Chapter 4
The brass key Annie carried opened more than the pantry cabinet.
Grace knew that too.
“There’s another lock.”
Victoria turned sharply.
I saw it.
“Where?”
Grace looked toward the rear pantry wall.
“Old service drawer.”
The mansion had been remodeled three times, but my grandfather built hidden storage into nearly every working room. Most had become useless over the years.
This one had not.
I used the same key.
A narrow wooden drawer slid open beneath the counter.
Inside were photographs.
Not family photographs.
Surveillance.
Me leaving the mansion.
Me entering restaurants.
Me at council dinners.
My mother in the garden.
Grace taking Annie to preschool.
Even Annie.
Four years old, holding her stuffed rabbit outside the side entrance.
I stared at the pictures.
Victoria said nothing.
Caleb did.
“They’re security photos.”
I turned.
“Our security chief doesn’t photograph housekeepers’ children.”
Silence.
I lifted one picture.
Annie stood beside Grace near a grocery store.
Someone had circled the rabbit.
My eyes moved toward the toy in Annie’s arms.
The rabbit had not been random.
Victoria had known Annie used it to hide things.
The key.
The money.
Maybe more.
I looked at Grace.
“Where did Annie get the rabbit?”
“My mother made it.”
“When?”
“When Annie was born.”
Victoria laughed softly.
“Do you hear yourself? Now a toy is evidence?”
Annie appeared at the breakfast-room doorway before the guard could stop her.
She looked at Victoria.
“You cut him.”
I turned.
“What?”
Annie held up the rabbit.
One seam beneath its left arm had been crudely repaired.
Grace’s face changed.
“When did that happen?”
Annie pointed at Victoria.
“She took him when Mommy was cleaning upstairs.”
Victoria’s expression hardened.
“I fixed a tear.”
Annie shook her head.
“You were looking for Grandma Evelyn’s paper.”
Everything stopped.
I stared at the little girl.
“What paper?”
Annie reached into another hidden seam.
This one was deeper.
Her tiny fingers pulled out a folded strip of old stationery.
Grace covered her mouth.
I recognized the handwriting before Annie handed it to me.
My mother’s.
May you like
And the first line was addressed to me.
Dominic, if Victoria ever becomes afraid of this letter, believe the fear before you believe her.
