Chapter 4 - The Girl in the Photograph
“Emma, did your mother ever tell you she knew Elizabeth Bellini?”
Dante placed the photograph on the medical lounge table.
Emma stared at it.
Then the color drained from her face.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the seal on the champagne glass.”
Emma picked up the photograph carefully.
The younger woman beside Elizabeth had long brown hair and a narrow face.
She wore a simple yellow dress.
Emma's eyes filled.
“That's my mother.”
Dante sat across from her.
“You're certain?”
Emma nodded.
“I have a picture of her wearing that dress.”
Dante felt the first piece of a terrible puzzle slide into place.
“Her name was Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“How old was she when you were born?”
“Twenty-four.”
Dante calculated quickly.
Emma was thirty.
Rebecca would have been around seventeen when Emma was born.
Then he stopped.
Something didn't fit.
He checked the photograph.
Elizabeth had said Rebecca was fourteen when she disappeared, twenty-four years earlier.
That would make Rebecca about thirty-eight now, only eight years older than Emma.
Emma saw the confusion on his face.
“What is it?”
Dante chose his words carefully.
“How old was your mother when she died?”
“Forty-nine.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“Then Elizabeth must have known a different Rebecca Brooks.”
Emma shook her head.
“No. That's my mother. I'm sure.”
“Could the name have been Rebecca before she changed it?”
Emma hesitated.
“My mother's legal name was Rebecca Anne Brooks. But she told me she was born Anne Rebecca Miller.”
Dante looked up.
“Did she explain why she changed it?”
“She said her family had been dangerous.”
Dante slowly pushed the photograph closer.
“Can you remember anything else?”
Emma closed her eyes.
“My mother didn't talk much about her childhood. But she kept a little wooden box beneath her bed.”
“What was in it?”
“Old letters. A church rosary. And a photograph of a house near a lake.”
Dante leaned forward.
“What happened to the box?”
Emma hesitated.
“When she died, I put it in storage.”
“Where?”
“At my apartment.”
Dante stood.
“We need to see it.”
Emma grabbed his sleeve with her good hand.
“Mr. Bellini, I need you to answer something first.”
He stopped.
“Did my mother work for your family?”
“I don't know.”
“Did something happen to her because of them?”
Dante looked at the bruises on Emma's arm.
Then he remembered his father's warning.
People who had done nothing wrong would suffer.
“I don't know,” he repeated. “But I'm going to find out.”
Emma released his sleeve.
“Then I'm coming with you.”
Forty minutes later, Dante's armored SUV pulled into a modest apartment complex on the east side of Las Vegas.
Emma lived on the second floor.
There were faded flowers in pots beside her door and a small welcome mat Tyler had bought before his accident.
Dante noticed the wheelchair ramp at the entrance.
“Does your brother live here?” he asked.
“When he's released from rehabilitation, he will.”
“What happened to him?”
Emma unlocked the door.
“Construction accident. A support beam collapsed.”
“How long ago?”
“Eleven months.”
Dante looked at her sling.
“And you've been working full shifts while caring for him?”
Emma gave a tired smile.
“Rent doesn't pay itself.”
Inside, the apartment was neat but small.
A collection of medical bills covered one corner of the kitchen counter.
Dante looked away, unwilling to make her feel inspected.
Emma retrieved a wooden box from her bedroom.
It was scratched and held shut by a brass latch.
“My mother made me promise I'd never throw it away.”
She placed it on the table.
Inside lay a faded rosary, several letters, a yellowed newspaper clipping, and a photograph of a lakeside house.
Dante recognized the house immediately.
His family's former summer property near Lake Mead.
He hadn't visited it in decades.
Emma watched his expression.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
She lifted the newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
LOCAL GIRL MISSING AFTER PRIVATE CHARITY EVENT.
The article was dated August 19, 2000.
The missing girl was named Rebecca Miller.
Age fourteen.
Emma stared at it.
“That can't be right.”
Dante examined the photograph beside the article.
The missing girl resembled Emma's mother, but not exactly.
Then Emma noticed the first name on a handwritten note tucked beneath the clipping.
Rebecca Miller — daughter of Anne Brooks.
Emma stopped breathing.
“My grandmother.”
Dante looked up.
“What?”
“My grandmother's name was Rebecca. My mother was Anne.”
She stared at the article again.
“Mom used her mother's name after Grandma disappeared.”
The truth landed between them.
Elizabeth had known Emma's grandmother.
Not her mother.
Dante looked at the rosary.
A tiny silver medal hung from its chain.
On the back were engraved initials.
E.B.
Elizabeth Bellini.
Emma touched the medal.
