Chapter 3 - THE WHITE ROSE AT HER GRAVE
"Carlo, if you've come here to threaten a four-year-old child, you won't leave my house as the man who entered it."
I spoke quietly.
That was how people knew I was angry.
Carlo Bellini stood beneath the chandelier in my entrance hall.
He was seventy-one, with silver hair, an expensive charcoal suit, and the same gentle expression I'd trusted since childhood.
He didn't look frightened.
He looked disappointed.
"Dante, you've misunderstood."
I held up the photograph.
"Then explain this."
Carlo studied it.
"Where did you get that?"
"Marco said you brought it."
"I brought you a photograph of Chiara's grave. Not that one."
I glanced at Marco.
He stepped forward.
"The photographs were in the same envelope."
Carlo's expression hardened.
"Show me."
I handed him the envelope.
He examined its edges.
Then he removed a second photograph.
It showed Chiara's grave without the sign.
Only the white rose.
"The cemetery caretaker sent me this yesterday," he said. "I wanted to know whether you'd placed the flower."
I watched him carefully.
"Why?"
"Because white roses were Chiara's favorite. And because someone has been leaving one there every Tuesday for eight years."
My chest tightened.
Every Tuesday.
Chiara died on a Tuesday.
Carlo looked at the photograph of Mia.
"I've never seen this picture."
For a moment, I almost believed him.
Then I remembered his voice on the cassette.
"You told Chiara she shouldn't have made that recording."
His face changed.
The years seemed to settle across his shoulders.
"She recorded me?"
"Yes."
Carlo closed his eyes.
"I warned her because she was investigating people who would do anything to protect themselves."
"Who?"
He opened his eyes.
"I couldn't prove it then."
"Try now."
Carlo looked toward the staircase.
"Not in front of everyone."
I ordered Marco to search Carlo's belongings before taking him into my study.
Carlo didn't object.
That bothered me more than resistance would have.
In the study, I placed the cassette player between us.
"Tell me about the family foundation."
Carlo sank into the chair opposite mine.
"Eight years ago, Chiara discovered that money from the foundation was being diverted into companies that didn't exist."
"How much?"
"Nearly twelve million dollars."
My stomach tightened.
The foundation had funded hospitals, scholarships, and housing for families with sick children.
Chiara had managed its charitable programs.
She believed our family's money could do something decent.
Someone had stolen from the one thing she loved.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
"When?"
"The week before she died."
I stared at him.
Carlo leaned forward.
"You were in Boston negotiating a shipping agreement. I called your office twice. Valentina told me you were unavailable."
"And you accepted that?"
"No. I went to Chiara."
I reached for the cassette.
Carlo raised a hand.
"She was terrified, Dante. Not because of the missing money."
"Then why?"
"Because she'd found a transaction authorized with your signature."
I felt the room tilt.
"I never signed anything."
"I know."
"How?"
"Because the signature was dated the night you were hospitalized after the highway accident."
I remembered that accident.
A truck had struck my car outside Providence.
I'd spent two days in the hospital.
Chiara had slept in the chair beside my bed.
Someone had used my name while I lay unconscious.
"Who could have done that?"
Carlo looked miserable.
"Someone with access to your office."
Valentina.
Lorenzo.
Carlo himself.
Or half a dozen employees I'd trusted.
I leaned back.
"Why did Chiara die?"
Carlo's eyes lowered.
"Officially, cardiac arrest caused by a previously undiagnosed condition."
"Don't give me the official answer."
He remained silent.
"Carlo."
Finally, he said, "Chiara told me she believed someone had interfered with her medication."
I felt cold.
Chiara had been taking medicine for an irregular heartbeat.
Nothing serious, her doctor had assured us.
She'd been healthy enough to play the piano the evening before she died.
I could still remember her laughing when she missed a note.
"Who prescribed it?"
"Dr. Samuel Price."
The name struck me.
Price had retired shortly after Chiara's death.
Carlo continued.
"He kept saying there was nothing suspicious. But Chiara had started keeping samples of her medication."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
I stood and walked toward the window.
For eight years, I had accepted that my wife had died from a medical condition.
Not because I didn't love her.
Because the alternative was unbearable.
Someone might have taken her from me.
And I had invited that person to dinner.
Behind me, Carlo said, "There's something else you need to know."
I turned.
"The tape you found isn't the original."
"What?"
"Chiara made two recordings. She gave one to me and hid the other herself."
I stared at him.
"Where's yours?"
Carlo's face darkened.
"It was stolen from my safe the night she died."
Before I could answer, Marco entered.
"Boss, Giulia needs to see you."
"Not now."
"She says it's about Mia."
I went still.
"Bring her."
Giulia arrived holding her daughter's hand.
She looked frightened and embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know who else to tell."
Mia carried her cloth doll.
She hid behind her mother's skirt when she saw Carlo.
"What happened?" I asked.
Giulia swallowed.
"Someone placed a white rose outside our apartment."
Carlo slowly stood.
I crouched before Mia.
"Did you see who left it?"
She shook her head.
Then she looked at my desk.
"That's the man's watch."
I followed her gaze.
Lorenzo's silver pocket watch lay beside the cassette player.
I picked it up.
"What do you mean, sweetheart?"
Mia pointed.
"The man with the funny hat."
My heart began pounding.
"Where did you see him?"
"By the big piano."
Giulia frowned.
"Mia, when?"
"Yesterday."
Yesterday.
After she'd found the cassette.
I turned to Marco.
"Check the ballroom camera."
He shook his head.
"We've already reviewed everything. No one entered after you cleared the room."
Mia tugged my sleeve.
"He didn't come yesterday."
I looked back at her.
"Then when?"
She hugged her doll.
"When Mommy was fixing the flowers."
Giulia blinked.
"That was three months ago."
The same day the hallway camera went dark.
Mia reached into her doll's faded dress.
"Funny-hat man said this was for the piano lady."
She pulled out a small brass key.
A white ribbon was tied around it.
Carlo made a strangled sound.
I looked at him.
"What is it?"
He stared at the key.
"That opens Chiara's music cabinet."
I remembered the cabinet.
It stood in our bedroom, untouched since her death.
But Mia wasn't finished.
She held out a tiny folded note.
I opened it.
The message contained only one sentence.
DANTE MUST NOT TRUST THE WOMAN WHO WEARS CHIARA'S PEARLS.
I looked toward the doorway.
May you like
Valentina stood there.
Around her neck hung my dead wife's pearl necklace.
