Chapter 2 - The Ferry at Dawn
Vincent Bellini arrived at the harbor before sunrise.
Captain Henry Walsh was already there.
So was I.
Claire Parker.
Maid.
Twenty-eight.
I had not been invited.
Vincent noticed.
“You came.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because every time someone says I shouldn’t be involved, something important happens.”
Henry smiled.
Vincent did not.
The ferry waited at the dock.
Small.
Private.
Old.
Two names were printed on the ticket.
VINCENT BELLINI.
ANNA COLE.
Vincent stared at them.
“Where is she?”
Henry looked toward the parking area.
“She said she would come alone.”
Vincent checked the time.
6:12 a.m.
Departure.
6:20.
At 6:17, a black sedan stopped near the pier.
A woman stepped out.
Early sixties.
Gray coat.
Dark hair streaked with silver.
She stood still.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Anna Cole.
His biological mother.
She looked at him.
Not at Henry.
Not at me.
Only Vincent.
“Hello.”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“You knew what I looked like.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“How?”
She reached into her coat.
Photographs.
Newspaper clippings.
Magazine articles.
One picture showed Vincent at twenty-one.
Another at twenty-eight.
Another from three weeks earlier.
His engagement announcement.
Vincent looked at Rebecca’s face beside his.
Then at Anna.
“You watched me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
Anna’s eyes filled.
“Because your father asked me not to.”
Silence.
Vincent stared.
“My father kept you away.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He was trying to keep us alive.”
Vincent looked at Henry.
The captain turned away.
Anna continued.
“Michael learned people were still watching you.”
“Who?”
“Your grandfather’s old associates.”
“He died eleven years ago.”
“His influence didn’t.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“And Thomas?”
Anna looked down.
“Thomas knew some of them.”
Rebecca’s father again.
Of course.
The ferry horn sounded.
Henry said:
“We leave now.”
Vincent didn’t move.
“Where are we going?”
Anna looked at him.
“To the island.”
The private island where Michael had confronted Thomas seventeen years earlier.
Vincent stared.
“Why?”
“Because your father left something there.”
“What?”
Anna hesitated.
“A confession.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“About what?”
“About why he disappeared.”
The ferry pulled away.
Rebecca appeared on the pier as we left.
Dark coat.
No red gown.
She ran toward the edge.
“Vincent!”
He looked at her.
She held up an envelope.
“Your father wrote this!”
Vincent stood.
The ferry was already too far.
Rebecca shouted:
“My father kept it!”
Anna’s expression changed.
Henry noticed.
“You know that letter.”
Anna whispered:
“Yes.”
Vincent turned.
“What is it?”
She looked at him.
“The one Michael wrote before he died.”
Vincent stared at Rebecca shrinking on the dock.
Then at Anna.
“You told me he left a confession on the island.”
“He did.”
“So what is in that letter?”
Anna looked toward the water.
“The name of the person who made him stay away from you.”
Vincent’s voice became cold.
“Thomas?”
Anna shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
She looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Vincent stopped.
“Which mother?”
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