Chapter 4 - The Woman at the Lake
Catherine Romano’s living room contained no photographs.
Norah noticed immediately.
People who erase photographs usually have a reason.
Sebastian noticed something else.
A silver music box on the mantel.
His mother had owned one exactly like it.
He crossed the room.
Catherine said, “Don’t.”
He stopped.
Not because she raised her voice.
Because something in it sounded like Mirella.
Family resemblance was unfair that way.
“What did you mean?” Sebastian asked.
Catherine sat.
“Leonard believed Mirella changed sides.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Her gaze moved to Norah.
“He believed it for six hours.”
“What happened in those six hours?”
Catherine looked toward the windows.
Lake Michigan stretched gray beneath winter sky.
“The necklace disappeared.”
Sebastian remained standing.
“Start at the beginning.”
Catherine smiled faintly.
“You sound like your father.”
His face hardened.
“Don’t.”
She nodded.
“Fair.”
Norah sat opposite her.
“November fourteenth.”
Catherine looked at her.
“You heard the tape.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know Mirella planned to bring me the original necklace.”
“Why you?”
“I worked at the state attorney’s office.”
Sebastian blinked.
“You were a prosecutor?”
“For eleven years.”
“My father told me you were an art dealer.”
“I became one later.”
“Why lie?”
“Because after Mirella died, being known as the prosecutor she trusted was unhealthy.”
Norah believed that.
Catherine continued.
“Mirella had spent six months collecting records on Alessandro and Victor. Drugs. Bribes. customs officials. judges. The necklace held the compressed copies.”
“Why a necklace?” Norah asked.
“Because Alessandro knew every safe in their home.”
Sebastian looked at the floor.
Of course.
Mirella hid evidence in the one object no one questioned because it was always on her body.
“The replica?” Norah asked.
“Henri built it. Leonard created the clasp compartment for backup messages.”
“So Mirella wore the replica publicly.”
“Yes.”
“And the original held evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Catherine looked at Sebastian.
“That night, Mirella called me at six. She said she had the necklace and was leaving.”
“She never arrived.”
“No.”
“When did Leonard think she changed sides?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Why?”
“Because he went to Henri’s shop after finding him injured.”
Julian’s father.
“Henri told him Mirella had taken both necklaces.”
Norah frowned.
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“The original and replica.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We never knew.”
Sebastian said, “Maybe she planned to destroy the original.”
Catherine’s eyes hardened.
“No.”
“You said Leonard thought she changed sides.”
“Leonard was frightened. Not convinced.”
“Then what happened?”
“At eight-ten, Mirella called again.”
Sebastian stopped breathing.
“From where?”
Catherine looked at him.
“Your father’s car.”
Silence.
“Alessandro was with her?”
“We think so.”
“What did she say?”
Catherine’s face changed.
“She said, ‘Leonard was right. It isn’t safe with me.’”
Norah leaned forward.
“The necklace.”
“Yes.”
“She gave it to someone.”
“We think so.”
“Who?”
Catherine looked directly at Norah.
“That is why your father hid it from Mirella.”
Norah went cold.
“Leonard took it.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He intercepted the person Mirella trusted.”
“Who?”
Catherine stood.
Walked to the mantel.
Opened the silver music box.
Inside was a folded photograph.
She gave it to Norah.
A woman outside the old Laurent & Vale building.
Young.
Red coat.
Holding a black velvet case.
Norah did not know her.
Sebastian did.
His face changed.
“Isabel.”
Norah looked at him.
“Who?”
“My nanny.”
Catherine nodded.
“Isabel Santos.”
“She raised me until I was twelve.”
“She also worked for Mirella before you were born.”
Sebastian stared at the photograph.
“My father said she moved back to Portugal.”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
Catherine looked at Norah.
“Leonard hid her.”
The room went silent.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Isabel had the original necklace.”
Norah’s pulse accelerated.
“So Leonard did hide it.”
“He hid the person carrying it.”
“Where?”
Catherine sat again.
“Wisconsin.”
Sebastian frowned.
“Why Wisconsin?”
“Leonard had a cabin through a client. Remote. Cash purchase. No connection to Collins.”
Norah had never heard of it.
“How long did Isabel stay?”
“Three months.”
“And then?”
“She vanished.”
“Voluntarily?”
“We never knew.”
Sebastian’s voice hardened.
“My father found her.”
Catherine looked at him.
“Maybe.”
Norah noticed the wording.
“What do you know?”
Catherine hesitated.
Then:
“Two weeks after Mirella died, Leonard received a package.”
“What package?”
“No return address. Inside was one thing.”
She opened a drawer.
Removed a tiny brass object.
A broken earring back.
Sebastian stared.
“Mirella’s?”
“Yes.”
Catherine handed it to him.
“Your mother wore diamond drops the night she died. Police recovered one earring from the crash. The other was listed missing.”
Norah looked at the tiny metal piece.
“Someone sent the missing earring to Leonard.”
“Yes.”
“Message?”
“No paper.”
“Meaning?”
Catherine looked at Norah.
“Leonard believed it meant the crash was not an accident.”
Sebastian’s face became cold.
“Who else knew?”
“Henri. Leonard. Me.”
“Victor?”
“We assumed.”
