Chapter 2 - The House That Was Never Sold

Dinner never happened.

Vincent left the ballroom six minutes after hearing his father’s voice.

Mr. Bennett went with him.

So did I.

I had not expected that part.

Vincent stopped beside the black sedan in the courtyard and looked at me.

“Evelyn.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You heard everything.”

I nodded.

“You also saw Camilla before Charles entered the ballroom.”

“Yes.”

“Then you stay with us.”

Camilla came through the front doors.

Her red velvet dress looked almost black beneath the courtyard lights.

“Vincent, don’t go there.”

He opened the car door.

“You knew my father was alive.”

“I knew he had been alive.”

Vincent froze.

Had been.

Two words.

That was all it took.

“What does that mean?”

Camilla looked at Mr. Bennett.

The old man said nothing.

“Answer me,” Vincent said.

Camilla swallowed.

“Raymond found the house three weeks ago.”

Vincent’s hand tightened around the door.

“And?”

“I don’t know what happened after that.”

Mr. Bennett looked at her.

“You know enough.”

She shook her head.

“I tried to stop him.”

“After helping him find Dominic.”

“I didn’t know what Raymond planned.”

Vincent laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“My father warned me not to tell you where I was going.”

Camilla stepped closer.

“Then listen to him.”

That surprised all of us.

Even Mr. Bennett.

Camilla lowered her voice.

“Raymond has men watching the main road.”

Vincent stared at her.

“How do you know?”

“Because he told them to follow you if you left tonight.”

Behind us, the estate doors opened again.

Uncle Raymond walked outside.

Black dinner jacket.

Silver hair.

Calm face.

He looked like a man coming out to say goodbye to guests.

Not a man who had just heard a dead brother speak through a cracked phone.

“Vincent,” he called.

Vincent got into the car.

Mr. Bennett pointed toward the passenger seat.

“Let Evelyn drive.”

I looked at him.

“Me?”

“You know the staff road behind the orchard.”

I did.

Vincent handed me the keys.

We left through the service gate.

No headlights for the first thirty seconds.

I could see Raymond standing in the courtyard behind us.

Camilla beside him.

Neither moved.

The summer house was forty-two miles north of Boston.

Vincent barely spoke.

Mr. Bennett sat in the back with the wooden box across his knees.

After twenty minutes, Vincent finally asked the question.

“Why tonight?”

Mr. Bennett looked out the window.

“Because your father said the engagement dinner would force Raymond to move.”

“Move what?”

“Money.”

Vincent turned slightly.

“What money?”

“Enough to make fourteen years of lies worth killing for.”

I kept my eyes on the road.

Vincent’s voice hardened.

“Charles.”

The old man sighed.

“Your father did not disappear because of a family war.”

Vincent looked back at him.

“He disappeared because of Raymond.”

Silence filled the car.

Mr. Bennett continued.

“Dominic discovered someone was taking money from Marino companies and moving it through construction firms that existed only on paper.”

“Raymond?”

“He suspected him.”

“Suspected?”

“He needed proof.”

“And Camilla?”

Mr. Bennett looked at the box.

“She became proof.”

We reached the lake shortly after midnight.

The house sat behind bare trees.

Small.

White siding.

Dark windows.

Vincent stared through the windshield.

“I remember that porch.”

Mr. Bennett opened his door.

“Your father rebuilt it exactly.”

We approached without speaking.

The front door was unlocked.

That frightened me more than if it had been broken.

Vincent entered first.

“Dad?”

Nothing.

We crossed a narrow hallway.

A lamp was on in the kitchen.

Two cups sat on the table.

One still warm.

Mr. Bennett touched it.

“He was here.”

Vincent looked toward the back door.

It stood open.

Cold air moved through the room.

Then I saw the blood.

Not much.

Three drops beside the chair.

Another near the back threshold.

Vincent saw them too.

“Dad?”

He ran outside.

Mr. Bennett followed.

I reached for my phone.

No signal.

Then something vibrated on the kitchen counter.

A second phone.

Not Vincent’s.

Not mine.

Mr. Bennett returned and stared at it.

“That’s Dominic’s.”

Vincent came back from the yard.

His face was white.

“No one outside.”

The phone vibrated again.

One new message.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

Vincent opened it.

There was a photograph.

Taken from somewhere in the trees.

The three of us standing inside the kitchen.

Below it were six words.

YOU CAME TO THE WRONG HOUSE.

Vincent stared at the screen.

Mr. Bennett whispered:

“No.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

His eyes moved to the ceiling.

“The house was never the meeting place.”

Vincent turned.

“Then what is it?”

Mr. Bennett looked toward the old staircase.

“A test.”

A floorboard creaked above us.

Vincent’s hand moved beneath his jacket.

We all looked up.

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Someone was in the house.

And they had been waiting before we arrived.