Chapter 6 - THE TRAPDOOR
“Vanessa, stop!” Luca roared, tearing up the stairs after her.
I didn't think. I just moved. I grabbed Leo’s hand and pulled him behind the heavy oak pillar near the coat room.
“Stay here,” I whispered to the boy. “Do not move.”
Leo nodded, his large eyes wide but remarkably brave.
I ran up the stairs, following the sound of Luca’s angry shouts. I found them in the master bedroom. Vanessa was frantically throwing clothes into a leather duffel bag.
“You poisoned my mother,” Luca said, his voice trembling with a rage I had never heard before. He blocked the bedroom door. “You murdered Maria, you brought the boy here to make yourself look like the savior, and you tried to kill my mother to cover it all up.”
“I didn't!” Vanessa screamed, throwing a handful of silk blouses at him. “Why won't you listen to me?! I saved him! If I wanted the boy gone, I would have let the driver take him to the orphanage!”
It was a valid point. My mind raced, untangling the lies.
If Vanessa wanted Teresa dead, why do it at a party with thirty witnesses? Why not just let Maria stay hidden?
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, stepping into the doorway.
Luca glared at me over his shoulder. “Get out, Claire.”
“She’s right,” I said, ignoring him. “It doesn't make sense. If Vanessa poisoned your mother, she wouldn't have brought the boy here. The boy is the proof of the motive.”
Vanessa stopped packing, looking at me with desperate gratitude.
Luca rubbed his face, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. “Then who did it? Who poisoned the champagne?”
I thought back to the table. The birthday cake. The thirty guests.
“Vanessa,” I said, looking at her. “When you poured the champagne, did you pour a glass for Aunt Angela?”
Vanessa frowned, wiping her tears. “No. Angela doesn't drink. She poured her own sparkling cider.”
“But Angela was standing right next to you at the sideboard,” I said, the pieces clicking into place. “She bumped into you when you were arranging the glasses.”
Luca went incredibly still.
He turned around and walked past me, out onto the second-floor landing. He looked down at the foyer.
Aunt Angela was standing near the front door. But she wasn't looking up at us.
She had Leo by the arm.
The little boy was struggling, kicking at her shins, but Angela’s grip was like a vise. In her other hand, she held Teresa’s burgundy bag.
“Angela!” Luca yelled, his voice echoing through the massive house.
Angela looked up. Her face was entirely stripped of the gentle, concerned aunt persona. She looked cold, calculating, and victorious.
May you like
“I’m sorry, Luca,” Angela said smoothly. “But this family’s legacy cannot be handed over to a bastard child. And it certainly won't be run by a woman who is too weak to do what needs to be done.”
She opened the front door, dragging Leo out into the dark.
