Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Photograph
Claire slid the ledger behind her back.
“Nothing.”
Rebecca closed the door.
“You were always a terrible liar.”
“And you were always good at pretending not to notice things.”
Rebecca’s expression cooled.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means Grandpa nearly died because someone replaced his medication.”
For the first time, Rebecca appeared genuinely surprised.
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t.”
Claire studied her.
Rebecca was vain, manipulative, and often cruel, but Claire had never believed her capable of murder.
Then again, Claire had spent most of her life believing her family loved her.
“Who had access to his room?” Rebecca asked.
“Anyone staying in this house.”
“I haven’t been here in months.”
“Mason has.”
Rebecca’s mouth tightened.
“He visits Arthur more than you think.”
“At midnight?”
“What happened last night?”
Claire said nothing.
Rebecca stepped closer.
“Claire, listen to me. Whatever Arthur asked you to investigate, stop.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand what he is capable of.”
“Grandpa?”
Rebecca laughed bitterly.
“You think he is some helpless old man surrounded by greedy children. Arthur built an empire by destroying people.”
“That sounds like something Dad says.”
“Your father learned from him.”
Claire drew the photograph from her pocket.
“Who is Eleanor Vale?”
The color disappeared from Rebecca’s face.
Claire had expected denial.
She had not expected fear.
“Where did you get that?”
“So you know her.”
Rebecca reached for the photograph.
Claire pulled it away.
“Tell me who she is.”
Rebecca glanced toward the door.
“You need to put that back wherever you found it.”
“Who was she?”
“No one.”
“She died in a harbor explosion.”
Rebecca stared at Claire.
“Some dead people are safer when they remain dead.”
“Why does she look like me?”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with something Claire could not immediately identify.
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Pain.
“Ask your father.”
“I’m asking you.”
Rebecca stepped away.
“I have nothing to say.”
“You looked terrified when I said her name.”
“I’m terrified because you have no idea what men like Arthur and Daniel will do to keep old secrets buried.”
“Did Dad know her?”
Rebecca laughed softly.
“Oh, he knew her.”
The library door opened.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
Neither woman had heard him approach.
His gaze moved from Rebecca to Claire and finally to the photograph.
A long silence followed.
“Where did you find that?” he asked.
Claire held it at her side.
“Who is she?”
Daniel entered and closed the door behind him.
His expression was calm, but one hand was clenched.
“She worked for the company.”
“That’s all?”
“That is all you need to know.”
“She died in 2003.”
“Yes.”
“No body was recovered.”
Daniel looked toward Rebecca.
“What have you told her?”
“Nothing.”
Claire’s anger rose.
“Both of you are acting like I found a photograph of a ghost.”
Daniel extended his hand.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Why does she look like me?”
The question hung between them.
Rebecca looked away.
Daniel’s face did not change, but his silence answered more than words could have.
Claire stepped backward.
“Who was she?”
Daniel lowered his hand.
“She was unstable.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She worked closely with your grandfather. She became convinced the company was involved in crimes that never occurred. She threatened employees. She stole documents. Then she died while trying to break into a restricted warehouse.”
“The newspaper said it was an explosion.”
“It was.”
“What caused it?”
“Fuel.”
“Was she alone?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Yes.”
Rebecca made a small sound.
Claire turned toward her.
“He’s lying.”
Daniel’s voice sharpened.
“Rebecca.”
“You said there was another man at the harbor,” Rebecca whispered.
Daniel stared at his wife.
Rebecca’s face had gone pale.
“You came home covered in blood,” she continued. “You said someone had attacked you.”
“Stop talking.”
“You burned your coat in the fireplace.”
Daniel grabbed Rebecca’s arm.
Claire moved between them.
“Let her go.”
Daniel released her immediately, but the mask of control had slipped.
Claire saw rage underneath.
Rebecca rubbed her wrist.
“You told me Eleanor was dead,” she said.
“She was.”
“You told me the problem was over.”
“It was.”
Claire looked between them.
“What problem?”
Daniel turned toward her.
“Your mother is confused.”
Rebecca laughed.
“I have never been clearer.”
A loud crash echoed from upstairs.
They all froze.
Claire ran from the library.
She reached Arthur’s room and found the bed empty.
The window stood open, rain blowing across the carpet.
A medicine bottle lay shattered near the wall.
“Grandpa?”
No answer.
Claire rushed toward the window.
Below, the garden was dark and empty.
Then she noticed mud on the floor.
Footprints led from the window to the wardrobe.
She pulled the wardrobe doors open.
Arthur stood inside, holding a fireplace poker.
“What are you doing?”
“Someone came into the room.”
“Who?”
“I did not see.”
Claire helped him out.
On the bed lay a white envelope that had not been there earlier.
Arthur opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Claire leaving her Boston apartment six months ago.
Written across the bottom in red ink were five words:
THE WRONG GRANDDAUGHTER CAME HOME.
Arthur read the message twice.
Then he turned the photograph over.
A telephone number had been written on the back.
Claire looked at him.
“Should we call it?”
Arthur’s face was grim.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever left this wanted you to find it.”
“Then what do we do?”
Arthur looked toward the storm-dark window.
“We make them believe we are afraid.”
Claire stared at the message.
The wrong granddaughter.
May you like
She had never had a sister.
At least, that was what she had always been told.