“My father?”
Catherine said nothing.
Sebastian’s voice lowered.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
Norah watched him absorb it.
Seventeen years of suspicion.
Now proof his aunt had believed the same.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Catherine looked at him.
“You were twenty-one.”
“So?”
“You were already working for Alessandro.”
“I was his son.”
“You were his lieutenant.”
The distinction mattered.
Sebastian’s face hardened.
“I did what I had to.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Catherine’s voice softened.
“That is why I was afraid.”
Silence.
Norah looked at Sebastian.
He turned away.
This was not the time to rescue him from truth.
“Isabel,” Norah said. “Can we find her?”
Catherine looked at her.
“Maybe.”
“How?”
“The key.”
Norah pulled out the brass key marked 314.
“No. Different key.”
Of course.
Catherine reached beneath the music box and pressed a hidden catch.
The base opened.
Inside was a flat steel key.
Stamped:
L.C. / 22
Norah stared.
“My father again.”
“Yes.”
“What does it open?”
“A storage locker in Kenosha.”
“Still active?”
“I pay the fee every year.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“You waited seventeen years.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Catherine’s eyes moved between them.
“For Leonard’s daughter and Mirella’s son to arrive together.”
Norah almost laughed.
“Dead people really enjoyed assigning us tasks.”
Catherine smiled sadly.
“Your father believed you would see details everyone else missed.”
“He died when I was twenty-six.”
“He knew who you were becoming.”
Norah’s throat tightened.
She hated when strangers carried versions of her father she never received.
Sebastian looked at the key.
“Why both of us?”
“Because Isabel left instructions.”
“You said she vanished.”
“She did.”
“But left instructions.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Catherine recited from memory.
IF THE ROMANO BOY COMES ALONE, DO NOT GIVE IT TO HIM.
IF LEONARD’S GIRL COMES ALONE, DO NOT GIVE IT TO HER.
IF THEY COME TOGETHER, MAYBE THE OLD MEN ARE FINALLY DEAD ENOUGH TO STOP MATTERING.
Norah blinked.
“I like her.”
Sebastian looked offended.
“She called me Romano boy.”
“You are.”
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“Still.”
Catherine gave Norah the key.
“Locker twenty-two.”
“Kenosha.”
“Yes.”
“What is inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never opened it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised.”
Norah sighed.
“Promises again.”
Catherine’s face became serious.
“This one kept people alive.”
Maybe.
Or maybe it kept truth buried.
They left twenty minutes later.
Sebastian was quiet in the car.
Norah waited.
Then:
“You were a lieutenant at twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“That is young.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
He looked at her.
“You really want that answer?”
“No.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because your aunt said she was afraid of you.”
He looked out the window.
“She had reason.”
Norah felt the shape of the boundary.
She did not push.
Not yet.
“What about your sister?”
“What about her?”
“She grew up with the same father.”
“Yes.”
“Was Catherine afraid of her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Lucia left.”
“At what age?”
“Nineteen.”
“She got out.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
“My mother was dead. My father was under investigation. Victor was trying to split the organization. Someone had to hold it.”
“Someone.”
“Yes.”
“Meaning you.”
“Yes.”
Norah understood more than she wanted.
Responsibility can become identity before anyone notices.
They reached Kenosha shortly after four.
The storage facility sat behind a tire shop.
No guards.
No cameras newer than ten years.
Luca hated it.
“This place is a security nightmare.”
Norah looked at him.
“Maybe that’s why it works.”
Locker twenty-two was small.
Steel door.
Dust.
The key turned.
Inside:
One wooden crate.
One old suitcase.
One chair.
And a human skeleton.
Norah stopped.
Luca swore.
Sebastian moved in front of her instinctively.
She pushed his shoulder.
“I can see around you.”
“Stay back.”
“No.”
The skeleton sat against the wall, clothes reduced to dark fabric.
Around one wrist:
A silver bracelet.
Sebastian went still.
He knew it.
“Isabel.”
Norah’s stomach turned.
Seventeen years missing.
Here.
Catherine had been paying for a tomb.
Luca called emergency contacts.
Norah looked at the crate.
Sealed.
Stamped with Leonard Collins’s old workshop mark.
Sebastian saw it.
“Don’t.”
She stared.
“You are telling me not to open something?”
“There is a body.”
“There is also my father’s crate.”
“Police will need the scene.”
“Your police?”
His face hardened.
Fair.
Norah looked at the suitcase instead.
Its leather had cracked.
Initials:
I.S.
Isabel Santos.
Sebastian crouched.
Opened it carefully.
Inside were clothes.
Passport.
A rosary.
And one envelope.
SEBASTIAN.
His name.
He opened it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
My sweet boy,
If you found me, I am sorry.
Your mother did not die because of the necklace.
She died because she found out who you really were.
Sebastian stopped reading.
Norah looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He kept staring at the page.
Luca went silent.
Sebastian read the next line.
Alessandro Romano was not your father.
The storage locker seemed to shrink around them.
Norah thought of Julian.
One secret son.
Now another secret father.
Sebastian’s face went blank.
He read the final line.
May you like
Your mother was trying to get you out before he learned the truth.
And the only man who knew your real father’s name was Leonard Collins.
