Chapter 1 - The Girl Behind the Painting)
Three hours earlier, Daniel Mercer was running through the east corridor of Mercer House calling his daughter’s name.
“Emma!”
His voice echoed beneath crystal chandeliers and along walls lined with oil portraits of dead Mercers who seemed to watch him with quiet accusation.
No answer.
Daniel pushed open the library.
Empty.
He checked the sitting room.
Empty.
The upstairs music room.
Nothing.
His pulse hammered.
The wedding ceremony was supposed to begin in less than forty minutes, and his daughter had vanished.
“Emma!”
He ran farther down the corridor.
Behind him, wedding coordinator Celeste Moore struggled to keep pace.
“Daniel, she could be with the bridesmaids. We still haven’t checked the garden terrace.”
“I checked it.”
“The kitchen?”
“Twice.”
Daniel stopped so suddenly Celeste almost crashed into him.
“What about Vanessa?”
Celeste hesitated.
“What about her?”
“Where is she?”
“At the church. She left twenty minutes ago.”
Daniel looked toward the open front doors at the far end of the mansion.
Vanessa had left without saying goodbye to Emma.
That should have seemed strange.
Instead, he had been too distracted by guests, photographers, florists, musicians, and the dozens of little catastrophes that seemed to accompany expensive weddings.
He rubbed both hands across his face.
Think.
Emma had been nervous about the wedding from the beginning.
Not openly hostile.
Not rebellious.
Just frightened in a quiet way Daniel had mistaken for grief.
Her mother, Rachel, had died two years earlier after crashing her SUV on a rain-soaked road outside Boston.
Emma had been five.
For almost a year afterward she had climbed into Daniel’s bed every night carrying the small white pillow Rachel had sewn for her when she was a toddler.
Eventually the nightmares lessened.
Then Daniel met Vanessa.
At first Emma liked her.
At least he thought she did.
Vanessa was patient, affectionate, never demanding.
She brought Emma books.
Helped braid her hair.
Attended school performances.
Daniel had believed he was witnessing the slow construction of a new family.
Three weeks before the wedding, Emma changed.
She became withdrawn.
She stopped letting Vanessa enter her bedroom.
Twice Daniel woke at night and found Emma standing beside his bed, staring silently at him.
When he asked what was wrong, she always said the same thing.
“Nothing.”
He hated himself for accepting the answer.
Now she was gone.
“Daniel.”
Celeste’s voice pulled him back.
“You need to call the police.”
He reached for his phone.
Then he heard it.
A faint sound.
Three taps.
Daniel froze.
Celeste frowned.
“What?”
He lifted one finger.
Silence.
Then again.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It came from the wall.
Daniel slowly turned.
A massive nineteenth-century portrait dominated the hallway.
His great-grandfather, Frederick Mercer, stood in a dark military uniform inside a gilded frame nearly seven feet tall.
Daniel had walked past the painting thousands of times.
For most of his childhood, he had hated it.
Frederick’s painted eyes seemed to follow anyone who passed.
Tap.
Tap.
Daniel moved closer.
“Emma?”
Nothing.
He pressed his ear to the wall beside the frame.
A tiny sob answered him.
Daniel’s blood went cold.
“Emma!”
He grabbed the frame.
Celeste stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
Daniel pulled.
The painting barely moved.
He planted one foot against the wall and yanked harder.
A metal fastener tore loose.
Plaster cracked.
Celeste shouted as the enormous portrait lurched forward.
Daniel dragged it sideways.
Behind it was not a wall.
It was a narrow wooden panel.
Recently damaged.
The panel had been pushed inward and crudely secured from the outside with a sliding metal bolt hidden behind the portrait.
Daniel stared.
His hands began shaking.
He threw the bolt back.
The panel opened.
Darkness.
Then two terrified brown eyes appeared.
“Daddy.”
Daniel’s breath disappeared.
Emma was crouched inside a narrow cavity between the walls.
Her knees were drawn against her chest.
Her flower-girl dress was wrinkled and dirty.
Her cheeks were soaked with tears.
She clutched the white pillow to her body.
“Oh my God.”
Daniel dropped to his knees.
“Emma.”
He reached in and pulled her toward him.
She practically launched herself into his arms.
Daniel held her so tightly he feared he might hurt her.
“Emma, why are you in there?”
She sobbed into his shoulder.
He ran one hand over her hair.
“Who put you there?”
Emma pulled back.
Her whole body trembled.
“Daddy…”
“What?”
“Please don’t marry her.”
Daniel stared at her.
The corridor seemed to shrink around them.
“Emma, what happened?”
She swallowed.
“She found me.”
“Who?”
“Vanessa.”
Celeste inhaled sharply behind them.
Daniel felt his heart begin to race again.
“Found you doing what?”
Emma looked toward the open recess.
“I was looking for Mommy’s box.”
Daniel went completely still.
“What box?”
Emma’s eyes returned to his.
“The one Mommy told me about before she died.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
Emma’s lower lip shook.
“She said if anything bad happened to her, I had to find it when I was old enough.”
Daniel felt something cold move down his spine.
Emma tightened her grip on the pillow.
“I found it yesterday.”
“Where is it?”
“She took it.”
“Vanessa took it?”
Emma nodded.
Then she whispered the sentence that would divide Daniel’s life into before and after.
“She’s the one who killed Mom and locked me in there.”
Celeste covered her mouth.
Daniel stared at his daughter.
He wanted to say she was mistaken.
He wanted to ask if she had misunderstood something.
He wanted to protect himself from what those words meant.
Instead, he asked the only question that mattered.
“How do you know?”
May you like
Emma reached into the torn seam of the little white pillow.
And pulled out a black USB drive.
