Chapter 5 - Beatrice’s Rosary
Nora reached the kitchen table first.
Her fingers stopped an inch above the bracelet.
“I threw this into the Hudson.”
Dominic picked up Beatrice’s rosary.
The wooden beads were worn smooth from decades of use.
“She kept it.”
“How?”
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
Nora looked at him.
He held up the bracelet.
“How did Beatrice have something you threw away twenty-four years ago?”
Leo entered from the mudroom.
“Rear camera shows her leaving on foot.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Follow her.”
Nora grabbed Dominic’s sleeve.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“If she wanted to run, she had twenty years.”
“You want me to let her disappear?”
“I want to know where she goes when she thinks we won’t follow.”
Dominic considered it.
Then looked at Leo.
“Distance. No contact unless she’s in danger.”
Leo left.
Nora sank into a kitchen chair.
The white linen dress, still marked with Vivien’s blood, suddenly seemed too fragile for her.
Dominic sat across from her.
“You recognized the bracelet.”
“I carved a tiny N into the clasp when I was thirteen.”
Dominic examined it.
There it was.
A crude letter.
“You were Eleanor.”
“I wanted to be Nora even then.”
“Why?”
Nora smiled sadly.
“It was my mother’s favorite name.”
For the first time that night, Dominic understood that Nora was not merely an invented identity.
It had been something she chose from love.
Not deception.
His anger softened further.
He unwound the rosary.
A tiny silver locket was attached where a crucifix normally hung.
“Has that always been there?”
Nora frowned.
“I’ve seen Bea pray with those beads a thousand times. I never noticed it.”
Dominic opened the locket.
Inside was a photograph.
Two little girls sat on a stoop.
One older, serious.
One younger, laughing.
Nora took the locket from him.
“Oh my God.”
“Claire?”
She nodded.
“Who took this?”
“My mother.”
Nora turned the photograph over.
A handwritten date.
1989.
Below it:
My brave girls. E & C.
Nora covered her mouth.
Dominic sat silently beside her.
He had spent years learning how to respond to threats.
Grief was harder.
Finally, Nora whispered, “Beatrice knew my mother.”
“Apparently.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“That is what we’re going to find out.”
His phone vibrated.
Leo.
Dominic answered.
“Where?”
“Saint Agnes.”
Nora looked up sharply.
Leo continued.
“She walked straight into the old parish cemetery.”
“Stay outside.”
Dominic hung up.
“We’re going.”
Saint Agnes looked smaller than Nora remembered.
The brick church sat between apartment buildings, its stone cross black against the wet sky.
The cemetery behind it held fewer than fifty graves.
Beatrice stood beside one of them.
No umbrella.
Dominic and Nora approached alone.
She did not turn.
“I knew you’d follow me.”
Nora’s voice shook.
“Why is my bracelet in your rosary?”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Because I took it from the river.”
“How did you know where I threw it?”
“I followed you.”
“Why?”
“Because I was supposed to protect you.”
Nora stared.
“From Arthur?”
“From everyone.”
Beatrice finally turned.
Her face looked twenty years older.
“I worked for your mother.”
The answer landed harder than Nora expected.
“You knew her.”
“I loved her.”
Beatrice looked at the grave.
The stone read:
**MARGARET VALE
1958–2003
BELOVED MOTHER**
Nora’s breath caught.
There had never been a proper funeral.
No grave she knew about.
“You buried her?”
“Angelo paid for it.”
Dominic stiffened.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
“Your father was not the man Arthur made Eleanor believe he was.”
Nora’s expression turned cold.
“I saw him take Claire.”
“He did.”
“Then don’t defend him.”
“I’m not.”
Beatrice pressed the rosary to her chest.
“He took Claire because your father begged him to.”
Nora shook her head.
“My father was already dead.”
“No.”
Beatrice’s answer came quickly.
“He was hiding.”
Nora stumbled back.
Dominic caught her elbow.
Beatrice continued.
“Samuel discovered Arthur was moving money through charitable foundations. But that wasn’t what frightened him.”
“What did?”
“He discovered Arthur was buying judges, police officers, union leaders—anyone who could make a person disappear legally.”
Dominic understood.
“New identities.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Your father believed Arthur planned to use the network to expand trafficking routes.”
Nora went pale.
“So Samuel gave evidence to Angelo?”
“Yes.”
“Why him?”
“Because the Gallos and Marchettis were rivals even then.”
Dominic looked at the grave.
“My father helped Samuel hide.”
“For a while.”
Nora’s voice cracked.
“And Claire?”
“Arthur learned you girls were leverage.”
Beatrice began crying.
“Samuel asked Angelo to separate you.”
Nora stared in horror.
“No.”
“He thought two girls traveling together would be easier to find.”
“So you took me.”
Beatrice nodded.
“I was supposed to take Claire.”
The sentence from Arthur’s note returned.
Beatrice took the wrong sister.
“What happened?”
“You two changed coats.”
Nora froze.
A memory.
Claire complaining hers was wet.
Nora giving her the red wool coat.
Claire handing Nora the blue one.
A childish exchange.
Meaningless at the time.
Devastating now.
“Angelo identified you by the coat.”
“Yes.”
“He thought Claire was me.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought I was Claire.”
Beatrice sobbed.
“Yes.”
Nora’s knees weakened.
Dominic steadied her.
“For how long?”
“Four hours.”
Beatrice wiped her eyes.
“Long enough for Arthur’s men to intercept Angelo.”
Nora stared.
“Then what happened to Claire?”
Beatrice looked at Dominic.
“Angelo made a bargain.”
Dominic’s face went still.
“What bargain?”
“He gave Arthur Samuel’s ledger.”
Nora’s eyes filled with fury.
“To save Claire?”
“To save both girls.”
“Did it work?”
Beatrice looked away.
“For one of you.”
Nora pulled free from Dominic.
“You told me Claire lived.”
“I said Angelo tried to save her.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora’s voice rose for the first time.
“You have carried her photograph for twenty years!”
“Because I failed her!”
Beatrice broke.
The anger went out of Nora.
She stood breathing hard.
Dominic looked down at the grave.
A small object rested behind the stone.
Recent.
Dry despite the rain beneath a plastic sleeve.
A child’s drawing.
Dominic picked it up.
A house.
Three stick figures.
One woman.
Two girls.
And a blue bird drawn in the corner.
On the back, in adult handwriting:
For Aunt Bea. She still remembers the song.
Nora’s face emptied.
“Aunt Bea?”
Beatrice looked equally stunned.
“I didn’t put that there.”
Dominic examined the paper.
The drawing was dated two days earlier.
Nora whispered, “Claire has a child.”
Beatrice shook her head slowly.
“No.”
“What?”
“She has two.”
Nora turned.
“How do you know?”
Beatrice looked at the grave, then at the drawing.
“I don’t.”
Her voice trembled.
“But your mother used to sing a song to you and Claire about two little bluebirds.”
Nora stared at the picture.
Then noticed something written inside the drawn house.
An address.
Dominic read it aloud.
“Hudson Valley Women’s Cooperative.”
Beatrice’s face collapsed.
“That place closed fifteen years ago.”
Dominic turned the drawing over again.
There was one more line at the very bottom.
Eleanor, if you found this, don’t bring a Gallo.
Nora looked at Dominic.
For the first time all night, the secret was speaking directly to her.
May you like
And whoever had written the message knew she was alive.
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