Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN ROOM SEVENTEEN
“My mother is at that facility.”
I hadn't meant to say it aloud.
But the moment Frank signed the address, the words escaped me.
Luca turned toward me.
“What?”
I swallowed.
“St. Catherine's Rehabilitation Center. My mother has been there since March.”
Vanessa stared at me.
Then laughed nervously.
“That's a coincidence.”
Frank shook his head.
His fingers moved.
Room seventeen.
My heart stopped.
Room seventeen.
The same number stamped onto the little brass key.
I looked at Frank.
“Who is in room seventeen?”
He signed one word.
Teresa.
Luca stepped closer.
“Grandpa, are you telling us Dominic's mother is alive at St. Catherine's?”
Frank nodded.
Arthur suddenly stood.
“This has gone far enough.”
Gabriel moved toward him.
Arthur raised both hands.
“I am not threatening anyone. I'm asking you to think. Teresa has been ill for decades. Frank is mixing separate memories.”
Luca looked at me.
“Hannah, can you verify the room?”
I hesitated.
Because St. Catherine's wasn't a place where I wanted trouble.
My mother was there after a serious spinal injury from a car accident.
Her treatment was expensive.
Her progress was slow.
And every payment I made meant another week of therapy she desperately needed.
“I can ask,” I said.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“As an employee you dismissed earlier, Hannah has no reason to involve herself.”
Luca turned toward her.
“You dismissed her. I didn't.”
“She contradicted me in front of our guests.”
“She translated for my grandfather.”
“Luca—”
“Vanessa, my grandfather has spent an entire evening being talked about like a piece of furniture. I'm finished allowing it.”
Frank couldn't hear the words.
But he saw Luca turn toward him.
And something in the old man's face softened.
I signed what Luca had said.
Frank lowered his eyes.
For a moment, he looked very old.
Not confused.
Just tired of having to prove he deserved to be heard.
Luca crouched beside him.
He formed a few uncertain signs.
I'm sorry.
Frank smiled faintly.
Then tapped Luca's hand three times.
Luca closed his fingers around his grandfather's.
“We're going to St. Catherine's,” he said.
Arthur shook his head.
“You can't simply walk into a medical facility demanding access to a patient.”
“No,” Luca answered. “But I can ask questions.”
He turned to Gabriel.
“Make sure our guests get home safely. Arthur and Vanessa stay here until we know whether anyone is in danger.”
Vanessa's face tightened.
“You cannot keep me prisoner.”
Luca studied her.
“Then tell me everything you know.”
She said nothing.
A moment later, Arthur spoke.
“Vanessa knows less than you think.”
Something about his tone made me look at him.
He wasn't defending her.
He was warning her.
Forty minutes later, I stood inside St. Catherine's lobby beside Luca and Frank.
The building smelled of floor polish and lavender soap.
I'd walked through those doors dozens of times.
Usually exhausted.
Usually carrying a bag of clean clothing and worrying about whether I had enough money for another month.
Tonight, I walked beside a man whose security detail waited discreetly outside.
But the wealth surrounding Luca couldn't change what I was about to discover.
At the reception desk, Nurse Elaine Porter recognized me.
“Hannah? Your mother isn't expecting you tonight.”
“I know.”
She glanced at Luca.
Then at Frank.
“Is something wrong?”
“I need to ask about a patient.”
Her expression became cautious.
“I'm afraid I can't discuss another patient's care.”
Luca nodded.
“I understand. We aren't asking you to violate privacy rules.”
He looked toward Frank.
“My grandfather believes an old family acquaintance may be here. We'd like to leave a message for her.”
Elaine considered that.
“What's her name?”
“Teresa Bellini.”
Elaine's face changed.
It happened quickly.
But I saw it.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I can't help you.”
I stepped closer.
“Elaine, please.”
She looked at me with something like pity.
“Hannah, go see your mother.”
That frightened me more than a refusal.
“Why?”
“Because she's been asking for you.”
I looked at the clock.
It was nearly ten.
My mother was usually asleep by eight.
“Is she all right?”
Elaine hesitated.
“Yes. But I think you should speak to her.”
Luca touched my elbow.
“Go. We'll wait.”
I took Frank's hand and signed.
I'll come back.
He nodded.
Then signed:
Look at the blue blanket.
I stopped.
“What blue blanket?”
He simply repeated the words.
I didn't understand.
Not yet.
My mother's room was on the second floor.
I knocked softly.
“Mom?”
“Hannah?”
Her voice sounded tired.
I entered.
My mother, Margaret Collins, was fifty-six.
Before the accident, she'd worked in a public school cafeteria for twenty-two years.
She was practical, funny, and stubborn enough to insist she could fold laundry even on days when lifting her arms exhausted her.
Tonight, she sat upright in bed.
A faded blue blanket covered her legs.
And beside her pillow rested a photograph I'd never seen.
It showed a much younger woman standing outside a restaurant.
A little boy held her hand.
I recognized the restaurant immediately.
Moretti's.
“Mom,” I whispered, “where did you get that?”
She looked down.
“I was hoping you'd come before anyone else did.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you talking about?”
She picked up the photograph.
“Hannah, there's something I should have told you years ago.”
I sat beside her.
“About what?”
“About why I applied for your job at the Moretti house.”
I stared at her.
“You didn't apply. I did.”
She shook her head.
“I gave you the advertisement. I told you the family treated their staff well. I made sure you went to that interview.”
I remembered the day.
Eight months earlier.
My mother had placed the job listing beside my breakfast.
She'd said it was a good opportunity.
I hadn't questioned it.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because Frank Moretti needed somebody who could understand him.”
My throat tightened.
“You know Frank?”
She nodded.
“Since before you were born.”
I stood.
“Mom, what is going on?”
She opened the bedside drawer.
Inside was an old hospital identification bracelet.
The name printed on it had faded.
But I could still read it.
TERESA BELLINI.
I stared at the bracelet.
Then at my mother.
“Who is Teresa Bellini?”
My mother began crying.
“She was the woman who helped me escape the warehouse fire.”
I felt cold.
“You were there?”
She nodded.
“I was nineteen. I worked in the office. I saw things I shouldn't have seen.”
“Did you know Luca's father?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know who killed him?”
She looked toward the door.
“I know who they wanted everyone to believe killed him.”
Before I could ask another question, my mother gripped my hand.
“Hannah, listen carefully. You must not let Dominic find the original records before Luca does.”
“Why?”
“Because Dominic doesn't know what he's carrying.”
“What does that mean?”
She reached beneath the blue blanket.
And pulled out a small sealed envelope.
Across the front, in faded black ink, were the words:
To Michael's eldest son—when he is finally ready to hear the truth.
But it was the signature beneath those words that made my stomach turn.
Margaret Collins. Witness.
May you like
My mother looked straight into my eyes.
“Hannah, I signed that statement the night Luca Moretti's father was murdered.”
