Chapter 2 - The Photograph
Charles took the stairs two at a time.
Annie followed before remembering that employees who wished to remain employed generally did not chase billionaires through their own homes.
She followed anyway.
Evelyn stood outside an upstairs bedroom.
“What happened?” Charles asked.
“This was on my pillow.”
She handed him the photograph.
Annie saw the image.
It showed the foyer.
The crystal vase was still intact on the console table.
The photograph appeared to have been taken from the second-floor balcony.
Charles turned it over.
I SAW EVERYTHING.
Today's date.
“Who has been upstairs?” he demanded.
Mrs. Greene appeared from the linen room.
“Only housekeeping, sir.”
“Who?”
“Lucy and me.”
Evelyn laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Mrs. Greene paled.
Annie stepped forward.
“Don't.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“You're still here?”
“Your father rehired me.”
“He what?”
“This isn't the time,” Charles said.
Evelyn stared at him.
“You chose her over me?”
“I chose to find out what is happening.”
For an instant, Evelyn looked less like a tyrant and more like a wounded daughter.
Then the mask returned.
“Fine.”
She entered her room and slammed the door.
Charles studied the photograph.
“Come with me,” he told Annie.
He led her into his study.
Dark shelves covered the walls. Documents sat in immaculate stacks.
Charles locked the door.
“Tell me exactly what you saw downstairs.”
Annie did.
She had been dusting near the dining room when she heard glass shatter. She entered the foyer perhaps five seconds later.
Mrs. Greene had arrived from the opposite corridor.
Evelyn had come down the stairs almost immediately afterward.
“So nobody was beside the vase?”
“No.”
Charles leaned back.
“Then someone broke it and disappeared within seconds.”
“Or broke it from somewhere else.”
His gaze sharpened.
Annie remembered the black mark.
“What was on the table besides the vase?”
“A bronze sculpture.”
“Is it heavy?”
“Very.”
“Where is it?”
Charles stopped.
They returned to the foyer.
The sculpture was gone.
Charles called the staff together.
Nobody admitted moving it.
Then Annie noticed faint parallel scratches across the floor behind the console table.
She crouched.
“What?”
Charles joined her.
“These are fresh.”
The scratches led toward a decorative wall panel.
Annie pushed lightly.
Nothing happened.
Charles pressed harder.
The panel shifted.
Behind it was a narrow service passage.
Lucy gasped.
“I didn't know that existed.”
Mrs. Greene did.
Annie could see it on her face.
Charles noticed too.
“Margaret?”
Mrs. Greene stared at the floor.
“This house is more than a hundred years old. There are old passages.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Your father ordered them sealed.”
Charles frowned.
“My father died twenty-three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then who opened this one?”
Mrs. Greene said nothing.
Charles pulled the panel wider.
The passage smelled of dust.
On the floor lay the missing bronze sculpture.
Its corner carried a fresh chip.
Black lacquer clung to it.
Someone had apparently pushed or thrown it through the opening, striking the vase.
Evelyn appeared behind them.
She saw the sculpture.
Her expression changed.
Annie caught it.
Recognition.
Charles did too.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“Evelyn.”
“I said no.”
Charles picked up the sculpture.
A strip of white fabric was caught beneath its base.
Annie carefully pulled it free.
It looked like part of a uniform apron.
Every maid in Whitmore House wore white aprons.
Evelyn looked toward Mrs. Greene.
“There. There's your proof.”
“No,” Annie said.
Evelyn spun.
“Stop defending her!”
“It's proof that someone wanted us to think a maid did it.”
“How convenient.”
Annie held up the fabric.
“The edge was cut.”
Mrs. Greene looked closer.
Annie was right.
This wasn't torn cloth.
It had been sliced cleanly.
Charles ordered everyone downstairs.
He then called the head of security, Daniel Ross.
Daniel was a broad-shouldered man in his forties who had worked for Charles for twelve years.
He examined the passage.
“There are no cameras in there.”
“Why not?” Charles asked.
“Because according to the building plans, it doesn't exist.”
Charles's expression darkened.
“Check every camera.”
Daniel hesitated.
“What?”
“The foyer camera went offline at 9:14 this morning.”
“When did the vase break?”
“9:17.”
Annie felt a chill.
Three minutes.
Someone had planned it.
Charles ordered Daniel to review all security footage.
By afternoon, Whitmore House no longer felt like a mansion.
It felt like a locked room containing a secret.
Annie found Mrs. Greene alone in the laundry room.
“You knew about the passage.”
Mrs. Greene continued folding towels.
“Yes.”
“Who else knows?”
“I don't know.”
“Mrs. Greene.”
“Margaret.”
Annie softened.
“Margaret, someone is trying to blame you.”
The older woman's hands stopped.
“That wouldn't be the first time.”
Annie stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Margaret resumed folding.
“Some families keep photographs. The Whitmores keep secrets.”
“About Evelyn?”
Margaret's eyes lifted.
“Evelyn wasn't always like this.”
“What happened?”
“Her mother died.”
Annie had heard that Catherine Whitmore died when Evelyn was fourteen.
“Was it an accident?”
Margaret's hands tightened around the towel.
“That depends who you ask.”
Before Annie could continue, Evelyn entered.
Margaret immediately left.
Evelyn closed the door.
“You enjoy digging.”
“I enjoy knowing why innocent people are being threatened.”
“You know nothing about innocence.”
“Then tell me.”
Evelyn approached.
“You think I'm some spoiled billionaire's daughter who enjoys frightening servants.”
“That's more or less the introduction I've received.”
For the first time, Evelyn looked ashamed.
Only for a second.
“My mother died in this house.”
“I know.”
“No. You know what newspapers said.”
Evelyn opened a cabinet and removed a folded sheet.
It was an old newspaper clipping.
CATHERINE WHITMORE DIES AFTER FALL.
“She fell from the west balcony,” Evelyn said.
“I was fourteen.”
Annie waited.
“I told everyone I saw someone with her.”
“Who?”
“I couldn't see the face.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody believed me.”
“Your father?”
Evelyn's expression hardened.
“He told me grief creates memories.”
Annie began to understand.
Not excuse.
Understand.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because this morning's photograph was taken from the same balcony.”
Annie looked at the picture again.
Her stomach tightened.
Then Daniel burst into the laundry room.
“Mr. Whitmore wants both of you downstairs.”
They hurried to the security office.
Charles stood before a wall of monitors.
Daniel rewound footage from a camera overlooking the rear corridor.
At 9:12 a.m., someone entered the old service passage.
The figure wore a gray maid uniform.
The face was hidden.
Daniel froze the image.
“That's not Margaret,” Annie said.
The person was too tall.
Charles leaned closer.
Something protruded from the figure's pocket.
A silver chain.
Evelyn suddenly whispered, “No.”
Charles looked at her.
“You recognize it?”
She backed away.
“Evelyn?”
The screen flickered.
Another camera feed appeared.
It showed footage recorded the previous night.
Someone was standing outside Evelyn's bedroom.
The figure slowly raised their face toward the camera.
Charles stopped breathing.
Margaret screamed.
May you like
Annie stared at the screen.
The woman had been dead for thirteen years.
