Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO KNEW WHERE ROSE WAS BURIED
“Someone's watching my mother.”
Catherine showed the message to Adrienne before he had finished his call.
His expression changed instantly.
“Where is she now?”
“At home.”
“Call her.”
Catherine dialed.
Laura answered on the second ring.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mom, lock the doors. Right now.”
“Catherine?”
“Please. Someone sent me a photograph of you.”
Laura went silent.
Then Catherine heard the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.
“I'll call the police,” Laura whispered.
“I already am.”
Adrienne stepped aside, speaking urgently into his phone.
Within minutes, the police were on their way to Laura's house.
Adrienne also arranged for a professional security company to provide protection, subject to Laura's agreement.
Catherine didn't care how much it cost.
She cared that her mother was frightened.
And she was beginning to hate everyone who treated the painting as an investment.
When the officers confirmed Laura was safe, Catherine turned toward Marcus.
“You knew more than you admitted.”
Marcus looked exhausted.
“Catherine—”
“Don't.”
“You need to understand.”
“Then tell me.”
He glanced at Adrienne.
“I'd rather speak privately.”
“No. Whatever concerns my father concerns me.”
Marcus removed his glasses.
“Your father came to my gallery twenty-six years ago carrying a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The original portrait beneath the landscape.”
Catherine stared.
“He'd documented it?”
“Yes. He wanted help finding the child.”
“Did you help?”
Marcus's silence answered.
Catherine felt betrayed.
“You knew?”
“I knew he was investigating the Mercers. I didn't know the child was your grandmother.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Because I was warned that if I helped him, my gallery would be destroyed.”
Adrienne's voice turned cold.
“Who warned you?”
Marcus looked away.
“Harrison Mercer.”
Catherine shook her head.
“Harrison died years ago.”
“Yes. But his influence didn't die with him.”
Adrienne stepped closer.
“Was Vivian involved?”
Marcus hesitated.
“She handled the payments.”
“What payments?”
“To Daniel.”
Catherine's heart sank.
Marcus continued reluctantly.
“Your father accepted money to stop investigating.”
“No.”
“Catherine—”
“No. He wouldn't.”
Marcus reached into his briefcase and removed an old photocopy.
It was a signed agreement.
Daniel Turner had received $85,000.
In exchange, he promised not to publish information concerning The Last Summer or the Mercer family.
Catherine recognized the signature.
Her father's handwriting.
The room seemed to tilt.
She had defended his honor.
Now she was staring at evidence that he had taken money to remain silent.
Adrienne read the document.
Then turned it over.
“Where's the second page?”
Marcus frowned.
“There wasn't one.”
“There had to be.”
“Why?”
Adrienne pointed toward a numbered clause.
“Section six references an attachment.”
Marcus stared.
Catherine took the document.
An attachment.
Her father hadn't simply accepted payment.
There were conditions.
And perhaps those conditions explained everything.
“Where's the original?” she asked.
“I don't know.”
“Find it.”
Marcus nodded.
But before anyone could continue, Dr. Strauss approached.
“I have something.”
She led them back to the monitor.
The latest imaging had revealed a faint inscription along the canvas's right edge.
E.V. — Blackwater — North Shore.
Below it appeared a sequence of numbers.
17-4-12.
Catherine frowned.
“Could it be a date?”
Helen shook her head.
“The placement suggests a notation rather than part of the composition.”
Adrienne stared.
“North Shore.”
“What about it?” Catherine asked.
“My grandfather owned a hunting lodge on the north side of Blackwater Lake.”
“Does your family still own it?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone lived there recently?”
“No. Not for years.”
Catherine studied the inscription.
Her father's letter had mentioned the place where Rose kept her happiest memories.
Perhaps the cottage in the painting wasn't the only place connected to her.
“I'm going there,” she announced.
Adrienne immediately objected.
“Not alone.”
“Then come with me.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“Catherine, don't rush into this.”
She turned on him.
“You've spent twenty-six years being afraid of these people. I'm finished with that.”
By evening, Catherine and Adrienne reached Blackwater Lake.
The property lay beyond a narrow road bordered by pine trees.
The lake was larger than Catherine expected.
Its water reflected a bruised purple sky.
Across the shoreline stood an old cottage.
The same cottage from the painting.
Catherine stopped walking.
“It really exists.”
Adrienne nodded.
“My family stopped using it after Rose died.”
The cottage windows were boarded.
Weeds covered the stone steps.
But the crooked tree still leaned above the roof.
Catherine felt a strange sadness.
She imagined Rose sitting there with Lily.
A mother and daughter enjoying a summer afternoon.
Then someone had taken that happiness away.
Inside, the cottage smelled of damp wood and dust.
Adrienne used a flashlight to illuminate the rooms.
The furniture had been removed.
Only an old iron stove and a broken rocking chair remained.
Catherine moved toward the window.
The blue ribbon from the painting had once hung there.
Now the latch was rusted shut.
She touched the wood.
“Seventeen, four, twelve,” she whispered.
Adrienne looked over.
“What?”
“The numbers from the canvas.”
She counted the floorboards beneath the window.
Seventeen.
Then the wall planks.
Four.
Then the nails lining the upper frame.
Twelve.
Nothing.
She stepped back.
Maybe it wasn't a physical location.
Maybe the numbers referred to a document.
Or a date.
Adrienne opened a built-in cupboard.
Inside sat an empty wooden box.
Its lid carried a faded engraving.
A blue flower.
Catherine recognized it immediately.
“The locket.”
Adrienne examined the box.
There were scratches around the brass lock.
Someone had forced it open.
Then Catherine noticed fresh mud on the floor.
She crouched.
“Adrienne.”
He turned.
“Someone's been here.”
The mud was still damp.
A footprint led toward the back door.
Adrienne immediately called security.
But before anyone arrived, they heard footsteps outside.
Catherine froze.
A man's voice came through the darkness.
“Put the box down.”
Adrienne stepped in front of her.
A figure emerged from behind the cottage.
He was elderly, broad-shouldered, and wearing a weathered brown jacket.
He held a shotgun pointed toward the ground.
“Who are you?” Adrienne demanded.
The man stared at Catherine.
Then at Adrienne.
His eyes widened.
“Lord help me.”
He lowered the weapon.
“You've got Harrison's face.”
Adrienne frowned.
“Who are you?”
“Samuel Pike. I was caretaker here before your grandfather sent everyone away.”
Catherine stepped forward.
“Did you know Rose Mercer?”
Samuel's expression softened.
“Knew her better than most.”
“Then you know about Lily.”
His face changed.
He gripped the shotgun.
“Who told you that name?”
“We found her portrait.”
Samuel slowly sat on the cottage steps.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
“I always knew this day would come.”
Adrienne crouched beside him.
“What happened to my grandmother?”
Samuel looked toward the lake.
“She didn't drown.”
Catherine's heart raced.
“Then what happened?”
“She tried to leave with the child.”
“Who stopped her?”
Samuel swallowed.
“Harrison.”
Adrienne went pale.
“Are you saying my grandfather murdered Rose?”
Samuel looked directly at him.
“No.”
May you like
He drew a shaking breath.
“I'm saying the body they buried in Rose Mercer's grave wasn't Rose.”
