Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Knew Too Much
Mrs. Keene had worked for the Ashford family for thirty-four years.
She had raised Julian and Richard after their mother died.
She knew every secret passage, every locked cabinet, and every servant who had ever been fired.
And now she was lying motionless beside the little kitchen table in her apartment.
The detective wouldn't let us inside.
But I saw her shoes.
Brown slippers with embroidered flowers.
The same slippers she'd worn every morning when she came downstairs to make coffee.
I covered my mouth.
Julian stood beside me.
"She was alive an hour ago."
Detective Monroe turned.
"How do you know?"
"She brought fresh towels to my study."
"Did she seem upset?"
Julian shook his head.
Then he paused.
"She asked me whether I still had my father's old notebook."
Monroe's expression sharpened.
"What notebook?"
"A brown leather notebook he kept in the safe."
"Where is it now?"
Julian looked toward the main house.
"I don't know."
An officer approached with a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a broken teacup.
"Detective."
Monroe examined it.
Then she ordered everyone to move away from the apartment.
A medical examiner would have to determine how Mrs. Keene died.
No one was allowed to decide from appearances.
Still, I knew what the family would say.
The old woman had a weak heart.
She'd been under stress.
An unfortunate coincidence.
That was what they had said about my father.
And Julian's father.
And Richard.
Three tragedies.
Three convenient explanations.
By midnight, the police had taken the decanter, Julian's glass, Victoria's handbag, and the broken phone.
Victoria had gone to the station with her attorney.
She had refused further questioning.
Richard was missing.
And the detective wanted to know why the estate's power had failed at the exact moment Victoria's video was exposed.
Marcus claimed it was a transformer problem.
Monroe wasn't convinced.
Neither was I.
At 1:17 in the morning, Julian knocked on the door of the guest bedroom where the detective had asked me to remain available.
He looked exhausted.
His black tie hung loose around his neck.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped aside.
He placed a brown leather notebook on the dresser.
My heart began pounding.
"You found it."
"It was in my father's safe."
"How did you open the safe?"
"He left me the combination."
"Then why did Mrs. Keene have to ask about it?"
Julian looked ashamed.
"Because after he died, I locked everything away."
"I couldn't bear to go through his things."
He opened the notebook.
The first pages contained ordinary business records.
Property names.
Tax notes.
Meeting dates.
Then the handwriting changed.
Near the middle, Julian's father had written a list of seven companies.
I recognized one immediately.
Ridgecrest Consulting.
The same company my father had supposedly used to steal fourteen million dollars.
I pointed at it.
"That's the company they blamed him for."
Julian turned the page.
There was a large red circle around three initials.
V.A.
R.A.
M.B.
Victoria Ashford.
Richard Ashford.
Marcus Bell.
Julian went very still.
"Marcus?"
I felt cold all over.
"Your security chief."
Julian closed the notebook.
"That doesn't make sense."
"Marcus served my father for twenty years."
"Then why are his initials here?"
He didn't answer.
A faint clicking sound came from the hallway.
Julian turned toward the door.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
He walked over and opened it.
The corridor was empty.
Then a folded piece of paper slid across the carpet.
Someone had pushed it beneath the door.
Julian picked it up.
He unfolded it.
Three words were written across the page.
STOP TRUSTING MARCUS.
Below them was a photograph.
It showed Marcus Bell standing beside Richard Ashford outside a Manhattan hotel.
The timestamp was from the previous week.
Julian stared at it.
"He's been meeting my brother."
I took the photograph.
In the background stood a woman in a beige coat.
Her face was partly hidden.
But I recognized her instantly.
May you like
It was my mother.
And she had told me she hadn't left our small apartment in Queens for almost two months.
