Chapter 4 - The Father Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Claire stared at the photograph and said, "My father died twelve years ago."
Dominic placed the old picture beside the new one.
The same silver watch appeared on both wrists.
A deep scratch crossed its face.
Claire suddenly stopped breathing.
"My mother identified his body."
The stranger at the end of the corridor said nothing.
Dominic kept himself between Claire and the man.
"Name."
"Peter Sloan."
"Occupation?"
"Private investigator."
"Who hired you?"
"Elias."
"When?"
"Eight months ago."
Claire stepped around Dominic.
"Why did Elias hire you to find my dead father?"
Sloan looked at her.
"Because he didn't believe Thomas Bell died."
Claire swayed slightly.
Dominic caught her elbow.
She pulled away.
"I don't need—"
"I know."
He released her.
Sloan continued.
"Your father was officially killed in a warehouse fire. Dental records confirmed the identification."
Claire nodded mechanically.
"I was seventeen."
"The dental records were falsified."
"No."
"They were."
"My mother saw the body."
"There wasn't enough left to recognize."
Claire's face tightened.
Sloan looked apologetic.
"Someone needed Thomas Bell legally dead."
Dominic stared at him.
"Frank."
"Possibly."
"You've been investigating eight months and that's your answer?"
"Because every time I got close, someone cleaned the trail."
Claire held the photograph.
"Where was this taken?"
"Providence."
"When?"
"Tuesday."
"He knows you're following him?"
"I think so."
"Why didn't he contact me?"
Sloan hesitated.
Claire saw it.
"What?"
"He did."
She stared.
"No."
"Three letters."
"I never received them."
"That doesn't mean he didn't send them."
Dominic's expression hardened.
"Who had access to her mail?"
Claire answered.
"My mother."
Silence.
Dominic looked at her.
Claire looked away.
Sloan handed over a business card.
"There's an address on the back. Your father used it twice."
Dominic took the card.
"We'll contact you."
Sloan nodded.
Then he looked at Claire again.
"Elias believed Thomas disappeared because he knew what Frank and Dominic's father were building."
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"My father is dead."
"I know."
"And you should be careful how you speak about him."
Sloan did not flinch.
"Dead men can still ruin the living."
Then he walked away.
Claire and Dominic remained in the corridor.
Commuters moved beyond the entrance.
Announcements echoed overhead.
Life continued as though Claire's entire history had not just cracked open.
She turned to Dominic.
"Take me home."
"Which home?"
"My mother's."
"No."
"Dominic."
"Absolutely not."
"I need answers."
"You need a plan."
"My father may be alive."
"Which means someone lied to you for twelve years."
Claire's eyes flashed.
"Exactly."
"And you're proposing to walk directly into the house of the woman who may have intercepted his letters."
"She's my mother."
"That doesn't make her safe."
Claire looked at him.
"Did your father ever lie to you?"
Dominic went still.
She immediately understood.
"Right."
"That's different."
"Why?"
"Because I knew what he was."
"And I didn't know what my mother was."
Dominic had no answer.
Twenty minutes later they were driving to Quincy.
Claire stared straight ahead.
Dominic drove with one hand on the wheel.
"Tell me about him," he said.
"My father?"
"Yes."
Claire swallowed.
"He made pancakes on Sundays."
Dominic waited.
"He couldn't cook anything else. Burned eggs. Burned bacon. Somehow pancakes were perfect."
A small smile appeared.
"He called me Cricket."
"Why?"
"I talked too much."
Dominic glanced at her.
"I find that believable."
She almost laughed.
Almost.
"He bought me books."
"What kind?"
"Anything I wanted."
"Good man?"
"I thought so."
"Maybe he still is."
Claire's smile vanished.
"If he left voluntarily, he isn't."
Dominic understood.
Abandonment had its own mathematics.
Twelve years.
Birthdays missed.
Christmases missed.
Funerals.
Lonely dinners.
A thousand occasions where absence became a choice.
They reached her mother's house at 8:30.
A modest colonial near Wollaston Beach.
Claire got out.
Dominic followed.
"You don't need to come inside."
"That wasn't a request."
"Marriage has made you bossier."
"I was bossy before."
"Good point."
Her mother opened the door before they knocked.
Margaret Bell was sixty, thin, elegant, and dressed as though she had known they were coming.
Her eyes moved from Claire to Dominic.
Then to their joined hands.
"You married him."
Claire frowned.
"How did you know?"
Margaret stepped back.
"Come inside."
Dominic did not move.
"Answer her."
Margaret looked at him.
For the first time, fear appeared.
"I saw the announcement."
"There was no announcement," Claire said.
Silence.
Margaret's mistake hung between them.
Claire stepped inside.
"Mom."
"Claire."
"Was Dad alive after the fire?"
Margaret closed her eyes.
That was the answer.
Claire staggered.
Dominic touched her back.
Not controlling.
Just there.
Margaret whispered, "I wanted to tell you."
Claire laughed once.
It sounded broken.
"Twelve years?"
"It wasn't safe."
"So you let me bury him?"
"I was protecting you."
"From what?"
"From Frank."
Dominic shut the door.
"Start talking."
Margaret looked at him.
"You're just like your father."
Dominic's face went cold.
"Careful."
"That wasn't an insult."
"It sounded like one."
Margaret sat.
Claire remained standing.
"Thomas discovered that Frank and Salvatore Castellano were moving money through construction companies."
Dominic frowned.
"My father and Frank hated each other."
"Later."
Margaret looked at him.
"They were partners first."
Dominic said nothing.
"Saint Michael," Claire whispered.
Margaret's eyes snapped toward her.
Dominic saw it.
"You know the name."
Margaret's hands tightened.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Elias."
Margaret stood abruptly.
"You need to leave."
"No," Claire said.
"Now."
"Mom."
"Claire, please."
Dominic moved toward the window.
A black sedan sat across the street.
Engine running.
He hadn't seen it when they arrived.
"Down."
Claire reacted immediately.
Margaret did not.
Dominic pulled both women away from the front window.
The sedan rolled forward.
Stopped.
Nothing happened.
Then a phone inside Margaret's kitchen began ringing.
Not her cell.
An old landline.
Margaret turned pale.
"Don't answer," Dominic said.
It rang again.
Claire looked at her mother.
"Who calls that number?"
Margaret whispered, "Only one person."
Dominic stared at her.
"Thomas?"
Margaret nodded.
Claire moved.
Dominic caught her wrist.
"No."
"Let go."
"Speaker."
She glared.
"Speaker."
Claire picked up.
Pressed the button.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
Older.
Rough.
"Cricket?"
Claire stopped breathing.
Tears filled her eyes instantly.
"Dad?"
Dominic watched every window.
The voice continued.
"You have to get away from Dominic Castellano."
Claire looked at her husband.
Dominic's face hardened.
"Why?"
"Because Elias didn't die from his illness."
Dominic went still.
Claire gripped the phone.
"What are you saying?"
Thomas Bell answered.
"Someone helped him die early."
Margaret covered her mouth.
Claire whispered, "Who?"
A loud crash sounded upstairs.
Dominic drew his weapon and moved in front of Claire.
Someone had entered the house.
He looked toward the staircase.
One floorboard creaked.
Then another.
A man's shoe appeared at the top step.
Dominic raised the gun.
May you like
And Claire's mother whispered the name before she could stop herself.
"Frank."
