Chapter 3 - SOMEONE INSIDE MY HOUSE WAS WATCHING ALLIE
The bank refused remote access.
Good.
It meant whoever had opened box 417 needed identification.
Bad.
It meant somebody knew enough to impersonate a dead woman or a dead man.
I increased estate security.
Quietly.
Allie noticed anyway.
“You think they know I told you.”
“They knew before you told me.”
“How?”
“The box was opened three days ago.”
Her face drained.
Lily was coloring at the breakfast table between us.
She looked up.
“Why is Mama scared?”
Allie forced a smile.
“I’m not.”
Lily frowned.
“You do the eyebrow thing.”
I looked at Allie.
She did have an eyebrow thing.
Interesting.
“Lily,” I said, “would you like Fantasma to show you the greenhouse?”
Her eyes widened.
“Cats don’t give tours.”
“This one is highly trained.”
Allie almost laughed.
One of my older housekeepers took Lily outside.
The second the child left, I said:
“Pack a bag.”
Allie stiffened.
“You’re firing me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“You and Lily are moving upstairs.”
Her mouth opened.
“The staff wing is safer.”
“Not safe enough.”
“I don’t want special treatment.”
“I don’t care.”
She stared.
Then I corrected myself.
“I care whether your daughter survives.”
That silenced her.
We drove to the bank under escort.
Box 417 contained almost nothing.
One envelope.
One flash drive.
One photograph.
Elena and Evan stood together beside the garage three weeks before her death.
My sister looked angry.
Evan looked terrified.
Behind them was a man I recognized.
Dominic Hale.
My security chief.
My oldest friend.
The man who had stood beside me at Elena’s funeral.
I looked at Allie.
“Did Evan know Dominic?”
“Everyone knew Dominic.”
No.
Not like this.
The envelope contained Elena’s handwriting.
Murphy,
If you are reading this, I failed.
My hands tightened.
I continued.
Dominic is not the man you think he is.
The rest of the page had been torn away.
Allie whispered:
“Somebody took it.”
The bank manager checked records.
The person who accessed the box had removed documents but apparently missed the items hidden beneath the false liner.
“Camera footage.”
The manager hesitated.
“Our system was offline.”
“Convenient.”
Then he looked frightened.
I noticed.
“What?”
“A man came yesterday asking whether anyone else had accessed box 417.”
“Description?”
He swallowed.
“Tall. Dark hair. Scar near his right ear.”
Allie sat down.
I knew the scar.
So did she.
“Who?” I asked.
Her voice cracked.
“My husband.”
I stared.
“Evan is dead.”
Allie shook her head.
May you like
She looked terrified and hopeful at the same time.
“The man you just described is Evan.”
