Chapter 1
“My wife never recorded that song. Who’s been visiting my daughter?”
Nadine stopped struggling beneath my hand.
That was the answer before words arrived.
Water dripped from the worktable onto the floor. Paint floated in pale ribbons across the overturned basin while Ashton lay beneath the fallen canvas, one arm wrapped around his stomach.
I looked toward the doorway.
Elsie remained against Rafe’s shoulder.
Safe.
Still humming.
Three notes.
Pause.
Two softer notes.
My chest tightened.
Marina used to sing that melody against my shirt when she was pregnant.
Later she sang it over Elsie’s crib.
My wife died when our daughter was ten months old.
Elsie had never spoken a word to her.
There was no recording.
No music box.
No video.
Nothing.
I released Nadine only after another guard took her place.
Then I crouched before Elsie.
“Sweetheart.”
She stopped humming.
“Who sang that last night?”
Her eyes moved toward Nadine.
Interesting.
Then:
“Mommy.”
Nadine whispered:
“She dreamed.”
I looked at her.
“You’ve used that answer already.”
Elsie tugged my sleeve.
“Mommy had long coat.”
My breathing changed.
Marina had been buried four years ago.
“What color?”
Elsie pointed toward one of her paintings.
Gray.
Then:
“She smells like flowers.”
Marina always wore gardenia.
Coincidence was becoming crowded.
“Where did you see her?”
Elsie pointed behind the tall storage cabinet at the rear of the art room.
I stood.
Rafe moved it.
Behind the cabinet was a narrow service door I had forgotten existed.
Old estate passage.
Used decades ago by staff to move supplies unseen between the art wing and winter garden.
The lock had fresh scratches.
On the floor beside it lay one small silver hairpin.
I picked it up.
An engraved symbol marked the metal.
Three intertwined lilies.
I knew it.
Not Vale.
Arden.
My late wife’s family crest.
Nadine closed her eyes.
May you like
I turned toward her.
“Try telling me that was a dream.”
