Chapter 4 - The Blue Room
Vincent was alive.
I learned that twelve minutes later when he called from the back of an ambulance and told me, in a voice full of fury, that he had been hit over the head with a bronze sculpture in his own study.
The intruder escaped with the ring box.
By sunrise, the Marlowe mansion had become a crime scene.
Evan was admitted overnight for observation.
Vincent refused admission entirely.
I found him at six thirty in the morning sitting in a private hospital office while a doctor glued a cut near his hairline.
“You should have gotten stitches,” I said.
Vincent looked at me.
“You should still be upstairs with Evan.”
“He told me to come.”
“Of course he did.”
The doctor finished and left.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The previous night felt like a year ago.
The proposal.
My confession.
My father.
The brake line.
The key.
I sat across from Vincent.
“Who knew about the ring box?”
“Family. Staff. Museum archivists. The ring is valuable.”
“Who knew there was a hidden compartment?”
“Apparently only Eleanor and Evan.”
“And whoever broke into your study.”
“Yes.”
“Meaning they either knew before or saw Evan give you the box.”
Vincent nodded.
“Security footage from the hallway was disabled for eleven minutes.”
“Inside job.”
“Possibly.”
“Your security team?”
“Or someone with access.”
I thought of the gala.
Two hundred guests.
Caterers.
Staff.
Foundation employees.
Family associates.
Anyone could have seen Evan enter the study.
“Who knew about the blue room?” I asked.
Vincent leaned back.
“My father. Eleanor. Me.”
“Evan?”
“No.”
“Mara?”
“Probably.”
“My father?”
“Almost certainly.”
“So the key could open something there.”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go to Wisconsin.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“We have had this argument already.”
“And I’m still right.”
“About what? Protecting me with lies?”
His expression tightened.
“That was low.”
“It was accurate.”
He looked away.
Good.
“I’m going,” I said. “My father is part of this.”
“Which is why you should go to Vermont.”
The logic stopped me.
“He is dying.”
The truth hurt.
Vincent continued.
“Go to Daniel. Ask what he knows about the blue room. I’ll deal with the lodge.”
“We could go together.”
“Evan needs me here for a few hours.”
“And after?”
“After that, I’ll go.”
I hated that the plan made sense.
At eight, I left Chicago on a commercial flight to Burlington.
Not Vincent’s plane.
I needed at least one decision that belonged only to me.
St. Helena Medical Center sat outside a small Vermont town surrounded by bare November trees and quiet hills.
When I entered my father’s room, I almost did not recognize him.
Daniel Bennett had once been broad-shouldered, restless, unable to sit through dinner without tapping his fingers against the table.
Now he looked fragile beneath a gray blanket.
But his eyes were the same.
Brown.
Mine.
For several seconds, we simply stared at each other.
Then he said, “You look like your mother.”
My throat closed.
“That’s what people say when they don’t know what else to say.”
He smiled weakly.
“That sounds like you.”
“You don’t know what I sound like.”
The smile disappeared.
“No.”
I stood near the door.
He looked at the chair beside his bed.
I did not sit.
“I read your letter.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’m not.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
“Eleven years.”
“I know.”
“Don’t say that.”
Pain crossed his face.
Not physical.
“Vincent says you were threatened.”
“I was.”
“He says you thought leaving would protect us.”
“I did.”
“And after the danger passed?”
He looked down.
“I was ashamed.”
“Eleven years of shame?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds selfish.”
“It was.”
His honesty disarmed me more than excuses would have.
I finally sat.
“Tell me about Eleanor.”
His eyes closed.
“So you know.”
“Enough to be angry.”
“That was Eleanor’s specialty.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
“What was she to you?”
“My best friend before she was my fiancée. My fiancée before she was my enemy. My ally after she became Vincent’s wife.”
That was more complicated than I expected.
“Did you love her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she love you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she marry Vincent?”
Daniel looked toward the window.
“Because she loved him more.”
The answer surprised me.
“She ended our engagement two months before the wedding. I hated him for years even though he had done nothing wrong.”
“And then you worked with her?”
“Because Arthur was dangerous.”
Daniel explained how Eleanor had discovered irregular donations moving through the foundation. She asked him to review them. The money led to Calder Ridge.
“She found out Arthur was using charitable accounts to move bribes,” Daniel said. “I found the vendor network.”
“You created the evidence together.”
“Yes.”
“The real books?”
“Eleanor kept them.”
“Where?”
He looked at me carefully.
“The blue room.”
I leaned forward.
“What does the key open?”
“A steel compartment inside the fireplace.”
My pulse jumped.
“So the ledgers are still there?”
“No.”
I froze.
“What?”
“We moved them.”
“When?”
“Before Eleanor died.”
“Where?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“That is why Arthur died.”
I stared at him.
“What happened?”
“He found out Eleanor had copied everything. He confronted her at the lodge. I was there.”
Daniel’s breathing became shallow.
“Arthur had a gun.”
I gripped the chair.
“He was going to kill her?”
“I believe so.”
“What happened?”
“Eleanor fought him. The gun went off.”
My heart pounded.
“Who was shot?”
“Arthur.”
The room went still.
“Eleanor killed him?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I did.”
I could not speak.
“My father died six years ago of a heart attack,” I whispered.
Daniel looked at me.
“That was the official story.”
A chill went through me.
“What did Vincent do?”
“Nothing.”
“You expect me to believe his father was shot and Vincent didn’t know?”
“Arthur didn’t die that night.”
I stared.
Daniel continued.
“The bullet hit his shoulder. He survived. But from that day forward, he knew Eleanor and I had proof against him.”
“Then how did he die?”
“Someone poisoned him six years later.”
I stopped breathing.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you think Eleanor’s records explain it.”
“Yes.”
“Where are the records?”
Daniel reached beneath his pillow and pulled out an old photograph.
It showed Eleanor standing beside a young man.
My father.
Behind them was a church.
On the back, written in Eleanor’s handwriting, were five words.
Where vows are broken, truth remains.
I looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Daniel’s eyes filled.
“It means the ledger was never in the blue room.”
“Then what was?”
“The key to where we hid it.”
I stared at the photograph again.
“What church?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
May you like
My blood ran cold.
St. Matthew’s was where Eleanor and Vincent had been married.
