Chapter 8 - THE CHILD NOBODY REMEMBERED
The phrase haunted me all night.
The fifth child knows.
I kept counting.
Adrian.
Theo.
Me.
Finn.
Four.
Always four.
I was convinced the note had to mean something else.
A code.
A business account.
Maybe a child who wasn't part of our family.
The next morning, Eleanor helped us examine old family photographs.
We spread them across the dining-room table.
Birthday parties.
Christmas mornings.
Summer vacations.
Mom smiling beside the pool.
Dad holding Finn as a baby.
Then Theo found something strange.
A photograph from eleven years earlier.
Mom stood in the garden surrounded by children.
Adrian.
Theo.
Me.
And a little girl.
I frowned.
“Who's that?”
Theo stared.
“I don't remember.”
The girl looked about six.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
She wore a yellow dress.
Mom's hand rested on her shoulder.
I turned the photograph over.
A name had been written in blue ink.
EMILY.
Dad entered the dining room.
When he saw the photograph, he stopped.
His expression changed.
“Where did you find that?”
Adrian held it up.
“Who is Emily?”
Julian slowly sat down.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, “She was your mother's goddaughter.”
I stared.
“Where is she now?”
Dad looked away.
“I don't know.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean you don't know?”
He closed his eyes.
“Her father worked for our shipping company. After he died, Caroline helped the family.”
Eleanor slowly stood.
“What was her father's name?”
Julian hesitated.
Then answered.
“Thomas Hargrove.”
The room went silent.
I turned toward Eleanor.
Her face was white.
“Emily?” I whispered.
She covered her mouth.
My heart stopped.
Because Eleanor's full name was Eleanor Emily Hargrove.
She had used Eleanor professionally.
But Mom had known her as Emily.
“You were the little girl?”
Eleanor nodded through tears.
“I didn't recognize the photograph at first.”
She touched the image.
“I remember Caroline. She used to let me borrow books.”
My throat tightened.
The fifth child.
Not another Cavanaugh son.
Eleanor.
A child Mom had loved and tried to protect.
Then Dad whispered, “Caroline wanted Emily to have a place in this house whenever she needed one.”
Eleanor began crying.
For six months, we'd treated her like an outsider.
Now we were learning Mom had welcomed her long before we understood why.
Detective Morgan examined the note again.
The fifth child knows.
Eleanor wiped her face.
Then whispered, “I think I know what Thomas meant.”
We turned.
She looked toward the photograph.
“When I was little, Caroline taught me how to open the music box.”
My heart pounded.
“Where is it?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she added something that made my stomach drop.
“But the music box wasn't the important part.”
“What was?”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“The secret compartment beneath the ballerina.”
