Chapter 1 - THE GIRL AT THE CHARITY LUNCHEON
Three hours before the accusation, Ivy Reed had entered Whitmore Mansion through the servants’ entrance.
She carried a tray of clean glasses while her foster mother, Ellen Reed, balanced two silver platters beside her.
“Keep your eyes down,” Ellen warned. “Don’t touch anything, and don’t wander away from the kitchen.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Ivy. The people here can accuse someone like us of anything, and everyone will believe them.”
Ivy glanced toward the towering arched windows. Beyond them, the gardens spread across several acres, decorated with fountains, roses, and carefully shaped hedges.
The Whitmore estate looked like a place from a storybook.
It did not feel welcoming.
Ellen had agreed to work the charity luncheon because the catering company was short-staffed. When the supervisor learned Ellen had no one to watch Ivy, he reluctantly allowed the girl to help carry napkins and empty glasses.
Ivy needed the money as much as Ellen did.
Her foster mother had been caring for her for six years, though the state payments barely covered food and school supplies. Ellen never complained in front of Ivy, but overdue bills collected beneath a magnet on their refrigerator.
“Mrs. Whitmore is raising money for missing children,” Ellen said as they entered the kitchen. “So everyone will be pretending to care very deeply today.”
“Maybe she really does care.”
Ellen gave her a tired look. “Maybe.”
Ivy noticed the photograph on a poster beside the kitchen door.
It showed Celeste Whitmore in an emerald suit, smiling beside the words THE WHITMORE FOUNDATION FOR LOST CHILDREN.
Celeste was beautiful in a severe, distant way. Her dark hair was pinned neatly behind her head. A silver pendant rested at her throat.
Ivy stared at the pendant.
Something about it seemed familiar.
Before she could study it, the catering supervisor shoved a stack of folded napkins into her arms.
“Dining hall. Table seven.”
Ivy carried the napkins through a long corridor lined with portraits.
Most depicted stern-looking members of the Whitmore family. Men in military uniforms. Women in silk gowns. Children posed beside horses or garden statues.
Near the end of the corridor, Ivy stopped.
One painting showed a young Celeste, perhaps ten years old, standing beside Eleanor Whitmore, the family matriarch.
Celeste’s hand was wrapped around the same silver pendant.
The painting had been completed in 1994.
Ivy was certain she had seen that shape before.
She reached inside the collar of her dress and touched the thin chain around her neck.
Ellen had given her the necklace after Ivy entered foster care. It had been found among her belongings when she was discovered at a bus station at six years old.
The pendant was half a sun.
It matched Celeste’s.
A door opened behind her.
Ivy spun around.
Margaret Vale stood in the doorway wearing a gray housekeeper’s uniform. Though Margaret was nearly seventy, her posture was straight and her eyes were sharp.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was taking napkins to table seven.”
“This is not the dining hall.”
“I got lost.”
Margaret’s gaze fell to Ivy’s necklace.
The stack of napkins slipped from Ivy’s hands.
Margaret’s face changed.
She reached for the pendant, but stopped before touching it.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was with me when I was found.”
“Found where?”
“At Bellhaven Central Station.”
Margaret stepped backward.
For an instant, she looked frightened enough to run.
Then her expression closed.
“You should leave this house.”
“I have to help my foster mother.”
“Leave now.”
“Why?”
Margaret lowered her voice. “Because there are people here who have spent years making sure girls like you never come through that door.”
Before Ivy could ask what she meant, a man appeared at the far end of the corridor.
He was tall, silver-haired, and dressed in a dark blue suit.
Sebastian Whitmore.
Celeste’s uncle.
His smile was polite, but his eyes were not.
“Margaret,” he called. “Is there a problem?”
Margaret immediately moved between him and Ivy.
“The girl is lost.”
Sebastian looked at Ivy’s face, then at her pendant.
His smile disappeared.
“Who is she?”
“No one,” Margaret said quickly.
Ivy felt a chill.
Sebastian approached.
“What is your name?”
“Ivy Reed.”
His gaze lingered on her.
“Reed,” he repeated. “And who brought you here?”
“My foster mother.”
Margaret picked up the fallen napkins and pushed them into Ivy’s arms.
“Go back to the kitchen.”
Ivy hurried away.
She did not look back until she reached the corner.
Margaret and Sebastian stood face-to-face beneath the portrait of young Celeste.
Sebastian leaned closer to the housekeeper.
Whatever he whispered made Margaret grip the wall.
Ivy could not hear every word.
May you like
She heard only the final sentence.
“You were paid to make sure the second girl disappeared.”
