Chapter 1 - THE BOOK HIS WIFE TOOK WITH HER
Vincent Moretti looked at the book as if Sophia had pulled a weapon from her cardigan.
Elina saw it.
Marco saw it too.
The two guards near the staircase finally stopped pretending not to listen.
Sophia only hugged the book tighter.
Vincent’s voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Where did you get that?”
Sophia looked down at the faded blue cover.
“In the little room.”
“What little room?”
“The one with the broken chair.”
Elina’s stomach tightened.
There were thirty-two rooms in the mansion if closets large enough to qualify as rooms were counted.
“The old sewing room?” she asked.
Sophia nodded.
Vincent gripped the edge of the study door.
“That room is locked.”
Sophia thought about this.
“Not today.”
Marco immediately lifted his phone.
Vincent looked at him.
“No.”
Marco stopped.
Good.
No alarm yet.
No men running through halls because a seven-year-old had found a book.
Vincent extended his hand.
“May I see it?”
Sophia looked at Elina.
Elina almost answered for her.
Stopped.
Sophia considered.
Then walked forward.
She did not give Vincent the book.
She opened it.
The first page was empty except for a name written in faded black ink.
ANNA MORETTI.
Vincent closed his eyes.
Elina knew the name.
Everyone in the house did.
Anna Moretti had been Vincent’s wife.
She had died five years earlier.
Not in a shooting.
Not in some story whispered around Federal Hill.
Cancer.
Pancreatic.
Fast.
Four months from diagnosis to funeral.
Elina had been working at the estate for only a year then.
She remembered Anna as a woman who wore gardening gloves in the kitchen because she was always forgetting where she put them.
She remembered laughter.
She remembered the house before silence became one of its permanent rooms.
Vincent opened his eyes.
“What is the title?”
Sophia turned the cover outward.
THE BLUE GARDEN.
A children’s book.
Old.
Nothing special.
Except Vincent looked as though it had split him open.
Marco said quietly:
“Boss.”
Vincent raised one hand.
Not now.
Sophia flipped through pages.
At the center was a watercolor illustration of a girl bandaging the knee of a fox.
Underneath:
EVEN THE DEEPEST WOUNDS HEAL WHEN SOMEONE STAYS LONG ENOUGH TO CARE FOR THEM.
Sophia pointed.
“That’s what I said.”
Vincent stared.
His face changed.
Not because of the printed line.
Because something was wrong.
He reached.
“May I?”
This time Sophia handed him the book.
He held it with both hands.
Then opened the back cover.
Nothing.
He turned three pages.
Four.
Stopped at a small tear near the spine.
His breathing changed.
“What?”
Elina asked before remembering who she was speaking to.
Vincent looked at her.
Then at Marco.
“My wife was buried with this book.”
The hallway became cold.
Elina’s mouth went dry.
“What?”
Vincent looked at Sophia.
“Anna asked for it in the hospital. She said her mother read it to her when she was a child.”
His thumb moved across the cloth.
“I placed it in her hands before they closed the casket.”
Nobody spoke.
Sophia looked confused.
“What’s casket?”
Elina crouched quickly.
“A box people sometimes use when someone dies.”
Sophia frowned.
“Like a treasure box?”
Vincent made a sound.
Half laugh.
Half something worse.
“Not exactly.”
Sophia looked at him.
“You put book in?”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody took it.”
Simple.
Everyone froze again.
Children.
No euphemisms.
Vincent turned toward Marco.
“Call St. Matthew’s.”
“The cemetery?”
“Yes.”
“Elina—”
Vincent looked at her.
“Take Sophia downstairs.”
Sophia’s face tightened.
“No.”
Elina whispered:
“Baby.”
“I found it.”
Vincent knelt.
Slowly.
Not many people had seen Vincent Moretti kneel.
Sophia had now done it without asking.
“You did.”
She looked at him.
“So I can know.”
He stopped.
Good.
Then:
“You can know that the book belonged to my wife and should not have been in that room.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you going to yell?”
