Chapter 5 - THE SEVENTEEN DAYS HIS MOTHER KEPT SECRET
“You let me bury my sister in my heart while you knew she was alive?”
Vincent DeMarco stood beside his mother's wheelchair.
His hands were trembling.
Eleanor looked up at him with tears running down her cheeks.
“I didn't know how to save both my children.”
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Because I'd already lost your father.”
Vincent stepped backward.
The old silver watch slipped from his hand and struck the carpet.
I bent to retrieve it.
But he stopped me.
“Leave it.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Eleanor spoke.
“The morning after Isabella's wedding, a photograph arrived at the house.”
Vincent stared.
“What photograph?”
“Isabella was sitting in a hotel room. She was holding that blue passport.”
Lydia slowly nodded.
“I saw that photograph.”
Eleanor continued.
“There was a message written across the back. It said Isabella would remain alive as long as I kept Vincent away from Richard's old business records.”
Vincent looked toward Arthur.
“You knew about this?”
Arthur's expression tightened.
“Eleanor received many threats after Richard died. You can't expect me to remember every one.”
“I'm asking whether you knew about this one.”
Arthur didn't answer.
Victoria stepped between them.
“Vincent, please. My father is an old man.”
Vincent turned toward her.
“And my mother has spent eight years wondering whether her daughter would ever come home.”
Victoria's eyes filled with tears.
“I understand that.”
“No,” Vincent said. “I don't think you do.”
She looked wounded.
For once, she had no reply.
Eleanor wiped her cheeks.
“For seventeen days, I received proof that Isabella was alive. A photograph. A short written message. Once, a scarf she'd been wearing.”
“What happened on the eighteenth day?” Vincent asked.
“The messages stopped.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Eleanor looked toward Lydia.
“Until tonight, I didn't even know whether the woman helping her had survived.”
Lydia bowed her head.
“I didn't know how to reach you safely.”
Vincent stared.
“Then how did you know my mother would bring the dress downstairs tonight?”
Lydia hesitated.
“Mrs. DeMarco sent word through Margaret.”
Everyone turned toward the seamstress.
Margaret looked ashamed.
“Your mother asked me to contact Lydia three weeks ago.”
Vincent's expression darkened.
“You knew how to contact this woman?”
“I knew a place where a message could be left.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
Margaret gripped her sewing scissors.
“Isabella trusted me, Mr. DeMarco. I was trying to honor that trust.”
Vincent stared at her.
For a moment, I thought he might order everyone out.
Instead, he lowered himself into a chair.
“I need one person in this room to stop deciding what I can handle.”
His words silenced us.
I looked toward the watch lying on the carpet.
Then I picked it up.
“Mr. DeMarco?”
He looked at me.
“Your father left you this watch because he trusted you.”
Vincent stared at the silver case.
I placed it in front of him.
“Maybe it's time everyone else did too.”
He remained silent.
Then he nodded.
“Tell me everything.”
Lydia opened her handbag once more.
This time, she removed a small hotel key card.
Its magnetic strip was worn.
“Isabella was kept in a private suite for the first seventeen days.”
“Against her will?” Vincent asked.
“Yes.”
“Who guarded her?”
“Two men.”
“Names?”
“I only heard one.”
Lydia looked toward Arthur.
“Mr. Ashford called him Frank.”
Arthur's expression didn't change.
But Victoria went pale.
“Frank?”
Vincent noticed.
“You know him?”
She swallowed.
“Frank Dwyer worked for my father.”
Arthur turned sharply.
“Victoria.”
She stepped away from him.
“He was our security supervisor when I was younger.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Where is he now?”
“I don't know.”
Arthur spoke.
“Frank left my employment years ago.”
Victoria looked at her father.
“Dad, I saw him last Christmas.”
The room went silent.
Arthur stared at his daughter.
She looked terrified.
“I thought you said he'd retired.”
Arthur's voice became cold.
“Victoria. Enough.”
Something changed in her face.
For the first time, she looked at her father the way Lydia had looked at him earlier.
With fear.
And with recognition.
Vincent stood.
“Victoria, did you know Isabella was being held at that hotel?”
“No.”
“Did you know your father had met her?”
She looked down.
“I knew they'd argued.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
Vincent spoke quietly.
“You told me you'd never heard of my sister before we met.”
Victoria began crying.
“I knew who she was. Of course I knew. Everyone in Philadelphia knew about Isabella DeMarco.”
“That's not what I asked.”
She wiped her face.
“I saw her once. At my father's office. Before the wedding.”
Vincent stopped moving.
“When?”
“About a week before.”
“What happened?”
“She was shouting at him.”
“About what?”
Victoria hesitated.
“She said he was stealing from your family.”
Arthur slammed his palm against the table.
“That's enough!”
Owen immediately stepped forward.
But Vincent raised a hand.
He wasn't looking at Arthur.
He was looking at Victoria.
“You knew my sister accused your father of theft, and you never told me?”
Victoria's voice broke.
“I was afraid you'd hate my family.”
“Instead, you lied to me.”
She began sobbing.
“I loved you, Vincent.”
He looked away.
For several seconds, there was only the sound of Eleanor's breathing.
Then Margaret spoke.
“There's something else about the dress.”
She was examining the damaged seam near the waist.
“The stain came through the outer layer, but look here.”
She pointed toward a narrow strip of lining.
A faint brown mark ran across the silk.
“This isn't blood.”
I leaned closer.
It looked like rust.
Margaret carefully rubbed it between her fingers.
“No. It's an imprint.”
“Of what?” Vincent asked.
“A metal object.”
I remembered the brass token.
But the shape was wrong.
The imprint was long and narrow.
Like a key.
Margaret lifted the fabric toward the chandelier.
Something had been stitched into the hem, leaving a faint impression.
She searched along the seam.
Then she pulled out a thin silver object.
An old-fashioned luggage key.
A small paper label was tied around it.
ASHFORD HOTEL — PRIVATE SUITE 804.
Lydia gasped.
“That was Isabella's room.”
Vincent looked toward Arthur.
“Your hotel?”
Arthur's face had turned gray.
Before he could answer, Owen received a message from one of his men.
He read it.
Then looked at Vincent.
“Boss. We've located Thomas Bell.”
Vincent stood.
“Where?”
“Outside Pittsburgh. He's been living under his own name for the past four years.”
“Is he willing to speak?”
Owen hesitated.
“He says he'll come tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
Owen swallowed.
“Because he wants one question answered first.”
Vincent's voice was hard.
“What question?”
Owen looked toward the wedding dress.
May you like
Then he read Thomas's exact words.
“ASK VINCENT WHETHER HE STILL HAS THE SILVER WATCH HIS FATHER GAVE HIM. BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I SAW ISABELLA, SHE TOLD ME THE WATCH WAS THE REASON THEY COULDN'T LET HER GO.”
