Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE ELEVATOR
The elevator stopped on the third floor.
Dominic moved in front of me.
Not dramatically.
Not like a man trying to prove he was brave.
He simply stepped between me and the hallway while his right hand disappeared beneath his jacket.
The doors opened.
Cassandra stood inside.
Her silver engagement gown was gone.
She wore black pants, a cream sweater, and Dominic’s dark wool coat over her shoulders.
Her mascara had been washed away.
Without diamonds and forty guests watching her, she looked smaller.
More frightened.
Dominic did not lower his hand.
“How did you find us?”
Cassandra looked past him at me.
“I knew where the key went.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I followed your car.”
“How?”
A pause.
“Your family has tracking software on every estate vehicle.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“Only security knows the access code.”
Cassandra swallowed.
“Samuel gave it to me.”
There it was.
The name seemed to change the temperature in the hallway.
I stared at her.
“You knew he was alive?”
“Yes.”
Dominic’s voice stayed quiet.
“For how long?”
“Four months.”
Four months.
She had sat beside Dominic at dinners.
Planned flowers.
Discussed wedding invitations.
Held Lily’s hand.
All while meeting a man Dominic believed had been dead since he was fifteen.
Dominic stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Cassandra hesitated.
“You’re not going to—”
“If I intended to hurt you, Cassandra, you would not need to ask.”
She entered.
Her eyes immediately found the photographs covering the closet wall.
Her face changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Dominic noticed.
“You’ve been here.”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
The same week the new security buttons had been issued.
I looked toward the black button on the table.
Cassandra followed my gaze.
“I didn’t lock Lily in that cellar.”
“You accused me of doing it.”
“I know.”
“You slapped me.”
Her eyes lowered.
“I know.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.” Her voice cracked slightly. “It isn’t.”
Dominic said nothing.
Cassandra finally looked at him.
“Samuel contacted me four months ago under the name Elias Ward. He said he had information about my father.”
“Henry Vale?”
She nodded.
Her father had been dead for six years.
Chicago newspapers still called him a philanthropist.
There was a hospital wing named after him.
A scholarship fund.
A bronze plaque downtown.
“What information?” Dominic asked.
Cassandra stared at the dusty carpet.
“That my father helped yours make Samuel Cross disappear.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Meaning?”
“He arranged the accident report. The body identification. Everything.”
I felt cold.
“So Samuel really did survive.”
“Yes.”
“Why meet him?” Dominic asked.
“Because at first I didn’t believe him.”
“And later?”
Cassandra looked at the photographs.
“He showed me things.”
“What things?”
“Pictures from this room. Your mother. My father. Samuel.”
She hesitated.
“And Hannah’s mother.”
I stopped breathing.
Dominic turned.
“What?”
Cassandra looked at me.
“Her name wasn’t Reed then.”
I heard Samuel’s words again.
Ask Hannah why her mother changed their last name.
“My mother was Claire Reed.”
“Later.”
My hands went numb.
Cassandra continued carefully.
“She worked here.”
“At the hotel?” I asked.
“No.”
Her gaze shifted to Dominic.
“For your mother.”
Dominic went still.
“My mother had no employee named Claire Reed.”
“Because she was Claire Lane.”
The name hit something inside me.
A memory.
Indiana.
I was nineteen, standing in our kitchen after my mother had died, while Aunt Beth sorted paperwork.
An old school record.
A crossed-out surname.
LANE.
I had asked.
Aunt Beth said Mom changed it after a bad relationship.
I never asked again.
“Why didn’t Samuel tell Dominic himself?” I asked.
Cassandra laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Because Samuel doesn’t tell people things. He puts them in rooms and watches what they do.”
Dominic glanced at the photographs.
Exactly.
“He told you Hannah was dangerous,” Dominic said.
Cassandra’s silence answered.
My stomach twisted.
“You believed him?”
“He said your mother stole something from Margaret DeLuca.”
