Chapter 2 - The Man in the Crayon Drawing
I stared at Marco's phone until the image blurred.
“My apartment.”
Dominic took the phone.
“When?”
“Eight minutes ago.”
“How did you get this?”
“Guy I sent to check the street.”
I looked at Dominic.
“You already sent someone?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“That is my home.”
“And somebody is inside it.”
The anger vanished.
Lucy was still eating.
I forced myself not to look frightened.
Children read their mothers better than adults realize.
“Lucy,” I said, “would you like some ice cream?”
“Yes!”
Dominic understood immediately.
He called a housekeeper named Rosa, an older woman Lucy already knew.
“Could you take Lucy to the sunroom?”
Rosa smiled.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Lucy climbed down.
Then she remembered her rabbit.
She grabbed it and followed Rosa.
The second the door closed, I turned on Dominic.
“Tell me who that man is.”
“We're not certain.”
“That's not what your face said.”
Marco looked at Dominic.
Dominic handed the phone back.
“His name may be Raymond Voss.”
“May be?”
“The image isn't clear.”
“Who is he?”
Dominic walked toward the counter.
“A former driver.”
“For you?”
“For my family.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does your former driver want with me?”
“I don't know.”
“That's a lie.”
His eyes hardened.
“Elena.”
“No. You don't get to use that voice and make me stop asking questions. My daughter drew a man who has been outside our home. He entered your mansion. Now someone is inside my apartment. If this has anything to do with you, I deserve to know.”
Dominic was silent.
Marco quietly left.
That worried me more than if he had stayed.
Dominic rested both hands on the counter.
“Voss worked for my father.”
“Doing what?”
“Driving. Deliveries. Other things.”
“What other things?”
“Things you don't need details about.”
“I think we're past that.”
His jaw flexed.
“Voss disappeared four years ago.”
“Why?”
“He stole from people who don't forgive theft.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Your father?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
I knew Dominic's father, Salvatore Moretti, had died two years earlier.
Nobody discussed him.
“What did Voss steal?”
“Information.”
“About what?”
“People.”
I thought about the stranger outside my apartment.
“Why me?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
“I intend to.”
It was an absurd thing to say to a mafia boss.
It was more absurd that he simply nodded.
Marco returned.
“Apartment is clear.”
“Clear?”
“No one inside now. Lock was bypassed. Nothing obvious disturbed.”
I grabbed my purse.
“I'm going.”
Dominic stepped in front of me.
“No.”
“Move.”
“Elena.”
“My mother's necklace is there.”
His expression shifted.
“And Lucy's birth certificate. Her medical records. Everything.”
“I'll have them collected.”
“By strangers?”
“By people I trust.”
“I don't trust them.”
“You trust me?”
The question stopped me.
I should have said no.
Instead, silence stretched between us.
His expression softened.
“Come with me.”
We left Lucy with Rosa and drove to my apartment with Marco and two security vehicles.
Dominic drove himself.
That surprised me.
“You don't have drivers?”
“I do.”
“Then why are you driving?”
“Because I prefer controlling where I'm going.”
That sounded like him.
When we reached my building, two men were waiting outside.
Dominic entered first.
I followed.
My apartment looked normal.
That was almost worse.
The couch.
Lucy's crayons.
A cup in the sink.
Her tiny sneakers by the door.
Nothing screamed intrusion.
Dominic examined the lock.
“Professional.”
I walked toward the bedroom.
My jewelry box sat untouched.
Mom's necklace remained inside.
I checked Lucy's documents.
Still there.
“Nothing is missing.”
Dominic stood in the doorway.
“Then they weren't stealing.”
A cold feeling crawled through me.
“What were they doing?”
“Looking.”
“For what?”
He didn't answer.
We searched.
Eventually Dominic noticed something beneath Lucy's bed.
A crayon.
Black.
He picked it up.
“She's three. Crayons are everywhere.”
“Not this.”
He pointed toward the paper wrapper.
A dark smear covered it.
Grease.
Not crayon.
He smelled it.
“Machine lubricant.”
“So?”
“So someone moved this.”
I crouched.
Under the bed was Lucy's drawing box.
I pulled it out.
Dozens of pictures.
Flowers.
Rabbits.
Me.
Grandma.
Then Dominic found another drawing.
A black car.
A yellow figure.
A blue figure.
And the same dark man.
This time Lucy had drawn numbers.
I frowned.
“She can't write numbers properly.”
“She copied them.”
“From what?”
Dominic studied the drawing.
“License plate.”
My three-year-old had accidentally recorded part of a license plate.
Dominic photographed it.
Marco called it in.
Within fifteen minutes, he had an answer.
The plate belonged to a vehicle registered to a shell company.
The address was abandoned.
But the company name mattered.
Dominic recognized it.
“Voss used it years ago.”
I sat on Lucy's bed.
