Chapter 3 - A House Full of Keys
Nobody slept.
Clara tried.
The Moretti guest room had silk sheets, blackout curtains, and a bathroom bigger than her entire kitchen.
None of it mattered.
Every sound in the hallway made her sit up.
At three in the morning, she gave up and went downstairs.
She found Lorenzo in the library.
No jacket.
No tie.
Sleeves rolled.
His tattoos continued down both forearms, disappearing beneath his cuffs.
On the desk sat photographs, employee records, financial reports, and a printed list of everyone inside the estate.
Clara stopped in the doorway.
“You investigate people on paper?”
He didn’t look up.
“Paper lies less convincingly than people.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
She entered.
“Did you find anything?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“Missing.”
“That seems bad.”
“It is.”
“Marcus?”
“Claims he knows nothing.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
“You believe anyone?”
Lorenzo finally looked up.
“No.”
Clara folded her arms.
“That includes me.”
“Yes.”
She appreciated the answer more than she wanted to.
“Good.”
His eyebrows moved.
“Good?”
“I’d worry if a man who suspects his entire family trusted a waitress he met yesterday.”
“You’re not a waitress.”
“I was until your family ruined my employment prospects.”
“My family?”
“Your mother almost died at my table.”
“She wasn’t at your table.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I can have Henderson reverse the termination.”
“No.”
“That would solve one problem.”
“It would create another.”
“How?”
“I don’t want my job back because you frightened my manager.”
“I wouldn’t frighten him.”
Clara stared.
Lorenzo added, “Much.”
She laughed despite herself.
He looked surprised.
So was she.
Then the library door opened.
Daniel Moretti walked in.
Alive.
Uninjured.
Angry.
“You locked me out of my own family home.”
He was younger than Lorenzo.
Maybe twenty-eight.
Handsome in a polished way.
Expensive coat.
No visible tattoos.
His eyes went straight to Clara.
“That’s her?”
Lorenzo stood.
“Where were you?”
Daniel ignored the question.
“You brought the waitress here?”
“She has a name.”
Daniel looked at Clara.
“Of course she does.”
“Clara.”
He smiled.
“Daniel.”
Lorenzo’s voice sharpened.
“Where were you?”
Daniel finally turned.
“With Sofia.”
“Since when?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Phone off?”
“She hates phones in bed.”
Clara looked away.
Daniel smiled faintly.
“Sorry.”
Lorenzo did not.
“You were at the Gilded Lily.”
Daniel’s smile disappeared.
“So?”
“Seventeen minutes before my mother arrived.”
“I had a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“Councilman Reese.”
“At our private table?”
“He didn’t want to be seen.”
“Why?”
Daniel exhaled.
“Because he’s married and the woman with him wasn’t.”
Clara almost admired the absurdity.
Lorenzo pushed a photograph across the desk.
Daniel entering the restaurant.
Time stamp visible.
“Did you touch my mother’s table?”
“No.”
“Did you touch her glass?”
“No.”
“Did you poison her?”
Daniel’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Hurt.
“You’re asking me that?”
“I’m asking everyone.”
“I’m not everyone.”
“No. You’re family. Which means you had more opportunity.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“My father died protecting yours.”
Lorenzo’s expression remained flat.
“That doesn’t make you innocent.”
“It should make me something.”
“What?”
“Known.”
The word landed harder than Clara expected.
Lorenzo looked away first.
Daniel saw it.
“So that’s where we are.”
He laughed once.
Cold.
“Fine.”
He reached into his pocket.
Every guard outside reacted.
Daniel slowly pulled out a keycard.
“I found this in my coat.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What is it?”
“Gilded Lily service access.”
Clara stepped forward.
“That could open staff corridors.”
Daniel nodded.
“I’ve never seen it before.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“You expect me to believe someone planted it?”
“I expect you to decide you already know the answer.”
Clara picked up a tissue.
“Don’t touch it again.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Why?”
“Fingerprints.”
He gave her a crooked smile.
“The waitress thinks she’s CSI.”
“The waitress kept Isabella alive.”
His expression changed.
Respect.
Small.
Real.
“Then thank you.”
Lorenzo watched that exchange.
Clara noticed.
Daniel left for questioning.
By morning, three facts were clear.
The access card had Daniel’s fingerprints.
His account of meeting Councilman Reese was confirmed.
