Chapter 4 - THE WATCH THAT NEVER TICKED
The watch was not in the cedar chest.
We searched twice.
Then three times.
Aunt Beth went through drawers.
I checked my mother’s jewelry box even though I already knew every piece inside.
Ben sat on the stairs, watching us turn his home upside down.
Finally, he said, “Mom gave me a watch.”
I froze.
“What?”
“When she was sick.”
“Ben, you were nine.”
“I know.”
“Where is it?”
He disappeared upstairs.
Dominic and I followed.
Ben opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pushed aside baseball cards, pencils and a broken model airplane.
Then he pulled out a small wooden box.
Inside lay the gold watch.
Dominic did not touch it immediately.
His face softened in a way I had never seen.
“My mother wore this every day.”
Ben looked worried.
“Did I steal it?”
“No.”
“Mom said it belonged to somebody who needed it back.”
Dominic looked at him.
“She was right.”
Ben handed it over.
The watch had stopped at 2:17.
On the back were the initials M.D.
Dominic pressed the crown.
Nothing happened.
I remembered Margaret’s note.
Do not give Samuel the watch.
He believes it contains evidence against Carlo.
It contains something worse for him.
“What could be inside a watch?” I asked.
Dominic studied the casing.
“Maybe nothing.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
He found the release along the edge.
The back opened.
There was no photograph.
No microfilm.
No secret written confession.
Just a shallow engraving beneath the case.
Four words.
THURSDAY — ST. AGNES — 2:17
Dominic frowned.
“St. Agnes?”
Aunt Beth answered from behind us.
“The old Catholic hospital.”
Dominic turned.
“It closed fifteen years ago.”
“My sister worked there.”
I stared at her.
“Mom was a receptionist.”
“Before you were born.”
Aunt Beth looked at the watch.
“Later she volunteered there after it closed. They kept a small charity clinic running in one wing.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Was it operating eleven years ago?”
“Yes.”
Thursday.
2:17.
We returned to Chicago after sunrise.
Ben and Aunt Beth came with us.
Dominic refused to leave them unprotected.
At the mansion, Lily was already awake.
She ran down the staircase in pink pajamas and stopped when she saw me.
“Hannah?”
I opened my arms.
She crossed the foyer immediately.
“You came back.”
“Of course I did.”
Her small body relaxed against me.
Then she saw Ben.
“Who’s that?”
“My brother.”
Ben gave her an awkward wave.
“Hi.”
Lily studied him.
“You’re tall.”
“I’m twelve.”
“Oh.”
That seemed to explain everything.
Dominic watched them.
Something about the sight changed his face.
Cassandra stood near the library entrance under guard.
She had not slept.
Lily saw her.
Her fingers tightened around mine.
Dominic noticed.
“Lily.”
She looked at him.
“You do not have to speak to anyone you don’t want to speak to.”
Cassandra’s eyes filled.
But she nodded.
“That’s fair.”
It was the first thing she had done that morning that felt honest.
Dominic showed his security chief the watch inscription.
The abandoned St. Agnes property had been purchased years earlier by a medical development company.
Dominic owned twelve percent.
Of course he did.
By ten that morning, we were inside the old administrative wing.
Dust lay thick across the floor.
The clock above reception had stopped.
Not at 2:17.
That would have been too easy.
A retired maintenance supervisor met us there.
Mr. Bell was seventy-eight and annoyed about being dragged downtown.
Then Dominic showed him Margaret’s photograph.
His irritation disappeared.
“I remember her.”
“You saw her here?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Long time ago.”
“Thursday after she disappeared from the Palmer Hotel.”
The old man stared.
“You already know.”
“No. I’m asking.”
Mr. Bell sighed.
“She came with a woman.”
“My mother?” I asked.
I showed Claire’s photograph.
He nodded immediately.
“That’s her.”
“And Samuel Cross?”
His expression changed.
“He came later.”
