Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN BLUE
Celeste Moretti was found in the greenhouse.
She was sitting beside the koi pond with her shoes off, a glass of water in one hand, and no visible concern that half the estate had just been locked down because of her.
When Dominic and I entered, she looked up.
“Finally.”
I stopped three feet inside the door.
“You opened my office.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the child needed to find you.”
Behind me, Allie inhaled sharply.
Lily was not with us. I had insisted she remain upstairs with Rosa, one of the cooks, and two security people Dominic trusted enough to stake his life on.
My tolerance for trust had become very specific.
I looked at Celeste.
“What are you talking about?”
She placed the water glass on the stone ledge.
“You think Sofia left one plan?”
My hands tightened.
“You knew about the book.”
“I knew a book existed.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“No.”
Celeste had been married to my cousin Adrian for eight years. Elegant. Calm. The kind of woman who could sit beside senators and criminals at the same dinner and make both groups feel underdressed.
Sofia had liked her.
I had forgotten how much.
They went to galleries together. Argued about novels. Once disappeared to Milwaukee for a weekend because Sofia found a restaurant serving a cake their grandmother used to make.
“What did Sofia tell you?”
Celeste studied me.
“That you would turn grief into punishment if she died.”
I felt Allie look at the gray blanket still folded over my arm.
I ignored it.
“What else?”
“That you would stop sleeping in your bedroom.”
My throat tightened.
“That you would keep the office too cold.”
Allie’s face changed.
Dominic looked at the ceiling.
Celeste continued.
“And that you would convince yourself suffering was loyalty.”
I stared at her.
For three years, nobody had dared describe what I was doing.
Sofia had apparently done it in advance.
“When did she say that?”
“Three days before the crash.”
The greenhouse became too warm.
“What crash?”
Celeste gave me a sad look.
“Her crash, Murphy.”
“No. I mean when did she know there would be one?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then why was she planning for death?”
“Because she knew somebody was following her.”
I turned toward Dominic.
He had already started writing notes.
Celeste continued.
“She came to me after she found the housing records. She believed someone inside Moretti Holdings was using your companies to move money through emergency relocation contracts.”
“Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew he paid Rusk.”
“I learned later.”
“Did Adrian know?”
Her face tightened.
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“No.”
That honesty mattered.
I walked closer.
“Why did you unlock my office for Lily?”
“I left something outside the door.”
“The book?”
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
“What?”
Celeste frowned.
“I left Sofia’s white rabbit. Her childhood toy.”
Allie went pale.
“Lily did not have a white rabbit.”
“No.”
“She entered holding the blue book.”
“Yes.”
“So someone else put the book where Lily would find it.”
Celeste nodded.
A second hand moving the pieces.
Maybe Sofia’s.
Maybe the killer’s.
“What was the white rabbit supposed to do?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why leave it?”
“It was a signal.”
“To whom?”
Celeste looked at me.
“Margaret Bell.”
The retired cleaner.
The woman whose name appeared in the executive access logs.
My pulse slowed.
“She’s alive.”
“Yes.”
“You know where she is.”
“Yes.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Address.”
Celeste looked at him.
“She will not meet you.”
“She doesn’t get to decide.”
Allie spoke quietly.
“Yes, she does.”
Dominic looked at her.
So did I.
Allie folded her arms.
“If Sofia trusted this woman enough to build a plan around her, storming her house with armed men proves exactly why she hid.”
I hated how reasonable that was.
Dominic hated it too.
Celeste almost smiled.
“Sofia would have liked you.”
Allie’s eyes sharpened.
“I was with her the night she died.”
Celeste’s smile disappeared.
“I know.”
“What?”
“Sofia wrote about you.”
The room went still.
Allie looked stunned.
“Why?”
Celeste reached into her handbag slowly.
Dominic’s posture changed.
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s paper, Dominic.”
She removed an envelope and handed it to Allie.
On the front, in Sofia’s handwriting:
FOR THE GIRL WHO STAYED.
Allie’s hands shook.
“What is this?”
“I was told to hold it until the blue book reached Murphy and the person carrying it was someone you had chosen to trust.”
