CHAPTER 3: The Girl Who Drew Everything
Nathaniel broke every traffic law on the way to Saint Augustine Medical Center.
The black Aston Martin roared through red lights and empty intersections, tires screeching as he cut across downtown traffic.
His phone lay on the passenger seat.
The nurse had tried calling him back twice.
He hadn't answered.
He wanted only one thing.
To hear the truth from his mother.
When he reached the hospital, he ignored the valet, shoved his keys into a security guard's hand, and ran toward the elevators.
Room 612.
He pushed the door open without knocking.
Margaret Whitmore was sitting upright in bed.
The color had returned to her face, but her expression remained hard.
The moment she saw her son, she knew.
"You believe me now."
Nathaniel closed the door.
"I found something."
Margaret studied him.
"What?"
"I'll tell you later."
He pulled a chair beside her bed.
"The nurse said Vivien came here."
Margaret's mouth tightened.
"She did."
"What happened?"
Margaret looked toward the window for several seconds before speaking.
"She waited until the nurse left."
Nathaniel remained silent.
"She smiled."
Margaret continued.
"The same smile."
His stomach tightened.
"What did she say?"
Margaret repeated the words exactly.
"'You really should have died the first time.'"
Nathaniel felt his pulse pounding inside his ears.
"Are you certain?"
Margaret looked offended.
"I've negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions while men twice my size tried to intimidate me."
She leaned forward.
"I know the difference between a threat and sympathy."
Nathaniel nodded.
"What happened next?"
"I reached for the call button."
Margaret gave a humorless laugh.
"She unplugged it."
Nathaniel's jaw clenched.
"Then?"
"She leaned over me."
Margaret's eyes hardened.
"'Nathaniel has always believed exactly what I wanted him to believe.'"
She paused.
"'Don't make your last days unpleasant by changing that.'"
Nathaniel slowly stood.
"I'll have security review every hallway camera."
Margaret shook her head.
"It won't matter."
"Why not?"
"Because she's smarter than that."
Vivien Cole was already waiting when Nathaniel returned home.
She stood on the rear terrace overlooking the gardens.
A cup of tea rested untouched beside her.
She smiled as he approached.
"How is your mother?"
Nathaniel looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Three years.
Three birthdays.
One engagement.
Hundreds of dinners.
Thousands of conversations.
How many had been real?
"She's recovering."
Vivien sighed with relief.
"I'm glad."
Nathaniel walked closer.
"The hospital says you visited her."
"I did."
"Why?"
Vivien looked surprised.
"I wanted to apologize."
"And?"
"She asked me to leave."
Nathaniel watched her face carefully.
Nothing.
Not a flicker.
Not a tremble.
"I see."
Vivien tilted her head.
"Is something wrong?"
Nathaniel reached into his jacket and placed a tablet on the table between them.
The security footage began playing.
Vivien watched silently.
Margaret climbing the stairs.
Her own foot moving.
Emily rushing forward.
The video ended.
Vivien looked back at Nathaniel.
"Where did you get this?"
"It doesn't matter."
She picked up the tablet again.
Watched the clip a second time.
Then...
To Nathaniel's surprise...
She laughed.
Not loudly.
Softly.
Almost sadly.
"You're wondering if I tried to trip her."
Nathaniel didn't answer.
Vivien slid the tablet back toward him.
"The camera angle is terrible."
"It is."
"It proves nothing."
"No."
She folded her hands.
"But you want it to."
Nathaniel's silence was answer enough.
Vivien's eyes softened.
"You've already decided I'm guilty."
"I haven't."
"Haven't you?"
She stood.
"If I wanted Margaret dead..."
She looked him directly in the eyes.
"...why would I choose the busiest staircase in the house?"
Nathaniel frowned.
Vivien continued calmly.
"Charles was working."
"The maids were cleaning."
"Security was everywhere."
"And I was standing right beside her."
She smiled faintly.
"Does that sound intelligent to you?"
Nathaniel hated that her argument made sense.
"If someone planned murder..."
