Chapter 1
“A small punishment? I’ve got a small punishment for you too.”
Mark looked at Claudia.
Claudia looked at the wooden airplane in my hand.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not me.
Not Noah.
The airplane.
My grandson remained wrapped inside my overcoat against my chest, his bare feet tucked beneath the fabric. He was shivering less now.
I lowered my voice.
“Shoes.”
Nobody moved.
I looked at Mark.
“Your son’s shoes.”
He swallowed.
“They’re upstairs.”
“Why isn’t he wearing them?”
Claudia answered.
“He threw a tantrum.”
Noah pressed his face into my shoulder.
I felt his body tighten before she even finished speaking.
That told me what words could not.
I handed the airplane to one of my bodyguards.
“Hold this.”
Claudia immediately stepped forward.
“Richard, that thing is filthy.”
I looked at her.
She stopped.
Interesting.
The toy was rough cedar, badly sanded along one wing, ribbon tied crookedly around the middle. A child’s gift.
Nothing worth fighting over.
Yet Claudia had thrown it into the snow.
Mark had tried to take it from me.
And now both of them watched my guard holding it as though it contained the deed to Manhattan.
I carried Noah toward the fire.
“Who helped you make the plane?”
His fingers tightened around my lapel.
“Daddy said don’t tell.”
Mark went pale.
There.
I sat with Noah on the bench beside the fireplace.
“It’s all right.”
He looked at his father.
Not me.
Fear always knows its source.
“Who helped?”
Noah whispered:
“The lady at the red cabin.”
Claudia closed her eyes.
Mark said:
“He’s confused.”
I picked up the airplane again.
Then turned it over.
On the underside of the fuselage, barely visible beneath the child’s uneven paint, someone had burned three small initials into the wood.
E.B.C.
My breathing stopped.
There was only one woman I had ever known with those initials.
Evelyn Beatrice Bellacorte.
May you like
Noah’s mother.
The woman Mark told me had abandoned her child two years ago.
