Chapter 3 - THE DOLL LUCIA LEFT BEHIND
I had seen thousands of expensive things pass through my homes.
Paintings.
Watches.
Jewelry.
Rare antiques.
Yet I could not remember ever seeing the faded cloth doll in Elena’s hands.
“She owned that?”
Elena nodded.
“Since she was a child.”
I stared at the mismatched button eyes.
“Why does Sophie have it?”
Elena sat carefully at the kitchen table.
“Mrs. Moretti gave it to me three days before she died.”
Every instinct inside me sharpened.
“She gave you her childhood doll three days before her accident?”
“Yes.”
“And you never thought that mattered?”
Elena flinched.
“She made me promise not to tell you unless something happened inside the house that frightened me.”
My voice dropped.
“Something happened eleven months ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because after the funeral, Mr. Carlo told the household that Mrs. Moretti had been emotionally overwhelmed before she died. He said we shouldn’t upset you with things she had said while she was stressed.”
I went completely still.
“What things?”
Elena swallowed.
“She told me she didn’t trust someone.”
Marco stepped closer.
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Elena looked down at the doll.
“She just handed me Rosie and said, ‘Keep this somewhere ordinary. Somewhere nobody important would ever look.’”
Sophie had apparently found Rosie in a box in the staff apartment months later and grown attached to her.
The irony made my stomach turn.
Every trained adult in my house had ignored the battered toy.
A four-year-old carried it everywhere.
I took the doll gently.
Something inside the fabric made a faint crackling sound.
Elena frowned.
“It never did that before.”
Marco brought a seam cutter from a medical kit.
We found a section along the doll’s back that had been sewn with thread slightly darker than the original stitching.
I opened it carefully.
Inside the stuffing was a folded plastic packet.
My fingers trembled as I pulled it free.
A tiny brass key fell onto the table.
Beside it was a piece of paper.
Lucia’s handwriting.
I recognized the graceful slant immediately.
Adrien—
If Elena gives you Rosie, something has gone wrong.
Do not trust appearances.
Do not trust the accident.
And before you confront anyone, find the room where nothing grows.
I read the sentence twice.
“The room where nothing grows?”
Marco looked puzzled.
Elena suddenly raised her head.
“The old greenhouse.”
My estate had a glass conservatory behind the west garden.
Lucia once filled it with orchids.
After her death, every plant had been removed.
Nothing grew there anymore.
We reached it three minutes later.
The brass key did not fit the door.
It fit a small lock hidden beneath the central stone planting table.
When the compartment opened, Marco shone his flashlight inside.
There was no jewelry.
No money.
Only a digital recorder and a thick red folder.
May you like
Across the folder Lucia had written four words.
IF I DIE, START HERE.
