Chương 2
The houseman with the tablecloth muttered something under his breath.
Lorenzo turned. “What did you say?”
The man swallowed. His name was Luis Ortega, and he had worked in the mansion for nine years. He had two sons in college and a habit of overpolishing the brass rails when nervous.
“I said the cameras were fine at lunch.”
Renata closed her eyes briefly.
Lorenzo saw the movement. “Matteo.”
The guard stepped closer to the console. “I’ll get Dominic.”
“No calls leaving the property yet.”
Matteo hesitated. Dominic Vale was the director of security. In the Duca organization, telling Matteo not to call Dominic was like telling a parish priest not to contact the bishop.
Lorenzo repeated himself. “No calls.”
Matteo nodded and moved away.
Clara had risen from the floor, though Emma remained fastened to her side. “Mr. Duca, I don’t know what’s happening, but I never touched that watch. I didn’t even know it existed.”
“You cleaned the upstairs sitting room this morning,” Renata said.
Clara turned on her. “Because you changed my assignment.”
“You were recorded entering the room.”
“The cameras don’t work,” Luis said.
Renata’s jaw tightened. “They worked this morning.”
“Then we’ll see the recording,” Lorenzo said.
The housekeeper looked toward the dead monitor.
That was the first moment Lorenzo understood that the watch itself was not the center of the matter. Renata was frightened of the missing footage, but she was more frightened of what might replace it.
He looked at Clara. “Why was your daughter here?”
Clara’s grip shifted around Emma. “Her daycare closed early. A pipe burst. I called Ms. Voss three times.”
“I was in a supplier meeting,” Renata said.
“You texted me to keep Emma in the basement break room until my shift ended.”
The room changed again.
Renata stared at Clara. “That is not what I said.”
Clara’s free hand trembled as she took her phone from her uniform pocket. She nearly dropped it. “It’s right here.”
“Give it to Matteo,” Lorenzo said.
Clara did not move.
For years, people had handed Lorenzo phones, keys, bank records, photographs, and names because he asked. Her refusal was so small that most men in the room probably did not recognize it as refusal. Lorenzo did.
“You can hold it,” he said. “Show him the message.”
She unlocked the screen with her thumb and held it where Matteo could read without taking it. He scrolled through the conversation.
“At 1:18,” he said, “‘Keep the child downstairs and out of sight. Finish the second floor before six.’”
Renata’s lips parted.
Matteo continued. “At 3:52, Ms. Whitmore writes, ‘Emma isn’t in the break room. I’m looking for her.’ No response.”
Emma lifted her face from Clara’s shoulder. “I went with Bunny.”
“Where?” Lorenzo asked.
Clara stroked the back of the child’s head. “You don’t have to answer.”
Emma looked at Pino. The dog had sat down, though his gaze had not left Renata.
“Bunny wanted outside,” she said.
“Did Bunny see the shiny watch?”
Emma nodded.
“Where?”
The child pointed toward the service corridor, then hid her face again.
Renata’s voice became clipped and managerial. “This is absurd. She is three years old. Children confuse sequence, people, objects. You cannot conduct an investigation by questioning her in a crowded hall.”
It was the most sensible thing anyone had said, and the fact that it came from Renata made Lorenzo trust it less.
He folded Clara’s dismissal notice and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit. “She’s right about one thing. We’re not doing this here.”
He told the staff to return to their rooms and remain available. Nobody obeyed immediately. They glanced at one another, measuring whether the order was real or whether movement might make them look guilty.
“Go,” Lorenzo said.
They scattered.
Clara shifted Emma to her other hip. “Am I allowed to leave?”
“No.”
Her expression closed.
“You are not under accusation,” Lorenzo said.
“You locked the gates.”
“I locked them on everyone.”
“That isn’t different to a person who can’t open them.”
The words landed without drama. Clara seemed surprised she had said them. Matteo looked down. Renata’s eyes sharpened, as if Clara’s lack of caution offended her more than the accusation of theft.
Lorenzo pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He was accustomed to fear. He had spent most of his adult life treating it as a reliable tool. Fear kept meetings short, debts paid, men predictable. Yet in Clara’s face it did not look like control. It looked like a room without a door.
He turned to Matteo. “Open the east staff gate for Clara if she asks to leave. Record the time. Have someone drive her wherever she wants to go.”
Renata stepped forward. “That would compromise the inquiry.”
“You’re no longer conducting it.”
Her shoulders lowered by less than an inch.
Lorenzo looked at Clara. “You can take Emma to the staff apartment. Pino will stay outside the door.”
“I don’t want your dog guarding us.”
At the sound of his name, Pino looked at her.
Emma touched Clara’s cheek. “He nice.”
Clara gave a thin, exhausted laugh that turned halfway into a sob. “Of course he is.”
Lorenzo crouched far enough from Emma that she would not feel cornered. He took a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. She considered it solemnly, then wiped the rabbit’s remaining plastic eye instead of her own face.
“Bunny was wet,” she explained.
Lorenzo stood. “Matteo will walk you downstairs.”
Clara glanced toward Renata. “She has keys to every room.”
“Not anymore.”
Renata’s head snapped toward him.
“Put your master ring on the table.”
“Lorenzo—”
May you like
Her use of his first name caused Matteo to look up.
Renata had served the Duca household since Lorenzo was sixteen. She had taught him which fork belonged beside which plate after his father decided that a boy who might someday host senators should stop eating with his hands. She had hidden bloodstained carpet from guests, dismissed a cook for selling photographs, and sat outside Lorenzo’s mother’s room during the final nights of her illness. She had called him Mr. Duca in front of staff and Lorenzo only when they were alone or when she believed he was behaving like his father.