And someone had used the card at 6:42 p.m.
Daniel had been visible on a security camera across town at 6:42.
“He’s being framed,” Clara said.
Lorenzo stood at the kitchen island.
“Or someone used his card.”
“He said he never had it.”
“He could be lying.”
“He could.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“But you don’t think so.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because guilty people usually explain too much.”
“You know many guilty people?”
“I worked restaurant night shifts.”
He almost smiled.
Then Isabella entered.
Against medical advice.
Again.
Clara frowned.
“You should be resting.”
“I have rested for eight hours. I am eighty-one, not dead.”
“You were dead.”
Isabella pointed at her.
“Technically.”
“That’s usually the kind people worry about.”
Lorenzo said, “Sit down, Mama.”
Isabella ignored him.
She took Clara’s hand.
“I want to show you something.”
They went upstairs.
Isabella’s bedroom overlooked the lake.
On her dresser sat framed photographs.
Family.
Weddings.
Children.
Men who looked stern even on beaches.
One picture showed a much younger Lorenzo beside another boy.
They were maybe ten.
“Daniel?” Clara asked.
Isabella nodded.
“His father was my husband’s younger brother.”
“They grew up together.”
“Like brothers.”
Clara understood more.
“You think Daniel is innocent.”
“I think pain makes people stupid.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
Isabella sat.
“My husband was murdered when Lorenzo was nineteen.”
Clara looked at her.
“By who?”
“We never proved it.”
“And Daniel’s father?”
“Died that same night.”
Clara stared at the photograph.
“So Lorenzo lost his father and his uncle.”
“And decided never to be surprised again.”
Clara looked toward the hallway.
“That explains him.”
“It does not excuse him.”
Clara smiled.
“I like you.”
“I nearly died. My standards are flexible.”
A knock interrupted them.
Gabriel entered.
“We found something.”
In the security room, footage from the Gilded Lily played across six screens.
One camera showed the service hallway.
6:39 p.m.
A figure entered wearing a waiter’s uniform.
Cap low.
Face partially hidden.
6:41.
The figure entered Table Seven’s private room.
6:42.
Exited.
Clara leaned closer.
“Pause.”
Gabriel froze the frame.
The person’s face remained obscured.
Clara pointed.
“Right hand.”
“What?”
“The glove.”
Black glove.
Nothing remarkable.
Then Clara saw the wrist.
A narrow strip of skin.
And a tattoo.
Not large.
A black cross.
Gabriel went still.
Lorenzo did too.
Clara looked at them.
“You recognize it.”
Gabriel answered quietly.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Nobody spoke.
Isabella’s face drained.
Lorenzo finally said the name.
“Father Adrian.”
Clara stared.
“A priest?”
“My mother’s priest.”
“And?”
Lorenzo’s voice was tight.
“He’s been our family confessor for twenty-six years.”
Clara looked back at the frozen image.
A priest.
Inside the restaurant.
Wearing a stolen uniform.
Using Daniel’s access card.
Possible.
Too possible.
“What motive would he have?”
Lorenzo picked up his phone.
“We’ll ask him.”
They reached St. Michael’s parish forty minutes later.
The front door was unlocked.
The church was empty.
Candles burned near the altar.
“Father Adrian?” Gabriel called.
No answer.
They found him in the sacristy.
On the floor.
Blood beneath his head.
Clara rushed forward.
Lorenzo caught her arm.
“Wait.”
She looked.
No movement.
No weapon.
She checked anyway.
Pulse.
Weak.
“He’s alive.”
Clara pressed cloth to the wound.
“Call an ambulance.”
Father Adrian’s eyes fluttered.
He saw Lorenzo.
Fear filled them.
“Enzo.”
Lorenzo knelt.
“Who did this?”
The priest swallowed.
His lips barely moved.
“Your father.”
Lorenzo froze.
“My father is dead.”
Father Adrian gripped his shirt.
“No.”
Clara leaned closer.
“What are you trying to say?”
The priest’s gaze shifted toward her.
“Not… dead.”
Then his eyes rolled back.
The room went silent.
Lorenzo stood slowly.
His face had become unreadable.
Clara looked at him.
“Your father died thirteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the body?”
Lorenzo didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
And for the first time since entering the Moretti world, Clara realized their problem might not be a simple assassination attempt.
Someone was reaching into a grave.
May you like
And pulling out secrets.
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