Chapter 3 - THE BRACELET CAROLINE NEVER TOOK OFF
Dominic Shaw had been beside me through two shootings, three federal investigations, and the funeral of my wife.
For eleven years, I'd trusted him with my life.
Now my eight-year-old son was staring at him as though he were a stranger carrying a knife.
I turned slowly.
Dominic looked devastated.
"Noah," he said, "you know me."
My son shrank against his pillows.
"Don't."
Dominic stopped.
I stepped between them.
"Leave the room."
"Vincent—"
"Now."
For a moment, something hard flashed across his face.
Then he lowered his head and walked out.
Emma remained beside Noah's bed, watching him carefully.
"Was that the man you meant?" she asked.
Noah shook his head.
I felt a terrible mixture of relief and confusion.
"But you pointed at Dominic."
"No," Noah whispered. "Behind him."
I looked toward the doorway.
The hallway was empty.
"What was behind him?"
Noah's fingers tightened around his bracelet.
"The picture."
Above the hallway console hung an oil painting of our old family estate.
Caroline had hated it.
She said the house looked like a prison with expensive curtains.
I'd never understood why she wanted it removed.
Emma followed my gaze.
"Vincent, when was that painting installed?"
"Years ago."
"Has it been moved recently?"
"I don't know."
Noah pulled at my sleeve.
"Mommy said the bad man could see through pictures."
I stared toward the hallway.
Hidden cameras were everywhere in my home.
Cameras I'd ordered installed.
Cameras Dominic controlled.
And suddenly, I realized something horrifying.
I'd built a surveillance system to protect my son.
What if I'd handed someone else the perfect way to watch him?
I reached toward the camera concealed above Noah's bookshelf.
Emma caught my expression.
"Don't disable it yet."
"Why?"
"Because whoever is watching might realize we're suspicious."
I looked at her.
"You keep saying whoever."
"Because we don't know who."
"Or because you do."
She held my gaze.
"Then ask me something useful."
I wanted to throw her out.
Instead, I sat on Noah's bed.
"Show me the bracelet, buddy."
He held out his wrist.
It was silver, with a narrow lighthouse charm attached to the clasp.
I'd seen Caroline wearing something similar.
Every anniversary, I bought her jewelry.
Diamonds.
Emeralds.
A sapphire necklace worth more than most houses.
But she nearly always wore that cheap silver bracelet.
I used to tease her about it.
She'd smile and say, "Some things are valuable because of who gave them to you."
I never asked who had given it to her.
Now Noah struggled with the clasp.
"Mommy said there's a door."
Emma leaned closer.
"A door?"
"In the lighthouse."
I examined the charm.
There was a tiny seam along one side.
Using my thumbnail, I pressed against it.
The lighthouse opened.
Inside was a folded strip of waterproof paper.
My hands started shaking before I'd even unfolded it.
Caroline's handwriting.
I knew every curve.
Every slightly crooked capital letter.
Every hurried underline.
There were only seven words.
Vincent, the truth is in the music.
Below them were four numbers.
4—1—3—2.
I read the message three times.
Music.
Caroline had played piano every evening before dinner.
After the explosion, I couldn't bear hearing it.
I'd ordered the grand piano covered and the music room locked.
Noah touched the paper.
"Mommy said you would know."
I swallowed.
"I don't, buddy."
My son looked crushed.
For fourteen months, I'd told him Daddy could fix anything.
Now I couldn't even understand his mother's last message.
Emma spoke softly.
"Maybe you're looking at it like a password."
I turned.
"What else would it be?"
"An order."
"An order for what?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
That was the first time she had admitted ignorance.
Strangely, it made me trust her a little more.
I tucked the paper into my pocket.
"Emma, stay with Noah."
"Where are you going?"
"To find out whether my wife left anything else."
I entered the hallway and stopped before the painting.
It hung in a heavy antique frame.
I lifted it away from the wall.
Behind it, mounted in the plaster, was a circular black lens.
Another camera.
This one hadn't been listed in my security plans.
And it pointed directly toward Noah's doorway.
My blood went cold.
I carried the painting downstairs.
Dominic was waiting near the staircase.
"Vincent, I've reviewed the equipment."
I held up the camera.
"Explain this."
He stared at it.
Then his face turned pale.
"Where did you find that?"
"Outside my son's bedroom."
"That's not ours."
"Neither was the listening device."
Dominic looked toward the upper landing.
"Someone's compromised the house."
"Someone who knows exactly where our surveillance blind spots are."
His expression hardened.
"You're accusing me."
"I'm asking you to account for equipment installed under your supervision."
He took a breath.
"Then here's something you should know."
He reached into his jacket and produced a folded maintenance receipt.
"Three months before Caroline died, she ordered an independent inspection of the security system."
"Without telling me?"
"She specifically instructed the contractor not to inform you."
I stared at the paper.
"Why would she do that?"
"I never found out."
The receipt bore Caroline's signature.
Beneath it was a company name.
Harbor Light Technical Services.
Emma Reed's previous employer.
I looked toward the stairs.
"How long have you known?"
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"That your new caregiver once worked for the company Caroline hired? Since yesterday."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was checking whether it meant anything."
"And?"
"The company closed after its owner was killed."
I waited.
Dominic looked me straight in the eyes.
"His name was Daniel Reed."
Emma's last name.
"Her husband?" I asked.
"Her younger brother."
My chest tightened.
"How did he die?"
Dominic hesitated.
"In a warehouse fire, six weeks after Caroline's murder."
I looked down at the maintenance receipt.
There, beside the company address, someone had written a handwritten notation.
Music room—private inspection required.
I walked past Dominic without another word.
The music room stood at the far end of the first floor.
Its double doors had remained locked since the funeral.
I turned the key.
The room smelled of cedar polish and old memories.
Moonlight crossed Caroline's white grand piano.
Her framed photograph stood on a side table.
I removed the piano cover.
There were eighty-eight keys.
Four numbers.
Four, one, three, two.
I examined the sheet music still resting above the keyboard.
Caroline's favorite lullaby.
The one she'd played when Noah couldn't sleep.
Along the margin, she'd penciled four tiny numbers beside the first four measures.
I pressed the notes in the numbered order.
A soft mechanical click came from beneath the keyboard.
My heart began pounding.
I reached under the piano.
A narrow compartment had opened.
Inside lay a small velvet pouch.
And beneath it, a photograph.
Caroline stood beside a young man outside our garage.
Daniel Reed.
Between them was another person whose face had been scratched away.
I turned the photograph over.
Caroline had written one sentence.
If anything happens to me, don't trust the man who gave Noah his bracelet.
I stared at those words.
May you like
Because I knew exactly who had delivered that bracelet to my son after the explosion.
It had been Dominic Shaw.
