Chapter 7 - THE RECIPE BOOK WITH NO RECIPES
“If Victor gets that book, he may finally learn where Daniel is.”
My mother's words seemed to stop the room.
Luca looked toward the open cabinet.
“How can a recipe book reveal someone's location?”
Elizabeth Carter reached for the torn strip of red fabric.
“Because Daniel and I used to hide messages in Grandma Rose's recipes.”
Charles leaned forward.
“What kind of messages?”
“Numbers. Dates. Places we could meet if we couldn't contact each other directly.”
I stared at her.
“You had a code?”
She nodded.
“Daniel invented it when we were kids. We thought we were spies.”
For a moment, she almost smiled.
Then the memory faded.
“After the fire, he used it to tell me he was safe.”
Luca looked toward Daniel Russo.
“Find Vanessa. Quietly. I don't want anyone frightened or hurt.”
Daniel nodded and left.
I watched the door close.
For years, I'd believed my mother's past was simply something painful she didn't enjoy discussing.
Now I understood it was something she'd spent decades trying to protect.
Luca turned to Charles.
“What exactly was in the missing compartment?”
“I don't know. Anthony never mentioned a second compartment to me.”
My mother ran her fingers along the cabinet lining.
Then paused.
“There's writing here.”
Luca moved closer.
Etched into the wood were three words.
The truth travels.
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
My mother stared at the words.
Then shook her head.
“That's something Daniel used to say.”
I felt a sudden chill.
“He said it when?”
“When we were young. He believed you couldn't bury the truth forever.”
She looked at Luca.
“Anthony must have learned it from him.”
Charles examined the compartment.
“If the recipe book contains a way to locate Daniel, perhaps it also contains information about the original ownership.”
“Then Vanessa took both,” Luca said.
He sounded more tired than angry.
I looked toward the clock.
Almost two in the morning.
Isabella was asleep upstairs.
Margaret remained at the rehabilitation center.
And the woman Luca had planned to marry in three days had disappeared with a family heirloom.
I rubbed my eyes.
Luca noticed.
“Emily, you should rest.”
I shook my head.
“I want to know what happens.”
“You will.”
“But if Vanessa comes back—”
“She won't be allowed near Isabella without me.”
I believed him.
Still, I didn't want to leave.
My mother gently touched my shoulder.
“Sweetheart, you're exhausted.”
She was right.
And my hand hurt.
Luca arranged a guest room for her near mine so we could stay until morning.
Before going upstairs, I stopped outside Isabella's bedroom.
Her door was open a few inches.
A night-light glowed beside her bed.
She was asleep with the red coat folded against her pillow.
I stood there longer than I meant to.
Then I noticed something strange.
The coat's remaining wooden buttons were brown.
Except one.
A second gray button was sewn near the inside hem.
My heart skipped.
I approached quietly.
Isabella stirred.
“Miss Emily?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to wake you.”
She blinked.
“Did you come back?”
I smiled.
“I promised.”
She sat up and hugged me.
I held her gently, careful of my injured hand.
Then I pointed toward the button.
“Did Grandma sew that one too?”
Isabella nodded.
“She said the gray ones were special.”
“Did she say why?”
The little girl rubbed her eyes.
“One was for Daddy.”
“And the other?”
She reached toward the hem.
“For me.”
I swallowed.
“May I look?”
She nodded.
I carefully turned the button.
Behind it was another folded piece of paper.
Unlike the first note, this one was covered in tiny numbers.
Four columns.
Seven rows.
At the bottom were three words.
Ask Elizabeth Carter.
I stared.
Isabella looked worried.
“Is it bad?”
“No, sweetheart.”
I kissed the top of her head.
“It's important.”
She smiled sleepily.
“Grandma said you'd help.”
My throat tightened.
“Did she?”
“She said you were kind.”
I sat beside her.
For a moment, I forgot about the house, the trust, and Victor Bellini.
All I could think about was a seventy-eight-year-old woman who had trusted a child and a housekeeper to do what the adults around her had failed to do.
Listen.
I helped Isabella settle back beneath her blanket.
Then carried the note downstairs.
Luca and Charles were still in the study.
My mother stood beside the fireplace.
When she saw the numbers, she stopped.
“Where did you get that?”
“Isabella's coat.”
She took the paper.
Her hands began trembling.
“This is Daniel's code.”
Luca leaned closer.
“Can you read it?”
She nodded slowly.
“The numbers tell us which letters to take from a particular text.”
“What text?” Charles asked.
My mother looked up.
“Grandma Rose's favorite recipe.”
I frowned.
“The recipe book is missing.”
“We don't need it.”
She smiled sadly.
“I still remember the recipe.”
She asked for a pencil and a clean sheet of paper.
Then wrote down the ingredients for Rose's cinnamon apple cake.
Flour.
Brown sugar.
Butter.
Apples.
Cinnamon.
Vanilla.
But instead of quantities, she wrote the ingredients in a specific sequence.
She used the numbers from the hidden note to select letters.
Slowly, a message emerged.
UNION STATION. LOCKER 214.
Luca stared.
“There's something at Union Station.”
My mother nodded.
“And Daniel wants us to find it.”
Charles looked concerned.
“Or someone wants you to believe that.”
He was right.
We had no way of knowing how old the message was.
But Luca had already reached for his coat.
“We'll check it carefully.”
I looked at him.
“I want to come.”
He hesitated.
“Emily—”
“That's my family.”
He studied my face.
Then nodded.
“Tomorrow morning. With proper security.”
My mother folded the note.
“There may be another part.”
She pointed toward a small mark near the bottom.
A hand-drawn compass.
I recognized it immediately.
It matched Daniel's necklace.
But the compass wasn't pointing north.
Its needle pointed east.
My mother stared.
Then whispered, “Daniel changed the code.”
Luca frowned.
“What does east mean?”
She looked frightened.
“It means the message isn't telling us where to find something.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Then what is it telling us?”
My mother slowly turned the paper over.
May you like
On the back, almost invisible beneath the folds, was a single handwritten sentence.
If you find this, Victor already knows.