Vivien said quietly.
"...they wouldn't choose witnesses."
That afternoon, Nathaniel drove back to the servants' cottage.
Angela answered the door.
Her expression immediately became worried.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Whitmore."
"For what?"
"Emily isn't speaking."
Nathaniel frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"She hasn't said a word all day."
He stepped inside.
Emily sat at the kitchen table with her sketchbook.
Colored pencils surrounded her.
She looked up as Nathaniel entered.
Then looked back down.
Without speaking.
Angela sighed.
"She does this when she's frightened."
Nathaniel slowly approached.
"Can I sit here?"
Emily gave the smallest nod.
He sat beside her.
Neither spoke.
Minutes passed.
Finally Nathaniel noticed what she was drawing.
The staircase.
Every detail.
The marble railing.
The chandelier.
His mother.
Vivien.
Even Charles.
The drawing was astonishingly accurate.
For a nine-year-old...
It was almost photographic.
Nathaniel pointed gently.
"You remember things very well."
Emily nodded.
Still silent.
He noticed another page sticking out beneath the first.
"May I?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded again.
Nathaniel turned the page.
His breath caught.
It was another drawing.
This one showed the same staircase.
Three days earlier.
Margaret stumbling.
Emily grabbing her coat.
Vivien's foot...
Extended.
Exactly as it had appeared in the security footage.
But there was something else.
Something the camera hadn't captured.
Vivien's face.
She wasn't smiling.
She looked...
Angry.
Furious.
Nathaniel stared at the picture.
"Emily..."
The little girl finally spoke.
Barely above a whisper.
"Pictures don't forget."
Nathaniel looked at her.
"I draw things..."
She continued.
"...because grown-ups stop remembering."
Angela wiped tears from her eyes.
"I've never heard her say that."
Nathaniel gently turned another page.
Another drawing.
This one wasn't at the staircase.
It was in the library.
Late at night.
Vivien stood beside a bookshelf.
She was opening something hidden behind it.
Nathaniel frowned.
"What room is this?"
Emily pointed.
"The secret door."
Angela blinked.
"What secret door?"
Emily looked confused.
"The one behind the books."
Nathaniel slowly looked up.
"There isn't a secret door in the library."
Emily frowned.
"Yes, there is."
"No, sweetheart."
"There is."
She insisted quietly.
"I saw the pretty lady go inside."
Nathaniel's pulse quickened.
"What are you talking about?"
Emily opened to another page.
A detailed drawing of the Whitmore library.
One bookshelf.
One particular shelf.
Behind it...
A narrow doorway.
Nathaniel stared.
Impossible.
Or...
Perhaps not.
The mansion was over a hundred years old.
His grandfather had renovated it repeatedly.
There were rumors of hidden rooms.
Old passageways.
He had always dismissed them as family legends.
Emily pointed to the drawing.
"She goes there when everyone is asleep."
Nathaniel looked at Angela.
She looked just as bewildered.
"I thought she was pretending."
Angela whispered.
"She talked about a hidden room months ago."
Nathaniel carefully closed the sketchbook.
"Emily."
She looked up.
"Has anyone ever told you not to draw these?"
The little girl's face changed instantly.
Fear.
Real fear.
She slowly nodded.
"Who?"
Emily looked toward the window.
Toward the mansion.
Then whispered two words.
"The pretty lady."
Before Nathaniel could ask another question, a loud crash shattered the silence.
Glass exploded inward.
A brick flew through the cottage window, landing on the living room floor.
Angela screamed.
Emily dropped beneath the table.
Nathaniel rushed toward the window.
Outside...
A black SUV sped away down the long private driveway.
Its license plate had been covered with black tape.
Nathaniel looked down.
A piece of paper had been tied around the brick.
He untied it.
The message contained only seven words.
"Children should never witness things they can't understand."
Nathaniel slowly turned toward the terrified little girl hiding beneath the table.
For the first time...
He realized this was no longer just an investigation.
May you like
Someone had declared war.
And Emily Brooks had become the next target.
