Chapter 5 - THE BROKEN PEARL
The dining room felt as cold as a morgue.
Kieran stared at the mud-caked pearl earring resting in Flora’s small, trembling palm.
The gold setting was bent. The pearl itself was scratched, bearing a dark, rusted stain that Kieran knew instantly wasn't just mud.
It was dried blood.
“Where did you say Miranda was digging, Flora?” Kieran asked, his voice frighteningly calm.
“Under the big oak tree by the garden wall,” Flora whispered.
Kieran gently took the earring from her hand and slipped it into his pocket. He looked at Annie.
“Take Flora to the nursery,” Kieran commanded softly. “Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone except me or Marcus. Do you understand?”
Annie nodded frantically, wiping her tears. She reached for Flora’s hand.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go read a book.”
As Annie and Flora hurried out of the dining room, Kieran turned and sprinted toward the front doors.
He burst out into the cool night air, the gravel crunching beneath his expensive leather shoes.
The massive oak tree stood at the far edge of the estate, its thick branches casting long, skeletal shadows across the manicured lawn under the moonlight.
Kieran ran toward it.
When he reached the base of the tree, he dropped to his knees.
The ground here was soft. The grass had been recently disturbed, clumsily patted down in a desperate attempt to hide a small, shallow hole.
Kieran didn’t care about his suit. He plunged his bare hands into the cold, damp earth and began to dig.
His fingers scraped against roots and rocks.
A foot down, his hand hit something solid.
Something wrapped in thick, heavy plastic.
Kieran pulled it out.
It was a small, heavy bundle bound in duct tape.
He ripped the tape away with his bare hands, tearing the plastic open.
Inside was a heavy, silver-plated flashlight.
The casing was dented.
And caught in the grooved grip of the handle were several strands of long, dark hair.
His late wife’s hair.
Kieran fell backward onto the grass, the flashlight dropping from his hands.
His wife hadn’t fallen down the stairs.
She had been struck.
“Looking for something, Kieran?”
Kieran whipped his head around.
Miranda stood on the edge of the patio, ten yards away.
She was holding a large kitchen knife.
Her expensive silk dress was blowing in the wind. Her perfect hair was messy, wild. The mask of the refined Boston socialite was entirely gone, replaced by the desperate, feral look of a woman cornered.
“You killed her,” Kieran breathed, standing up slowly. “You were here three years ago. You killed my wife.”
Miranda let out a bitter, hollow laugh.
“I didn't kill her, Kieran!” Miranda shouted, stepping off the patio onto the grass. “I didn’t even know you three years ago!”
Kieran pointed at the flashlight. “Then what is this? Why are you burying the murder weapon in my garden?”
“Because I found it!” Miranda screamed, her voice cracking. “I found it hidden in the walls of the guest house! Julian told me there was money hidden there, but all I found was this!”
Kieran narrowed his eyes. “And the pearl earring? My daughter saw you bury it.”
“I didn't take the earring from your wife, you idiot!” Miranda cried, pointing the knife at him. “I found the earring yesterday. In this house!”
Kieran froze. “Where?”
Miranda smiled. A sick, twisted smile of pure malice.
“I found it under Annie’s mattress.”
Kieran’s blood ran cold.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Miranda taunted, taking a step backward toward the driveway. “Ask your precious, innocent maid where she was three years ago. Ask her why a girl with no references suddenly showed up at your door desperate for a job taking care of a motherless child!”
Before Kieran could process her words, heavy footsteps pounded across the grass.
Marcus tackled Miranda from behind.
The knife flew from her hand, clattering against the stone patio. Miranda shrieked, kicking and fighting as Marcus pinned her face-down into the dirt, clicking heavy steel zip-ties around her wrists.
“I’ve got her, Boss!” Marcus yelled. “Police are two minutes away!”
Kieran didn't answer.
He looked at the flashlight on the ground. He looked at the mansion.
His mind was racing back to the day he hired Annie. She had been so quiet. So desperate. She had looked at Flora with such immediate, profound sorrow.
Kieran turned and ran back toward the house.
He sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time, until he reached the nursery door.
He pounded on the wood.
“Annie! Open the door!”
There was a click.
The door opened slowly.
Annie stood there.
She wasn't crying anymore. She looked terrifyingly calm.
Flora was asleep in her bed across the room, exhausted by the trauma of the evening.
“Did you hear her, Mr. Ashbourne?” Annie asked softly.
Kieran stared at her. “Is it true? Did you have the earring?”
Annie closed her eyes.
She reached into her pocket.
She pulled out a heavy, antique brass key.
May you like
It bore a strange emblem—a hawk with spread wings.
“I didn't kill your wife, Mr. Ashbourne,” Annie whispered. “But I was here the night she died. And this key is the reason why.”
