Chapter 3 - The Name Hidden in the Thrift Store
We left the house through the basement tunnel.
I didn't know houses could have tunnels.
Apparently Adrian’s could.
The passage led beneath the neighboring property and ended in a garage where a black SUV waited.
Adrian drove himself.
That surprised me.
“You trust nobody?”
“Correct.”
“Not even Nolan?”
“I trust Nolan with my life.”
“That sounds contradictory.”
“It isn't.”
Snow struck the windshield as we moved through Chicago.
“Where are we going?”
“Harbor Street.”
“The thrift store?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Marianne Hart may be connected to your coat.”
The store was closed.
Adrian knocked anyway.
A light came on.
An elderly man opened the door.
He stared at Adrian.
Then at me.
“I told the police everything twenty-eight years ago.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“You never told me anything.”
“I didn't know you were asking.”
“You knew what coat this was.”
The man looked at me.
“Where did you find it?”
“Back rack. Brown wool.”
He frowned.
“Come inside.”
He led us toward a cramped office.
“This coat came from a woman named Eleanor Hart.”
“Marianne Hart?” Adrian asked.
The man shook his head.
“Eleanor.”
I looked at Adrian.
“She was eighty-two. She donated most of her belongings before moving into hospice.”
“Where did she live?”
“Near Archer.”
Adrian's expression changed.
“The warehouse.”
The old man nodded slowly.
“That's what I thought.”
I looked between them.
“What warehouse?”
Adrian answered.
“A storage facility my family owned before the fire.”
The man continued.
“Eleanor came in six months ago. She was ill. She told me she wanted the coat to go to someone who would know what was inside.”
My skin prickled.
“What was inside?”
He looked at me.
“You.”
I laughed nervously.
“I'm sorry?”
“She said the person who found the locket would be the person the Vale family had been waiting for.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
“Did she mention Lucy?”
The man hesitated.
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“What did she say?”
“She called her Lark.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
For twenty-eight years he had probably imagined hearing that nickname again.
Now it was real.
“Where is Eleanor?” he asked.
“St. Catherine's Hospice.”
Adrian turned toward the door.
We were almost outside when the old man called after us.
“There was something else.”
Adrian stopped.
The man handed him a photograph.
Eleanor Hart stood beside a younger woman.
The woman held a little girl.
Adrian looked at the girl.
His face changed.
“That’s Lucy.”
I stepped beside him.
The photograph looked old.
The little girl was perhaps eight or nine.
Behind them stood a brick building.
“Who is the woman?” I asked.
The old man said, “Marianne.”
Adrian stared.
“She raised her.”
We rushed to St. Catherine's.
Eleanor Hart was alive.
Barely.
She lay beneath a white blanket, her silver hair spread across the pillow.
When Adrian entered the room, she opened her eyes.
For several seconds, she only stared at him.
Then she whispered.
“Henry's boy.”
Adrian stopped.
“My father's name was Henry.”
“I know.”
“You knew him?”
Eleanor smiled weakly.
“I knew your mother too.”
“Where is Lucy?”
Eleanor's fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Safe.”
Adrian went completely still.
“Where?”
“She became someone else.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your father changed her name.”
“Why?”
“Because Bellano was looking for her.”
Adrian's face hardened.
“Why?”
Eleanor looked toward me.
“Because she saw something she was never supposed to see.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
Eleanor's voice became barely audible.
“The ledger.”
Adrian leaned closer.
“What ledger?”
“Your father had proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“Bellano was laundering money through construction companies, shipping companies, charities. Henry Vale found out.”
Adrian stared.
“My father was going to expose him?”
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
“The fire.”
A monitor began beeping.
Eleanor's eyes opened wider.
“Listen to me.”
Adrian took her hand.
“Tell me where Lucy is.”
“She doesn't use that name.”
“What name does she use?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Lucy Hart.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Hart?”
Eleanor nodded.
“She's my daughter in every way except blood.”
I looked at Adrian.
He was crying.
Not openly.
But tears had escaped before he could stop them.
“She lives in Milwaukee,” Eleanor whispered.
“Where?”
“Saint Mark's Children's Choir.”
Adrian stared.
“Choir?”
“She teaches music.”
The smallest smile appeared on his face.
“She always sang.”
Eleanor squeezed his hand.
“She never forgot you.”
Adrian shut his eyes.
“I thought she was dead.”
“She thought you were dead too.”
“What?”
“Your father made her believe the family had been erased.”
“Why?”
“To keep Bellano from using her against you.”
A sharp sound came from the hallway.
A nurse shouted.
Then gunfire.
Adrian pushed me behind the bed.
Nolan burst through the door.
“They found us.”
Eleanor panicked.
“Take the locket!”
Adrian grabbed it.
“Where is the ledger?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“The numbers.”
“What?”
“The numbers in the locket.”
Adrian froze.
“What do they mean?”
“Coordinates.”
“To what?”
“Archer warehouse.”
Nolan stared.
“That building burned tonight.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Then you're already too late.”
Adrian looked at me.
“No.”
His voice was steady.
“We're not.”
A bullet struck the door.
Adrian took my hand.
“Move.”
We ran.
Behind us, someone screamed.
By the time we reached the service elevator, Nolan had received another message.
He read it.
Then looked at Adrian.
“What?”
Nolan swallowed.
“Bellano sent a photograph.”
He showed us.
A woman stood outside a music school.
Brown hair.
Soft smile.
Gray eyes.
Adrian stared at the screen.
“That’s her.”
His voice broke.
“Lucy.”
May you like
Then Nolan read the second line.
“He says, ‘Come alone if you want your sister alive.’”
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