“My mother said this was given to Grandma by a woman who helped her.”
Dante looked at her.
“My mother.”
Emma's eyes filled with tears.
“Then why did Grandma disappear?”
Dante had no answer.
They examined the letters.
Most were ordinary.
One contained a grocery list.
Another was a birthday card Emma's mother had written but never mailed.
Then Dante found a sealed envelope.
The paper was fragile.
Across the front were four words:
For Anne, when safe.
Emma stared.
“My mother never opened it?”
“Apparently not.”
“Why?”
Dante turned the envelope over.
The seal was intact.
Emma drew a slow breath.
“Open it.”
Inside was a single page.
The handwriting belonged to a frightened teenager.
Dear Anne,
If you're reading this, it means someone finally believed me.
Please don't hate me for leaving. I didn't abandon you because I didn't love you.
I left because Charles Prescott found out what I saw at the lake house.
Mrs. Bellini promised she'd help me tell the truth.
If she disappears too, look for the blue coat.
Everything important is sewn into the lining.
Love, Mom.
Emma covered her mouth.
“She was alive when my mother was little.”
Dante reread the letter.
The blue coat.
His mother had been wearing one in the parking garage.
A faded blue coat.
He turned toward Marcus, who had accompanied them.
“Call the medical wing.”
Marcus reached for his phone.
“Tell them nobody removes my mother's coat.”
Back at the mansion, Savannah sat alone in a guarded guest room.
She hadn't been arrested.
Dante had ordered that no one threaten or touch her.
He wanted answers, not revenge.
When he entered, she stood.
“Dante.”
“Why did you bring my mother here?”
Savannah looked exhausted.
“Because Richard said it was the only way.”
“The only way to do what?”
“To stop your father from signing over the foundation's assets.”
Dante frowned.
“The agreement is mine to sign.”
Savannah shook her head.
“That's what Richard wanted you to believe.”
Dante stared.
“Explain.”
She sat slowly.
“Richard has been arranging the hotel deal for almost a year. He told me the money would protect several medical residences, including St. Catherine's.”
“And you believed him?”
“He showed me financial statements.”
“Forged?”
“I didn't know that then.”
Dante remained standing.
“You hurt Emma.”
Savannah looked away.
“I grabbed her when she found the receipt.”
“You threatened her brother.”
Tears formed in Savannah's eyes.
“I was afraid she'd expose the arrangement before I could get Richard to release the residents' funding.”
“That doesn't excuse what you did.”
“I know.”
She looked up.
“Richard told me Tyler's rehabilitation was funded through the same foundation. He said if the deal collapsed, the money would disappear overnight.”
Dante studied her.
“Why was the champagne glass important?”
Savannah swallowed.
“Because Richard needed someone to carry it into the ballroom.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Dante went still.
Savannah continued.
“Richard said Vincent would recognize the seal. He wanted your father frightened enough to sign a private amendment.”
Dante remembered the ribbon.
The label.
The medical case.
“What was in the bottles?”
Savannah's voice dropped.
“Nothing for the champagne. They were medical samples from St. Catherine's. Richard said he needed them to prove how the residence was being run.”
Dante stared.
“Did you know my mother was alive?”
“Not until three days ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Richard said your father would have her moved before you could see her.”
Dante's anger remained.
But the story had changed.
Savannah hadn't simply tried to poison him.
She had been manipulated into threatening an innocent woman as part of a much larger scheme.
He turned to leave.
Savannah caught his attention.
“Dante, there's one more thing.”
He stopped.
“Richard didn't choose the engagement party because of the hotel agreement.”
“Then why?”
“Because your father promised to bring something tonight.”
“What?”
Savannah shook her head.
“I don't know. Richard called it the original authorization.”
Dante hurried toward the medical wing.
Elizabeth was asleep when he arrived.
Her blue coat lay across a chair.
Marcus stood beside it.
“No one touched it.”
Dante picked it up.
The fabric was old, the collar worn almost smooth.
He remembered his mother wearing a similar coat during cold mornings at the lake house.
He ran his fingers along the lining.
Near the inside seam, he felt something stiff.
Marcus handed him a small pair of scissors.
Dante carefully opened the stitching.
A narrow cloth pouch fell into his hand.
Inside were two objects.
A brass key.
And an old photograph.
The photograph showed Vincent Bellini, Charles Prescott, and a teenage girl standing beside a black sedan.
On the back, someone had written:
August 18, 2000 — before they took Rebecca.
Dante turned the photograph toward the light.
Then he saw the fourth person reflected in the car window.
A young man in a black suit.
May you like
Someone Dante recognized immediately.
Himself.