“What?”
“He never told me.”
“So you searched my room.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“Yes.”
The photograph of Lily sleeping.
The warning.
“Did you leave that picture?”
“Yes.”
Dominic’s head turned slowly.
Cassandra stepped backward.
“I never intended to hurt Hannah.”
“You entered my daughter’s bedroom while she slept.”
“I took the photograph earlier. I left it in Hannah’s room because I needed the key.”
“You used Lily to frighten her.”
“I was scared.”
“So was my daughter.”
That ended her defense.
Cassandra closed her eyes.
After several seconds, she whispered, “I know.”
I surprised myself.
“Why the key?”
“Samuel told me if Dominic opened Room 317, everything my father buried would come back.”
“That sounds like Samuel wanted the room found.”
Cassandra looked at me.
That realization reached all three of us at once.
If Samuel wanted the key destroyed, why tell Cassandra what it opened?
Why plant photographs?
Why leave clues?
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“You weren’t stopping Samuel.”
Cassandra looked frightened again.
“You were doing exactly what he wanted.”
She turned toward the cassette recorder.
The red light still glowed.
Dominic pressed STOP.
Then REWIND.
The tape squealed backward.
“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked.
“My mother said Cassandra wasn’t the target.”
He pressed PLAY.
Margaret’s frightened voice returned.
“If my son ever hears this, tell him Cassandra Vale was never the real target.”
Static.
“The girl working inside his house is.”
Dominic let the recording continue.
This time, we heard what came next.
A man’s voice spoke from somewhere near Margaret.
Samuel.
“Tell me what Claire took.”
Margaret answered sharply.
“She took nothing.”
“You’re protecting her.”
“I am protecting Dominic.”
“From Claire?”
“No.”
A pause.
“From you.”
Cassandra covered her mouth.
Dominic stared at the recorder.
Samuel’s voice changed.
“You asked me to help you.”
“I asked you to get me away from Carlo. I never asked you to bring my son into this.”
“He belongs with you.”
“He belongs somewhere he doesn’t have to choose between his parents.”
Then another voice entered the recording.
A younger woman.
Breathless.
Terrified.
“Mrs. DeLuca, we have to go. Now.”
My knees nearly gave out.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it say goodnight to me thousands of times.
Heard it sing badly while doing dishes.
Heard it whisper that everything would be okay after my father left.
“My mother.”
Dominic looked at me.
On the cassette, Margaret said one word.
“Claire.”
My eyes burned.
Claire’s recorded voice continued.
“Samuel’s men are downstairs.”
Samuel snapped, “They are protecting us.”
“No,” my mother said. “They’re blocking the exits.”
Silence.
Then Margaret whispered:
“Claire, take the coat.”
“What coat?”
“The blue one. Everything is in the lining.”
A chair scraped.
Samuel demanded, “What did you put in that coat?”
Margaret did not answer.
The recording ended.
I stood frozen.
My mother had not simply known Margaret DeLuca.
She had been inside Room 317.
And whatever Margaret feared Samuel finding had been hidden in a coat my mother took with her.
Dominic turned toward me.
“Do you know the coat?”
I thought of my aunt’s house in Indiana.
Of an old cedar chest no one had opened since Mom died.
A blue wool coat she never wore.
“I know exactly where it is.”
Cassandra suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Hannah.”
Dominic’s hand closed around hers immediately.
“Let go.”
She did.
Her face had gone white.
“You can’t go home for that coat.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel asked me about it two months ago.”
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Claire Reed was dead.”
“And?”
Cassandra’s voice dropped.
“I told him the coat probably went to her daughter.”
Dominic closed his eyes once.
When he opened them, Cassandra was no longer looking at him.
She was looking at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I pulled my coat tighter.
“My twelve-year-old brother lives in that house.”
Cassandra stopped breathing.
May you like
And for the first time that night, Dominic DeLuca looked afraid.
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