid beneath the car."
Harper climbed out.
A dark puddle spread near the rear tire.
She felt dizzy.
The brakes had been bad for weeks.
But this was different.
"Could someone have done that?"
Vincent crouched, examined the visible damage without touching it, and stood again.
"I don't know. Don't drive it."
Harper looked at the photograph still clutched in her hand.
Her mother.
The mysterious note.
The leaking brake line.
Suddenly, the world seemed much smaller.
Vincent offered her his phone.
"Call roadside assistance. I'll wait until they arrive."
She studied him.
"Why are you helping me?"
He looked toward the rain.
"Because my sister tried to help someone."
His voice tightened.
"And I wasn't there when she needed me."
Forty minutes later, Harper's car was on a tow truck.
Vincent drove her to Briarwood.
He stopped outside the entrance.
"I won't come in unless you ask."
Harper nodded.
"Good."
She hurried inside.
The receptionist looked startled.
"Miss Ellis? Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago."
"It's urgent."
"I'm sorry, but—"
"Please."
Something in Harper's expression made the woman hesitate.
She called the night supervisor.
Five minutes later, Harper entered her mother's room.
The bed was empty.
The sheets were folded.
Her mother's slippers were gone.
Harper stared.
"Where is she?"
The nurse behind her swallowed.
"Mrs. Ellis was transferred."
Harper slowly turned.
"Transferred where?"
The nurse looked down.
"Another facility."
"Which facility?"
A long silence.
May you like
Then the nurse whispered:
"We were told not to tell you."