The question hit him.
“No.”
“Shoot somebody?”
Elina nearly died.
“Sophia.”
Vincent did not look offended.
He looked ashamed.
“No.”
Good.
Sophia nodded.
“Okay.”
Then allowed Elina to take her hand.
Before they reached the stairs, Vincent spoke.
“Elina.”
She turned.
“Do you know why that room was unlocked?”
“No.”
“Did you unlock it?”
“No.”
“Has Sophia been there before?”
Elina looked at her daughter.
Sophia shook head.
“First time.”
Vincent nodded.
No accusation.
Good.
“Thank you.”
For what?
Elina did not ask.
They went downstairs.
In the kitchen, Sophia climbed onto a chair.
Carmela? Need a different long-time staff perhaps Rosa Bellini? Let's introduce Teresa Romano, cook. Teresa was sixty-two and had been with Morettis longer than Elina.
Teresa looked at Sophia’s face.
“What happened?”
Sophia said:
“Mr. Vincent’s dead wife’s book came back.”
Teresa dropped a spoon.
Elina closed her eyes.
Children again.
“What?”
Elina told her quietly.
Teresa crossed herself.
“That book.”
“You knew it?”
“Anna carried it everywhere the last month.”
There.
“Why?”
Teresa looked toward ceiling.
“Because of Daniel.”
Elina frowned.
“Who is Daniel?”
Teresa froze.
Then turned back to stove.
“Nothing.”
Elina stared.
“Teresa.”
“No.”
“Who is Daniel?”
Teresa stirred sauce that did not need stirring.
“I said nothing.”
Sophia watched.
Then:
“You said Daniel.”
Teresa looked at child.
Defeated by grammar.
“Mr. Vincent’s son.”
Elina stopped breathing.
“Vincent has a son?”
“Had.”
Past tense.
“What happened?”
Teresa looked at the hallway.
“Not my story.”
Good.
No gossip.
But something had shifted.
Vincent had a dead wife.
Maybe a dead son.
Three days locked in study.
A book buried with Anna returned.
This was not ordinary grief.
At 8:30, Marco came into kitchen.
“Elina.”
She stiffened.
“Yes?”
“Vincent wants to speak with you.”
Sophia immediately said:
“I’m coming.”
“No,” Elina said.
Marco looked at Sophia.
Then:
“Actually, he asked for both.”
Elina stared.
Good.
No secret use of child.
They went to study.
The door stood open now.
Inside:
Books.
Dark wood.
Cold fireplace.
Three untouched coffee cups from previous days.
On the desk lay the blue book inside a clear plastic sleeve.
Not evidence bag exactly.
But careful.
A priest sat nearby.
Father Gabriel Marchetti? Avoid. Let's use Father Thomas Rinaldi? Mafia surnames overused. Father Thomas Avery from St. Matthew’s.
He looked seventy.
Rain on coat.
Vincent stood at window.
“Father Avery buried Anna.”
The priest corrected gently.
“I performed the service. Cemetery staff handled interment.”
Good.
Vincent turned.
“Tell her.”
Father Avery looked at Elina.
“Mrs. Moretti’s casket was closed at the funeral home.”
“Did you see the book?”
“Yes.”
“In her hands?”
“Yes.”
“After closing?”
“No.”
“So it could have been removed before burial.”
“Yes.”
Vincent’s face tightened.
Important.
No grave robbery assumption.
The funeral home.
Father Avery continued.
“Vincent asked cemetery superintendent to verify burial records. There has been no disturbance noted.”
Good.
Sophia swung feet from chair.
“So somebody took it before.”
Father Avery smiled faintly.
“Possibly.”
“Who?”
No one knew.
Marco entered.
“I found the sewing-room lock.”
He placed old brass latch on desk.
“Not forced. Screws removed.”
“Recently?” Vincent asked.
“Hard to tell. Dust pattern says within weeks, not years.”
Elina’s stomach tightened.
Someone had opened the room deliberately.
