Chapter 3 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE WHITE DRESS|
Elena woke at 5:17 the next morning with the taste of cold coffee in her mouth and the memory of silver eyes fixed behind her eyelids.
She had slept for less than three hours. Her jacket was gone, her shoes were still damp, and her phone contained seven missed calls from Rosy's Diner.
Rick had left a message.
"Don't bother coming in. We need people who show up on time."
Elena listened twice, then deleted it.
She had bigger problems.
The small lump beneath her left collarbone had become painful again. She had discovered it six weeks earlier while showering, and every day since then she had promised herself she would find a clinic. But rent, electricity, groceries, and the possibility of losing her job always came first.
She opened her banking app.
$863.14.
That number had become the border between survival and disaster.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
Elena froze.
Nobody knocked on her apartment door at that hour unless something was wrong. She approached quietly and looked through the peephole.
A woman in a beige coat stood outside holding a leather folder.
"Elena Hartwell?"
Elena didn't open the door.
"Who are you?"
"Margaret Vale. I'm Mr. Corsetti's assistant. He asked me to deliver something."
"I don't want anything."
"It's not money."
"Then you can leave it outside."
Margaret hesitated.
"Miss Hartwell, the little girl is awake. She asked for you."
That made Elena open the door.
"Is she all right?"
"She's stable. The doctors believe she was exposed to a sedative, although they're still waiting for the complete results."
"Someone drugged her?"
Margaret lowered her voice.
"Mr. Corsetti would like to discuss that with you."
"I already told him what happened."
"He knows. But Isabella remembers something from before she collapsed. She says she was looking for someone."
"Who?"
Margaret opened the folder.
"Her mother."
Elena felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
"Her mother is dead?"
Margaret's expression changed.
"Mrs. Corsetti died last year. It was reported as a private medical emergency."
"Why would a little girl be looking for her?"
"That's what Mr. Corsetti wants to understand."
Margaret handed Elena a small envelope. Inside was a photograph of Isabella wearing the same white dress, standing beside a woman with pale blond hair.
The woman had the same silver eyes.
On the back, someone had written three words.
Don't trust Adrian.
Elena stared at the message.
"Who wrote this?"
"We don't know."
"Where did you find it?"
"Inside the lining of Isabella's dress."
Elena looked up.
"Someone hid it there?"
"Apparently."
Before she could ask another question, Margaret's phone rang. She answered, listened, and went pale.
"Yes, sir. She's here."
She handed the phone to Elena.
Adrian's voice came through.
"I need you at the hospital."
"I have work."
"I'll compensate you for the time."
"I don't want your money."
"Then come because my daughter asked for you."
Elena closed her eyes.
She knew she should refuse. She had spent years learning that wealthy men rarely offered anything without expecting something in return. But she remembered the little hand closing around her fingers.
"Give me thirty minutes."
At the hospital, Isabella sat upright in bed with a stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her arm. Her face was still pale, but she looked more alive than she had in the alley.
The moment she saw Elena, she smiled.
"Your jacket is ugly."
Elena laughed before she could stop herself.
"That's a terrible thing to say to someone who gave it to you."
"It's warm."
"Then I forgive you."
Isabella reached for her hand.
"Did you bring it?"
"Bring what?"
"The angel jacket."
Elena looked at Adrian.
He stood near the window, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.
"Your father has it," Elena said.
Isabella nodded.
"Good. I want to keep it."
Adrian stepped forward.
"Sweetheart, can you tell us what happened last night?"
The girl's smile faded.
"I went to find Mama."
"Why?"
"Because Aunt Celeste said Mama wasn't really dead."
Silence filled the room.
Adrian's face went still.
"Who told you that?"
"Aunt Celeste."
"Where did you hear it?"
"In the blue room. She was talking to Uncle Victor."
Adrian looked toward Margaret.
"Get everyone out."
The assistant moved immediately.
Elena started to rise.
"Maybe I should leave."
"No," Isabella whispered, gripping her fingers. "Please don't."
Adrian looked at his daughter, then at Elena.
"Stay."
He approached the bed and knelt.
"Isabella, listen to me. Your mother is gone."
The girl shook her head.
"Then why did she call me?"
Adrian went completely motionless.
"What did you say?"
"Last night. Before I went outside. The phone rang, and Mama said, 'Find the woman with the red umbrella.'"
Elena felt her stomach tighten.
She had never owned a red umbrella.
But she had seen one.
Three weeks earlier, outside Rosy's Diner, a woman with pale blond hair had stood across the street watching her.
The woman in the photograph.
Isabella's mother.
May you like
And then Isabella said something that made Adrian's face lose every trace of color.
"Papa, Mama told me the man who killed her is living in our house."
