Part 2
“The silver frame in the upstairs sitting room,” Sloane said. “The glass cracked when I opened it.”
“Why did you open it?”
“Because there was something behind the photograph.”
Gideon became still.
Celia lowered the champagne glass by an inch.
The three of them listened to the house.
A faint wind moved against the open entrance. Somewhere deeper inside, an old pipe clicked behind a wall. The conservatory music had not resumed. No voices came from the garden.
Gideon reached into his jacket.
Sloane caught his wrist.
The movement hurt her. Her breath broke, and the receiver slipped against her shoulder.
“No phone.”
His eyes dropped to her bandaged hand.
“I’m calling the gate.”
“Don’t.”
“Someone attacked you in my house.”
“That’s why you don’t call the gate.”
He studied her face. “What are you saying?”
“He knew the cameras were off.”
Celia finally stepped into the library. Her heel touched a loose page on the floor and stopped.
“The cameras are not off,” she said.
“They are in the private rooms,” Gideon answered.
Celia’s attention remained on Sloane. “They were disabled for the reception.”
Gideon turned toward her.
“You ordered that?”
“The guest committee requested privacy near the conservatory corridor.”
“The library is nowhere near the conservatory corridor.”
“The system is linked.”
“You told me the exterior feeds would stay active.”
“They were supposed to.”
Sloane let her head rest against the cabinet.
She had expected anger when they arrived. She had expected Gideon to issue orders and Celia to deny the shape of whatever frightened her. She had not expected them to begin contradicting each other within two minutes.
Gideon took out his phone anyway.
The screen remained dark.
He pressed the side button. Nothing happened.
“It was charged,” he said.
Celia opened the small clutch hanging from her wrist. Her own phone showed no signal.
“The house wireless network may be down,” she said.
“That wouldn’t drain my battery.”
“It might not be drained.”
Gideon held the phone to the light and tried again.
Sloane lifted the corded receiver. “This was the only line working.”
Her father looked at the cable stretching beneath her dress.
“Who did you call?”
“You.”
“From the house extension?”
“Yes.”
“Why not the conservatory desk?”
“Because I didn’t know who would answer.”
He looked toward the foyer doors.
They remained wide open.
Celia moved closer to Sloane, careful not to disturb the papers. The pale blue drink gave off a faint scent of citrus and rosemary. It had been created for the foundation reception and named after the river running along the Mercer family’s oldest industrial property. Celia had approved the color herself because it matched the evening’s invitations.
Sloane stared at it.
Celia noticed.
“What?”
“Set that down.”
Her mother looked at the glass.
“Why?”
“Set it down.”
Celia placed it carefully on the reading table.
Sloane pointed toward the foyer with the receiver.
“There was another one.”
Gideon followed the direction of her gaze.
Among the broken glass lay a smear of pale blue liquid, nearly invisible against the cream marble except where it gathered along one black inlay.
Celia’s face emptied.
Gideon rose and walked toward the fragments. He stopped before reaching them.
“Was the glass here when you entered?” he asked.
“No,” Sloane said.
“Did he bring it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see him holding it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it belonged to him?”
“I heard it break after he came into the room.”
Celia touched the pearls at her throat.
The drinks had been served only in the conservatory. The path between the conservatory and the mansion crossed an open stretch of garden monitored by two exterior cameras when the system was active. Guests had been told the house itself was closed.
Someone had crossed anyway.
Gideon looked at Celia. “Who left the reception?”
“I wasn’t watching every door.”
“You watch every door.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not tonight?”
Her answer took too long.
Sloane saw Gideon notice.
Celia folded her hands in front of her, the empty one covering the one that had held the glass.
“The governor’s representative arrived late. I was dealing with the seating.”
“The governor’s representative canceled yesterday.”
“The replacement arrived late.”
“Who?”
“This is not helping her.”
“Who arrived late?”
Celia looked toward Sloane rather than answer.
Gideon’s face hardened. “Celia.”
“Martin Keene.”
The name settled between them.
Sloane knew it. Every member of the Mercer family did, though no one had spoken it in her presence for years.
Martin Keene had once been Gideon’s head of corporate security. He had left Mercer Consolidated after an internal review that produced no public findings and a private settlement large enough to purchase a coastal house through a company registered in his sister’s name.
Sloane had been twenty-two then.
Her brother had still been alive.
“Why was Keene invited?” Gideon asked.
“He wasn’t.”
“You just said he arrived.”
“He came as someone’s guest.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.”
“You let him stay?”
“He was standing in a room full of donors. What did you want me to do?”
“Remove him.”
“With whose help? The staff he used to supervise?”
Gideon looked at the dark screen of his phone.
Sloane watched his anger become calculation. It happened quietly. The muscles around his mouth relaxed. His shoulders lowered. Fear remained, but he had found a shape for it.
“Did you see Keene?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Did the man speak?”
“Not at first.”
“What did he say?”
Sloane’s eyes returned to the open doors.
“He asked where the second copy was.”
Celia inhaled.
Gideon looked at the open cabinet.
“What copy?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“The Orpheus file.”
The name sounded absurd in the warm library. It belonged to mythology, old music, something chosen by men who wanted their crimes to feel more intelligent than they were.
Gideon stepped back from her.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“In the photograph.”
May you like
Celia sat slowly in the nearest chair.
The burgundy fabric of her gown gathered around her knees. Her posture remained elegant, but one hand gripped the chair arm hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
