Chương 3
Understanding it had not made living with it easier.
“Why was Celeste wearing that necklace?” Mara asked.
Daniel’s gaze sharpened. “It belonged to our mother.”
“I know.”
“She wears it for the foundation dinner every year.”
“And this year the clasp failed.”
“Yes.”
“While Emma happened to be near her.”
“Yes.”
“Where were you?”
“In the foyer.”
“Doing what?”
He looked toward the closed door. “Arguing with Celeste.”
“About?”
“Family matters.”
Mara gave him a long look.
Emma whispered, “The papers.”
Daniel went still.
Mara felt the child’s breath against her throat.
“What papers?”
Emma looked at her father.
He smiled too quickly. “Nothing you need to worry about, Em.”
Mara’s hand settled over the child’s back. “She asked you a question.”
Daniel stood. “This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
“What?”
“An interrogation.”
“Then stop lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re editing.”
He turned toward the dark window. Rain traced the glass in long moving lines. His reflection seemed to hover over the lawn.
“Celeste wanted me to sign something tonight,” he said.
“What?”
“A trust amendment.”
“What kind?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
Mara stared at him.
He exhaled. “That came out wrong.”
“It came out honest.”
“We’re separated. My family trust isn’t marital property.”
“I didn’t ask whether it was mine. I asked why your sister had my daughter kneeling on the floor while you lied about what happened.”
Daniel looked at Emma. His face softened, but he did not come closer.
“The two things aren’t connected.”
Emma whispered, “She said Daddy took it.”
Daniel’s eyes snapped back to her.
Mara’s voice became very quiet. “Took what?”
The child’s brow creased. “I don’t know. Aunt Celeste said, ‘You took it, and now she’s touching what’s left.’”
Daniel’s color drained.
Emma added, “Then the necklace fell.”
For the first time since entering the estate, Mara saw genuine fear in Daniel’s face.
Not fear of her.
Fear of what his daughter remembered.
He rose so abruptly that the chair legs scraped the rug. Emma startled. Mara tightened her hold.
“Sit down,” Mara said.
Daniel remained standing.
“Did you take the necklace?”
“No.”
“Then what did she mean?”
“Celeste says things when she’s angry.”
“What did you take?”
“Nothing.”
Mara looked at him for a moment, then reached for her jacket. Her phone was in the inside pocket, still dry. The screen showed poor service, three delayed work messages, and a flood warning for the county.
Daniel watched her unlock it.
“Who are you calling?”
“I’m checking the road.”
“You can’t drive through the south bridge.”
“There’s a north route.”
“Not in this rain.”
“We’ll stay at a hotel.”
“There won’t be rooms. Half the county has lost power.”
“Then we’ll sleep in the car somewhere your sister isn’t.”
“Mara, be reasonable.”
She looked up. “I am being so reasonable that you should be frightened.”
The old Daniel might have smiled despite himself. This Daniel sat down.
“Stay in the guest wing,” he said. “It has an exterior entrance. I’ll keep Celeste out.”
“You kept her away from Emma before?”
He flinched.
Mara checked the county map. The south bridge was closed. The north road was marked with standing water, fallen branches, and an advisory not to travel unless necessary.
Emma’s fingers had begun to warm beneath the blanket. She was exhausted. Pulling her into a car during a flood warning might satisfy Mara’s need to move, but it would not make the child safer.
She hated that Daniel was right.
“We stay until daylight,” Mara said. “The exterior door remains locked. You don’t enter without permission. Celeste doesn’t come near her.”
Daniel nodded.
“And I’m photographing the foyer.”
His eyes lifted. “Why?”
“To preserve what it looked like.”
“You think this is evidence?”
“I think memory becomes convenient when money is involved.”
“No one is accusing anyone of a crime.”
“I didn’t say crime.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mara opened the phone’s camera.
Daniel stood again. “The guests are still out there.”
“Then they can continue pretending not to see.”
He blocked the door without fully meaning to. It was only a half step, an old domestic reflex: stop the conversation from becoming public, stop the problem from crossing a threshold, stop Mara from doing the thing he could not control.
She rose with Emma in her arms.
“Move.”
His face tightened. “You don’t get to use your job against me.”
“I’m not.”
“You walk into a room and everyone assumes you have authority.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“You know exactly what you do.”
Mara considered that. He was not entirely wrong. She had spent years learning how stillness could dominate a room. Sometimes she brought it home without noticing.
She lowered her voice. “I am not here as an investigator. I am here as Emma’s mother. That should worry you more.”
Daniel moved aside.
The foyer had emptied when they returned. The quartet had stopped. The cream chair was vacant, and Celeste’s shoe still lay beside the pearls. Someone had placed a silver serving tray near the wall, perhaps intending to collect them, but had wisely abandoned the effort.
Mara set Emma on a bench near the door, wrapped in the blanket, and crouched to photograph the scene from several angles. Wide view. Shoe position. Pearls. Clasp. Distance to chair. Distance to staircase. Wet footprints from Mara’s entrance. Daniel stood beyond the frame, arms folded, watching.
“You’re contaminating your own scene,” he said.
“It isn’t my scene.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know you’re trying to feel smarter.”
His mouth twitched with a flash of hurt. Mara regretted the cruelty before the sentence ended, but did not apologize.
She moved closer to the necklace.
May you like
The pearls were too uniform.
The thought came without drama. Each one was nearly identical in size and color, a cold white rather than the soft variations she remembered. Daniel’s mother had worn the original necklace at their wedding. Mara remembered helping fasten it in the bridal room because the old woman’s hands shook. The pearls had been creamy, slightly irregular, and knotted individually on silk.