“Why hide the book there?” she asked.
Vincent looked at her.
“Exactly.”
Then he opened a desk drawer.
Removed an envelope.
This was why he had been locked inside three days.
Elina understood before he explained.
“I received this Sunday.”
Plain white envelope.
No stamp.
Left under study door.
Inside:
One sentence.
ASK ANNA WHAT HAPPENED TO DANIEL.
Elina’s skin turned cold.
Sophia looked at Vincent.
“Daniel is your son.”
He stared at her.
“Yes.”
“Did he die too?”
Vincent’s face broke.
“Yes.”
“How?”
A room full of adults went silent.
Vincent sat.
Not behind desk.
Across from Sophia.
“He was seventeen.”
His voice rough.
“He died in a car crash nine years ago.”
Sophia thought.
“Was your wife his mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know something?”
Vincent looked at envelope.
“That is what someone wants me to believe.”
Good.
Not:
Yes.
“What did you think before?”
Elina asked.
“Road was wet. Daniel drove too fast. Car left bridge approach.”
Police finding.
No other vehicle.
No mechanical fault.
Same old terrible ordinary thing.
Then Vincent said:
“Anna never accepted it.”
There.
“She thought somebody else was involved?”
“She thought Daniel was frightened before he left.”
“Of who?”
“I told her grief needed somewhere to go.”
He looked at the book.
“I was wrong about at least one thing.”
“What?”
“I thought this book was buried with her.”
Sophia slid off chair.
She walked to Vincent.
Then stopped.
“Don’t cry.”
His eyes closed.
Sophia continued.
“Even deepest wounds heal.”
Vincent looked at her.
Then did something Elina had never seen.
He answered a child honestly.
“Some don’t.”
Sophia considered.
Then:
“Maybe they still hurt but don’t bleed.”
Father Avery looked away.
Vincent went still.
No one made it profound.
Children say things.
Sometimes adults are ready to hear.
Vincent nodded.
“That might be closer.”
Then he looked at Elina.
“Who has access to the east wing?”
“Staff?”
“All.”
She listed.
Marco.
Security rotation.
Teresa.
Elina.
Two day housekeepers.
Maintenance.
Vincent.
No outside cleaners.
“Who knew Sophia might wander?”
Elina’s body stiffened.
“No one.”
Vincent immediately said:
“I am not blaming you.”
Good.
“Then why put book where she would find?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the real fear.
Maybe Sophia was not intended.
Maybe anyone could find.
Then Marco said:
“We checked room.”
“What?”
“Another item.”
He placed a child’s red scarf on desk.
Vincent stood so fast chair moved.
No question.
He knew it.
“Daniel’s.”
Sophia looked at scarf.
Vincent touched nothing.
Marco continued.
“It was under sewing basket. Clean. No moth damage.”
“Where was it supposed to be?”
Vincent looked at Father Avery.
“With Anna.”
Elina’s stomach dropped.
Book.
Scarf.
Two objects meant to be in Anna’s casket.
Now inside the house.
Not ghosts.
Hands.
A living person had taken them before burial.
Kept them five years.
Then returned them exactly when Vincent received a message about Daniel.
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Call funeral home.”
Then stopped.
Old instinct.
Command.
Private men.
He corrected.
“Call my attorney first. If there was theft from the casket before burial, I want it documented properly.”
Marco nodded.
Good.
Sophia looked at blue book.
Then at Vincent.
“Can I have it back?”
Everyone stared.
She added:
“After police.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“No.”
“Why?”
“It belonged to Anna.”
Sophia frowned.
“She’s dead.”
Children.
Again.
Vincent breathed.
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t reading it.”
Elina pressed lips together.
Father Avery failed and laughed quietly.
Vincent stared at Sophia.
Then:
“Maybe later.”
She nodded.
Fair.
The study door stayed open that night.
First time in three days.
Not because Vincent was healed.
Because grief had stopped being the only thing inside it.
May you like
Now there was a question.
And questions require doors.