“What happened?”
Mr. Bell looked at Dominic.
“Your mother didn’t want to go with him.”
That mattered.
“Did he force her?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“They argued. Cross kept saying the plan had changed. Said your father knew about the hotel.”
“What plan?”
“Getting Margaret out of Chicago.”
Dominic looked at me.
Margaret had not been kidnapped.
At least not initially.
She had been trying to leave.
“Why?” Dominic asked.
Mr. Bell shook his head.
“I stayed out of rich people’s marriages.”
“Did Claire?”
“No.”
Something like admiration touched his face.
“Claire told Cross that if Margaret wanted to go home, they were taking her home.”
“What did Samuel do?”
“Grabbed Claire’s arm.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
“Margaret hit him with her handbag.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Dominic actually did.
For one second.
“What happened at 2:17?”
Mr. Bell led us into the abandoned chapel.
Rows of wooden pews faced a faded altar.
He pointed to the third pew.
“That’s where your mother sat.”
Then to the confessional.
“Cross was over there.”
“How do you remember the time?”
“Because the afternoon medication bell rang. Two-fifteen. Then your father arrived two minutes later.”
Dominic’s face emptied.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They talked privately.”
“You heard them?”
“Some.”
“Tell me.”
Mr. Bell hesitated.
Then he looked directly at Dominic.
“Your mother told Carlo she would return home on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“That Samuel Cross never came near you again.”
Silence filled the chapel.
I looked at Dominic.
Margaret had not been protecting herself.
She had been protecting her son.
“What had Samuel done?” I asked.
Mr. Bell shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Dominic stared at the gold watch.
Samuel had said he was helping Margaret.
Margaret said his loyalty was not loyalty.
My mother had changed our name afterward.
Something had happened involving fifteen-year-old Dominic.
Then the old man said, “Wait.”
He walked toward a storage cabinet near the chapel wall.
From inside, he removed a thin cardboard folder.
No legal papers.
No dramatic confession.
Just old photographs the charity clinic had taken for its annual report.
One showed volunteers serving meals.
Another showed my mother carrying boxes.
And the last one showed Margaret DeLuca sitting on the chapel steps.
Beside her was fifteen-year-old Dominic.
I looked at him.
“You were here.”
Dominic stared at the photograph.
“No.”
“You’re standing right there.”
“I mean I don’t remember being here.”
Mr. Bell frowned.
“You came in crying.”
Dominic did not react.
But I saw his hand tighten.
“I didn’t cry.”
“You were fifteen. Everybody cries at fifteen.”
“What happened?”
Mr. Bell’s expression became cautious.
“You kept saying Samuel had taken you from school.”
My skin prickled.
Dominic looked at him.
“What?”
“He told you your mother was leaving forever.”
Dominic said nothing.
Mr. Bell continued.
“You were terrified she’d abandon you.”
A memory seemed to move behind Dominic’s eyes.
Not clear.
Not complete.
But painful.
Then Mr. Bell pointed to the photograph.
“Claire brought you inside.”
“My mother?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“She found you in Cross’s car.”
Dominic turned toward me.
Eleven years ago, Claire Lane had not stolen from Margaret.
She had rescued Dominic from Samuel.
That explained the name change.
The threat.
The fear.
But not why Samuel wanted me now.
Then I noticed the photograph’s lower corner.
Someone else stood behind the hospital doors.
A young man in an expensive suit.
Cassandra’s father.
Henry Vale.
Dominic took the picture.
On Henry’s wrist was a silver bracelet bearing the DeLuca security crest.
Cassandra whispered from behind us:
“That bracelet belonged to Samuel.”
We all turned.
She had followed with the security team.
Her eyes were fixed on her father.
Then she said the sentence that changed the entire story again.
“My father wasn’t helping Carlo cover up Samuel’s death.”
Her voice shook.
May you like
“He was helping Samuel fake it.”
---