“I didn’t carry the book.”
“Your daughter did.”
Allie looked toward the house.
I understood the logic.
Sofia had not selected Lily.
She could not have.
She had selected Allie.
And time had delivered Lily instead.
“Open it,” I said.
Allie looked at me.
“It’s addressed to her,” Celeste said.
I nodded.
Allie opened it.
One page.
She read silently first.
Then covered her mouth.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Sofia says she remembered me from transport.”
I said nothing.
“She wrote that everyone in the hospital treated her like either a Moretti or a tragedy.”
Allie’s eyes filled.
“But I treated her like a patient who hated orange gelatin.”
I remembered Sofia throwing orange gelatin at a wall.
She had blamed medication.
It was almost certainly intentional.
Allie laughed through tears.
“She says, ‘If Murphy ever lets you close enough to tell him anything, remind him that fear makes people stupid, including him.’”
Dominic coughed into his fist.
I stared.
“Anything useful?”
Allie gave me a look.
“Yes.”
She continued.
“Sofia says Margaret saw the man who used Adrian’s terminal. And that Vincent paid Rusk, but not for the reason we’ll assume.”
My jaw tightened.
“What reason?”
“She doesn’t say.”
“Of course.”
“There’s another line.”
“What?”
Allie’s voice dropped.
“‘If Vinny lies, ask him who was supposed to stay dead.’”
The greenhouse disappeared around me.
Who was supposed to stay dead.
I knew too many dead Morettis.
My mother.
My father.
Two cousins.
Men whose funerals I barely remembered because funerals were a family calendar.
But only one death had changed the structure of everything.
My father.
Michael Moretti died eleven years ago in federal custody.
Heart attack.
Closed casket.
He had been serving twelve years for racketeering and tax crimes.
Vincent took care of Sofia and me afterward.
Vincent became the uncle who made sure tuition got paid, birthdays happened, security stayed close.
He also became the man Sofia had investigated.
“Where is Margaret?” I asked.
Celeste gave us a town in Wisconsin.
A lakeside place two hours north.
“She has no cell phone.”
“Smart.”
“She will see Murphy.”
“Alone?” Dominic asked.
“No,” Allie said immediately.
I looked at her.
She met my eyes.
“No.”
“Miss Carter—”
“Murphy.”
The use of my first name stopped me.
“You spent three years sleeping in a freezer with a gun under a cushion. I’m not trusting your definition of a calm family meeting.”
Celeste looked delighted.
Dominic looked away so I would not see him smile.
“I can control myself.”
“Good. Prove it with witnesses.”
She was right.
Annoying woman.
“Fine.”
Lily appeared in the greenhouse doorway holding Fantasma like a sack of flour.
Rosa followed, apologizing.
“She escaped me.”
Lily set the cat down.
“Kitty wanted flowers.”
Fantasma fled.
Lily spotted Celeste.
“Blue lady.”
Everyone went quiet.
Celeste smiled.
“Hello.”
“You opened the door.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Celeste looked at me.
Then answered the child.
“Because your friend needed you.”
Lily walked over and took my hand.
“Mister Murphy?”
“Yes.”
“You still cold?”
“No.”
She touched the blanket.
“You have warm.”
I looked down.
The gray blanket had stayed with me all afternoon.
Not consciously.
I could have left it on the sofa.
I had carried it through security meetings, accusations, evidence reviews, and a confrontation with my cousin’s wife without realizing I was doing it.
Sofia would have laughed until she cried.
I folded it over one arm.
“We leave in twenty minutes.”
Dominic nodded.
Allie said, “Lily comes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She looked at Celeste.
“Someone inside the estate moved the book into Lily’s path. I am not leaving her here until we know who.”
That ended the argument.
We traveled in two vehicles.
Not a convoy.
No sirens.
A Wisconsin state investigator met us near the town after our attorney shared enough verified evidence to justify quiet cooperation.
I disliked involving law enforcement.
That was exactly why I needed to.
The yellow house beside the lake looked too ordinary to hold three years of secrets.
