Chương 2
Tonight she did.
Two hours earlier, Marcus had stood less than six feet away from Emily near the private dining room and never noticed her taking pictures.
That was why the photograph existed.
Emily’s mother, Rachel Carter, did not know any of this yet.
Rachel was in the restaurant kitchen arguing with a police officer who had told her she could not leave through the service entrance because detectives were returning to the scene.
She had been working at Bellamy House for four years, first as a server and then as the private-events captain. She knew how to carry six glasses without touching the rims, how to tell when a guest wanted to impress someone, and how to get a drunk executive into a waiting car without making him feel handled.
She also knew when her daughter had disappeared.
“Where is Emily?”
The pastry chef pointed toward the dining room.
Rachel dropped the stack of linen napkins in her hands.
By the time she reached Vincent’s table, a uniformed officer was entering through the main doors.
Rachel saw Marcus with his hands raised.
She saw two security men around him.
She saw the decanter isolated on the table.
Then she saw Emily sitting beside Vincent Hale.
“Emily.”
Her daughter turned.
Rachel crossed the room.
“What are you doing?”
Emily opened her mouth.
Rachel noticed the photograph.
Then the receipt.
Then the whiskey glass sitting several inches away from where table service would normally place it.
Her voice changed.
“What happened?”
Vincent stood.
Up close, he was larger than Rachel remembered. She had served him several times and had learned quickly that he disliked unnecessary conversation. He thanked staff. He tipped generously. He remembered names.
He also had an ability to make an entire table wait for him without appearing to ask.
“Your daughter may have prevented me from drinking something dangerous.”
Rachel stared at him.
“What?”
Emily reached for her hand.
Rachel took it immediately.
“She took a photograph,” Vincent said.
Marcus cut in.
“She made an accusation.”
Vincent looked over.
“I told you to stop talking.”
Rachel followed his gaze.
Marcus smiled at her.
Rachel had always disliked that smile.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it arrived before his eyes did.
He had spent years accompanying the Hale brothers to dinners, charity meetings, investor events, and private parties at Bellamy House. He knew the staff by name. He sometimes asked Rachel about Emily’s school. Once, after learning Rachel had missed a shift because Emily had pneumonia, he had left two hundred dollars for her beneath a coffee cup.
Rachel had thought he was kind.
Now Emily’s fingers were squeezing hers hard enough to hurt.
A detective entered with another officer carrying evidence bags.
The detective, a woman in her late forties with gray threaded through dark hair, looked around the private room.
“Who called us back?”
“I did,” Vincent said.
“You were the brother?”
“I am.”
She nodded once. “Detective Lena Brooks.”
Her eyes moved around the table.
Marcus still had his hands raised.
Brooks looked at the guard.
“Why is that man being detained?”
“He attempted to leave when the child made an accusation,” Vincent said.
Marcus sighed.
“I shifted my foot.”
Brooks looked at him.
“What’s your name?”
“Marcus Reed.”
“Mr. Reed, you can lower your hands. Nobody here is law enforcement except us.”
Marcus lowered them slowly.
The guard looked irritated.
Brooks noticed.
“And nobody touches anybody unless they need to stop immediate harm. Understood?”
The guard gave a small nod.
Brooks turned to Emily.
The change in her voice was subtle.
Not babyish.
Just softer.
“You took the picture?”
Emily nodded.
Rachel said, “You can answer her.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Emily pushed the receipt forward.
“I wrote it there.”
Brooks did not touch it.
“Why?”
“Because my camera doesn’t put the time on the picture.”
Brooks glanced at Rachel.
Rachel nodded.
“She writes times sometimes. Her grandfather gave her a watch and now apparently civilization depends on it.”
Emily looked offended.
“It’s useful.”
Despite everything, Brooks’s mouth moved at one corner.
“I’m starting to see that.”
Rachel immediately regretted the joke. Adrian Hale might be dying. Vincent had nearly taken a drink his niece—no, not his niece, Rachel corrected herself, her own thoughts running ahead of her—her daughter believed had been poisoned.
Nothing about the room was funny.
But Emily’s grip loosened.
That mattered.
Brooks crouched beside the table without touching anything.
“Tell me what you saw. Don’t tell me what you think happened yet. Just what you saw.”
Emily looked at the photograph.
“I was taking pictures.”
“Of what?”
“The room. Mom says I’m not supposed to photograph guests without asking, so mostly things.”
Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
Brooks said, “We’ll survive the etiquette violation.”
“I took the lamps, and the bar, and that plant that looks dead but isn’t. Then I took a picture of the glass bird by the window.”
“There’s no glass bird,” Thomas said.
Emily pointed.
Everyone looked.
A blown-glass sculpture shaped like a crane stood on a shelf near the private room.
Thomas cleared his throat.
“Right.”
Emily continued.
“Mr. Marcus was behind it.”
Marcus’s expression flattened.
“I wasn’t taking his picture. He was just there.”
“What was he doing?”
“He had a bottle.”
“This bottle?”
“I don’t know.”
Brooks nodded.
Good, Rachel thought.
Emily was not trying to be certain where she was not.
“What happened next?”
“He put it down at Mr. Adrian’s table.”
“You know Adrian’s name?”
“Mom said it when he fell.”
Brooks nodded again.
“What did Mr. Reed do with the bottle that was already there?”
Emily frowned.
“He took one.”
Marcus spoke.
“I exchanged a decanter because Adrian complained the bourbon tasted stale.”
Brooks did not look at him.
“I’ll get to you.”
Marcus put his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
Emily said, “He put one under a napkin.”
Rachel stared at her.
“What?”
“Not all the way. Like he was hiding the shiny part.”
May you like
Marcus shook his head.
“This is absurd.”