“So it is him.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
Dominic leaned against the dresser.
“Has anyone contacted you recently?”
“No.”
“Asked about me?”
“No.”
“Your job?”
“No.”
“Your family?”
I hesitated.
He noticed.
“What?”
“A man came to the hospital.”
“What hospital?”
“The one treating my mother.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“What did he want?”
“I don't know. Mom mentioned someone asked whether she had family visiting.”
Dominic's posture changed.
“What did he look like?”
“She didn't say.”
“Call her.”
It took two attempts.
Mom answered weakly.
“Elena?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“You sound worried.”
“I'm fine.”
Mothers always know when daughters lie.
“What's wrong?”
“Do you remember the man who asked about visitors?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him?”
“Briefly.”
“What did he look like?”
She coughed.
“Brown hair. Maybe fifty. Dark coat.”
My eyes met Dominic's.
“Anything unusual?”
Mom thought.
“A watch.”
Dominic moved closer.
“What kind?” I asked.
“Silver. Big black face.”
I closed my eyes.
Dominic took the phone gently.
“Mrs. Bennett, this is Dominic Moretti.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
Even dying mothers apparently knew the name.
“I need you to tell me exactly what that man asked.”
“He asked when Elena usually visited.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Anything else?”
“He asked whether Lucy came with her.”
My blood went cold.
Mom continued.
“I told him I didn't discuss my family with strangers.”
“Good.”
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes?”
“Is my daughter in trouble?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Not while I'm standing beside her.”
My throat tightened.
Mom was quiet.
Then she said, “That's a very specific answer.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“So I'm told.”
After the call ended, I paced the room.
“This started before Lucy came to your mansion.”
“Yes.”
“So somebody wasn't following me because I work here?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe you were chosen because you work here.”
“For what?”
“To get close.”
I stared at him.
“I clean floors.”
“You also have access.”
“To laundry closets.”
“To my home.”
“I've never entered your office.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I know who enters my office.”
Of course he did.
Dominic's phone rang.
Marco.
He listened.
“Send it.”
A photograph arrived.
Dominic showed me.
Raymond Voss.
Older than in Dominic's records.
Brown hair streaked with gray.
Heavy jaw.
Silver watch.
I recognized him.
Not from my street.
From somewhere else.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I've seen him before.”
“Where?”
I struggled to remember.
Hospital?
Grocery store?
Bus stop?
Then it came back.
“Funeral.”
Dominic stared at me.
“Whose?”
“My husband's.”
The room became silent.
My husband, Daniel Bennett, had died two and a half years earlier in what police called a highway accident.
Lucy had been six months old.
A truck had crossed lanes.
Daniel's car had gone through a barrier.
I remembered almost nothing from the funeral except grief.
But now I remembered a man standing beyond the cemetery gates.
Watching.
Silver watch.
“Why would Voss attend Daniel's funeral?”
Dominic asked.
“I don't know.”
“What did your husband do?”
“He was an accountant.”
“For whom?”
“A logistics company.”
“Name?”
“Creston Freight.”
Dominic's face changed.
“What?”
He walked away.
“Dominic.”
He looked back.
“Creston Freight once moved shipments for my father.”
My knees weakened.
“No.”
“Daniel never mentioned it?”
“Never.”
Dominic called Marco.
“Pull everything on Daniel Bennett. Employment, accounts, death report, everything.”
I stood.
“My husband wasn't involved with criminals.”
“I didn't say he was.”
“You thought it.”
“I think nothing until I have facts.”
“He was a good man.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“I believe you.”
“You didn't know him.”
“No.”
“Then how can you believe me?”
“Because you did.”
That shut me up.
We packed essentials.
Dominic refused to let us stay there.
For once, I didn't argue.
Back at the mansion, Lucy ran toward me.
“Mommy!”
I lifted her.
She hugged my neck.
Dominic picked up the stuffed rabbit she had dropped.
Something crackled inside it.
He frowned.
“Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“What's inside Bunny?”
“Stuffing.”
Dominic squeezed the rabbit gently.
Another crackle.
Paper.
Lucy reached for it.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Daddy said nobody opens Bunny.”
I froze.
“What did you say?”
She hugged the rabbit.
“Daddy said.”
“Lucy, Daddy died when you were a baby.”
She frowned, confused.
Then she pointed toward the rabbit's stitched belly.
“Daddy put secret there.”
I looked at Dominic.
He looked at me.
There was a seam beneath the rabbit's fur that I had never noticed.
Someone had sewn it shut by hand.
Dominic reached toward it.
Before he touched the thread, the mansion alarm began screaming.
Marco's voice came through Dominic's phone.
“Boss, don't open that rabbit.”
Dominic stared at him through the screen.
“Why?”
Marco swallowed.
“Because someone just called the house.”
May you like
“Who?”
“He said if you cut that seam, Elena and the child die tonight.”
