Chapter 4 - THE RED INK
I stared at the medical report in my trembling hands.
Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer. Palliative care recommended.
Sabrina was dying. The woman who just blackmailed her husband, drugged her mother-in-law, and humiliated an old man was living on borrowed time. But it was the back of the paper that made my stomach churn.
A list of names. Emma Parker - Maid. Marcus Vance - Driver. Dr. Aris Thorne - Clinic.
Why was my name circled in red?
The heavy kitchen doors swung open. I quickly shoved the paper deep into my apron pocket and turned around.
Vincent walked in. The powerful mafia boss looked like a man who had aged ten years in ten minutes. He loosened his silk tie and leaned against the stainless steel island, rubbing his temples.
“Emma,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Thank you for stopping my mother from drinking that tea.”
“I was just doing my job, sir.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Your job is to clean the floors, not save the Carbone family from itself. I’m doubling your salary. And I want you to go home for the night. It isn't safe for you here.”
“Mr. Carbone,” I started, my hand hovering over my pocket. I wanted to show him the medical report. I wanted to ask him why Sabrina had my name on a hit list.
But before I could speak, the kitchen door swung open again.
It was Marcus, the family driver. He was a large, quiet man in a black suit who rarely spoke to the staff. He had worked for Sabrina’s father decades ago.
“Boss,” Marcus said, his voice tight. “The guests are gone. Harold took your mother up to her sitting room to rest. But we have a problem.”
“What now?” Vincent groaned.
“The police are at the front gate,” Marcus said.
Vincent stood up straight. “I didn't call the police. Did Sabrina?”
“No, boss. They aren't here for Sabrina.” Marcus glanced nervously at me, then back to Vincent. “They’re here for Harold Whitmore. They have a warrant for his arrest.”
“For what? Embezzlement from twenty-five years ago? The statute of limitations is long gone!”
“Not for embezzlement, boss,” Marcus said grimly. “For murder.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Vincent pushed past Marcus, marching out of the kitchen and into the grand foyer. I followed right behind them, unable to stay away.
Two detectives in trench coats were standing in the entryway. Harold was walking slowly down the sweeping staircase, holding Eleanor’s hand. The elderly woman looked completely exhausted.
“Harold Whitmore?” the lead detective asked.
“Yes, I’m Harold.”
“Sir, you are under arrest for the murder of Dr. Aris Thorne. You have the right to remain silent...”
I gasped softly. Dr. Aris Thorne.
That was the third name on Sabrina’s list. The doctor from her oncology clinic.
“This is a mistake!” Eleanor cried, gripping Harold’s arm. “Harold has been with me all evening! He hasn't killed anyone!”
“Ma'am, Dr. Thorne was found poisoned in his office three hours ago,” the detective said, pulling out a plastic evidence bag. Inside the bag was a familiar object.
It was Harold’s vintage tweed flat cap. The one he always wore when he gardened with Eleanor.
“We found this cap at the crime scene,” the detective explained. “And the security cameras caught a man matching Mr. Whitmore’s description leaving the clinic.”
Harold stared at the hat in the plastic bag. “I lost that cap two days ago. I left it in the greenhouse.”
Vincent stepped forward, his imposing frame shielding Harold and Eleanor. “Detectives, this man is my mother’s fiancé. He was here tonight. He didn't poison anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carbone, but we have a warrant. He has to come with us.”
The officers moved forward and placed handcuffs on Harold’s frail wrists. Eleanor sobbed, clinging to his sleeve.
“Don't worry, my love,” Harold whispered, kissing her cheek. “The truth will come out. Just stay safe.”
They led him out the front door. The red and blue lights of the police cruisers flashed through the massive windows, casting eerie shadows across the foyer.
Eleanor collapsed against Vincent’s chest, weeping uncontrollably. Vincent held his mother, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fury.
He looked at Marcus. “Sabrina set him up. She killed that doctor and framed Harold to get him out of the house. I want her out of that bedroom. Now. I don't care about the recordings. Break the door down.”
Marcus nodded and drew his weapon, marching up the stairs.
I stood near the kitchen door, my mind racing. Sabrina had killed her own doctor? Why? Because he knew she was dying? But how did she frame Harold while she was hosting a dinner party?
I looked down at the marble floor near the coat closet.
Tucked behind the heavy velvet drapes was a dark blue silk trench coat. It belonged to Sabrina. She had worn it earlier this afternoon.
I walked over and picked it up. It felt strangely heavy.
I reached into the deep pocket. My fingers brushed against cold glass. I pulled it out.
It was a small, empty glass vial with a medical label. Digitalis - Highly Toxic.
But that wasn't what made my heart stop.
Wrapped around the vial was a dry-cleaning receipt. The receipt had a time stamp from 5:00 PM today—right when the doctor was murdered.
And the signature at the bottom of the receipt, proving who had dropped the coat off, didn't belong to Sabrina.
May you like
It belonged to Marcus.
I looked up toward the top of the stairs just in time to hear three deafening gunshots echo from the master bedroom.
