Chapter 3 - Sofia’s House
I left my engagement dinner with two security guards, Rosie, and the ring in my pocket.
Vivienne stayed behind.
She didn’t have a choice.
Neither did Michael.
I told security nobody left until I returned.
My mother called me insane.
Maybe I was.
But nineteen days earlier, I had stood beside Sofia’s grave while Rosie held my hand and asked why Mommy had to sleep underground.
I had believed Sofia’s death was an accident.
A wet road.
A sharp curve.
A guardrail.
Now I wasn’t sure what I believed.
Sofia’s house still smelled like her.
Lavender soap.
Coffee.
Old books.
Rosie ran toward the stairs.
“Slow down.”
“I know where Bunny Moon is.”
I followed her into Sofia’s bedroom.
Nothing had changed.
Elena had refused to pack anything yet.
Sofia’s robe still hung behind the door.
Her slippers were beside the bed.
Seeing them made my throat close.
Rosie climbed onto a chair and pointed toward the bookshelf.
“There.”
The blue ceramic rabbit sat beside three novels.
I lifted it down.
It was heavier than I remembered.
Rosie tapped the bottom.
“Mommy showed me.”
I turned it over.
There was a felt pad beneath the base.
One corner had been pulled loose.
I peeled it back.
A tiny brass key fell into my palm.
Elena covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
I stared at the key.
“What does it open?”
Rosie shrugged.
Then she pointed at Sofia’s nightstand.
“Brown box.”
The wooden jewelry box was still there.
I opened it.
Empty velvet grooves.
A few earrings.
A silver chain.
No ring.
I lifted the insert.
Nothing.
Elena stood beside me.
“Sofia called me the night before she died.”
I looked at her.
“You never told me that.”
“She asked me to take Rosie if anything happened.”
My stomach turned.
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said, ‘If Daniel doesn’t believe me, protect Rosie until he does.’”
I stepped back.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she died in a car accident the next morning!”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“And because you were already grieving, and Vivienne was beside you every second.”
That landed hard.
Vivienne had been everywhere after Sofia died.
At the hospital.
At the funeral home.
At my house.
She had organized meals.
She had handled phone calls.
She had comforted Rosie.
Or pretended to.
I looked around the room.
“What was Sofia investigating?”
Elena shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Rosie climbed onto the bed.
“Mommy had papers.”
I turned.
“What papers?”
She pointed beneath the mattress.
I lifted it.
Nothing.
Rosie frowned.
“No. Inside.”
I ran my hand along the seam.
Near the corner, there was a small tear.
I reached into it.
My fingers touched plastic.
I pulled out a sealed envelope.
On the front, in Sofia’s handwriting, were four words.
FOR DANIEL. NOT THE POLICE.
Elena whispered, “Open it.”
Inside were photocopies of bank transfers.
Dozens.
All connected to Mercer Development.
Money moving into shell companies I didn’t recognize.
At the bottom of the stack was a photograph.
Vivienne.
Standing in a parking garage.
Beside my brother Michael.
And beneath the photo, Sofia had written:
May you like
THEY KNOW I FOUND IT.
Then a floorboard creaked behind us.
