Chapter 3 - THE EMPTY SEWING ROOM
Raphael reached his house fourteen minutes later.
The sewing room door was open.
The upholstered chair was empty.
Three clean pebbles still sat on the windowsill.
The one-eyed cloth horse lay on the floor.
Raphael stopped when he saw it.
Clara came in behind him despite the doctor ordering her to remain at the hospital.
She saw the toy.
A sound escaped her that Raphael would remember for the rest of his life.
“Noel.”
Mrs. Dora was crying downstairs.
It was the first time Raphael had ever seen her cry.
“She was coloring,” Dora said. “I stepped into the kitchen for less than two minutes.”
“Cameras?”
Milo answered.
“Disabled for six minutes.”
Raphael looked at Clara.
“Who knew she was here?”
“Servants. You. Mrs. Dora.”
“And Bianca?”
Clara hesitated.
“Yes.”
Raphael turned toward Milo.
“Find her.”
But Bianca had disappeared from the church.
So had Anthony.
Raphael’s men sealed every exit from Boston they could quietly reach.
Then Clara noticed something.
One pebble was missing.
She walked to the windowsill.
“Noel always uses three.”
Raphael looked around.
“Could she have taken one?”
“No.”
Clara knelt slowly.
Under the chair was a folded piece of paper.
A child’s drawing.
Three people.
A woman with yellow hair.
A tall dark-haired man.
A little girl between them.
Above the dark-haired man, Noel had drawn a black line along his cheek.
Raphael touched his own scar.
Clara looked away.
“She draws people she trusts.”
He stared at the picture.
“She barely knows me.”
“She notices things.”
“What things?”
Clara’s voice softened.
“The cookies.”
Raphael said nothing.
“The fireplace.”
Still nothing.
“The chair.”
Raphael looked at her.
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.”
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
Then Milo entered.
“We have a vehicle.”
Security footage showed a dark van leaving the rear street during the six-minute camera outage.
It belonged to a charity organization.
The charity had been founded by Anthony Morelli.
Raphael grabbed his coat.
Clara followed.
“No.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m going.”
He looked at her and realized arguing would waste time.
They drove toward a warehouse near the harbor.
Halfway there, Raphael’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A little voice whispered:
“Mr. Raphael?”
His entire body went rigid.
“Noel?”
“Mommy says when I’m scared I should find somebody who doesn’t shout.”
Raphael closed his eyes.
“I’m here.”
“There’s a lady.”
“What lady?”
“She says she’s my aunt.”
Clara grabbed his arm.
“I don’t have a sister.”
Raphael’s voice went cold.
“Noel, what’s her name?”
May you like
The child whispered:
“Bianca.”