Wind chimes.
Blue porch chair.
A ceramic frog by the steps.
Margaret Bell opened the door before we knocked.
She was almost eighty.
White hair.
Sharp eyes.
She looked at me.
Then at the gray blanket over my arm.
Her face softened.
“Took you long enough.”
I stared at her.
“You knew I was coming.”
“Celeste called from the gas station.”
Behind me, Dominic muttered something unkind.
Margaret noticed Lily.
Her eyes filled.
“Oh.”
Lily hid partly behind Allie.
Margaret crouched.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“I’m Lily.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Because Sofia wrote that someday a brave person might have to carry a book into a house full of cowards.”
Dominic sighed.
I said, “She was dramatic.”
Margaret stood.
“She was a Moretti.”
Fair.
Inside, a photograph of Sofia stood on the mantel.
Alive.
Smiling beside Margaret.
I touched the frame.
“When?”
“Two weeks before the crash.”
“What did you see in Adrian’s office?”
Margaret’s expression changed.
“A man at the terminal.”
“Vincent?”
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. He had a hardware key. He logged in after midnight.”
“Did he see you?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He told me to forget it.”
“Threat?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“He looked frightened.”
“Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
Margaret walked to an old cabinet.
She removed a metal cash box.
Inside were photographs, receipts, and an audio cassette.
She handed me one photograph.
Sofia standing outside a diner.
Beside her was Vincent.
And a third man.
Older.
Gray-haired.
Alive.
My father.
My fingers went numb.
“No.”
Margaret said nothing.
I looked closer.
Michael Moretti.
Same broken nose.
Same heavy eyebrows.
Same scar beneath his chin from a bar fight before I was born.
The date printed on the photograph was three years ago.
Six weeks before Sofia died.
I sat down because I had no choice.
Allie moved closer.
Did not touch me.
Good.
I could not have handled kindness yet.
“My father died eleven years ago.”
Margaret’s voice was gentle.
“No.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Who was supposed to stay dead.”
Sofia’s line.
Margaret nodded.
“Michael entered witness protection after cooperating with federal prosecutors.”
The room went silent.
Dominic whispered, “Jesus.”
I barely heard him.
“Vincent knew.”
“Yes.”
“He let us bury an empty coffin.”
“Yes.”
“He raised us while Dad lived somewhere else.”
“Yes.”
“Why did Sofia find him?”
“Because the housing companies she was tracing touched one of Michael’s protected financial identities.”
My chest tightened.
“So Dad was involved.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Sofia believed someone was using his identity after he disappeared.”
“Who?”
“She was trying to prove it.”
“Vincent?”
Margaret looked at the cassette.
“Listen.”
She placed it into an old player.
Static.
Then Vincent’s voice.
“Find out what Sofia has.”
Another voice.
Rusk.
“And if she won’t give it?”
“Scare her.”
A pause.
Rusk laughed.
“She scare easy?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Vincent’s voice became quieter.
“Use Murphy.”
The tape ended.
I felt nothing for several seconds.
Then everything.
My uncle.
My father.
My sister.
Fear moving between them like inheritance.
Lily walked over.
She placed her small hand on my knee.
“You got rain.”
I looked down.
“What?”
“In your heart.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
She climbed onto the chair beside me and pulled one corner of the blanket over my hand.
Margaret watched.
Then she said, “Sofia was right.”
I opened my eyes.
“About what?”
“She said the evidence would only matter when you finally wanted truth more than revenge.”
My phone rang.
Vincent.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice sounded wrong.
“Murphy, listen carefully.”
“Is my father alive?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
The word broke something permanent.
I stood.
“You let me bury him.”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“I was protecting—”
A gunshot exploded through the phone.
Allie gasped.
I gripped the device.
“Vincent!”
Glass shattered on his end.
Someone shouted.
Then the line went dead.
Dominic was already moving.
Margaret whispered, “They found him.”
I looked at my father’s face in the photograph.
Alive.
Then at Sofia beside him.
Dead.
May you like
And suddenly the past was not a graveyard anymore.
It was an active crime scene.
