Chapter 10 - The Tailor’s Evidence
Lorenzo wanted Meline moved to a secure house.
Meline wanted Lorenzo to stop saying “secure house” as though normal people kept spare fortresses.
They compromised.
Badly.
Meline stayed at Isabella’s apartment for forty-eight hours.
“This is ridiculous,” Meline said the first morning.
Isabella handed her coffee.
“Everything involving the Moretti family becomes ridiculous eventually.”
“Is there a rule?”
“Several.”
Meline watched rain strike the balcony windows.
“Do you ever regret helping him?”
“Lorenzo?”
“Yes.”
“Daily.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
Isabella smiled.
“I also trust him more than most people I’ve met.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows exactly what he is capable of becoming.”
Meline turned.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s the opposite.”
Isabella sat across from her.
“Dangerous men who believe they are good frighten me. Lorenzo knows anger is easy for him. He knows power is easy. So he works very hard to choose something else.”
Meline thought about the kiss.
The question before it.
May I?
Choice again.
“What happens now?”
“Investigators are reviewing the tapes.”
“Enough to charge Vittorio?”
“Possibly financial crimes. Not Alessandro’s death.”
“So we need more.”
“We?”
Meline raised an eyebrow.
Isabella sighed.
“You really are perfect for him.”
That afternoon Meline returned to Hayes Bespoke under the protection of one extremely annoyed Marco.
Nothing looked normal.
The damaged drawers had been repaired.
Fabric replaced.
Yet Meline could feel violation in every corner.
Nina hugged her.
“I’m quitting.”
Meline pulled back.
“What?”
“I’m serious. Your romantic life has become too dangerous.”
“My romantic life?”
“You were boring before Lorenzo.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean that affectionately.”
Meline laughed for the first time all day.
Then Nina handed her a small wooden box.
“This came yesterday.”
“No return address?”
“No.”
Lorenzo immediately appeared from the doorway.
“Don’t open it.”
Meline sighed.
“How did you know?”
“Marco.”
“Your network remains unbearable.”
“Don’t open it.”
Meline placed the box down.
“Fine.”
Bomb specialists found nothing.
Inside was a spool of navy thread.
Meline stared.
Her mother’s favorite brand.
Alongside it sat one index card.
GOOD TAILORS ALWAYS CHECK THE HEM.
Meline’s heart accelerated.
“What hem?” Lorenzo asked.
She already knew.
The blue suit was gone.
But something else remained.
“My mother’s garments.”
They searched old archives.
Nothing.
Then Meline remembered the photograph.
Alessandro and Evelyn outside Hayes.
Her mother wore a navy skirt.
Meline ran upstairs.
Among Evelyn’s stored clothing remained one garment bag.
Inside was the skirt.
She turned the hem inside out.
Hand stitches.
Different thread.
Newer than the fabric.
Meline carefully opened them.
A narrow strip of microfilm slid onto the table.
Lorenzo stared.
“Your mother hid evidence in her own clothing.”
“Tailors trust seams.”
Isabella arrived with a reader.
The microfilm contained invoices.
Shipping manifests.
Insurance records.
One page caught Lorenzo’s attention.
A maintenance order for Alessandro’s car.
Dated three days before his death.
Brake inspection.
Approved.
Then a second maintenance order.
Same vehicle.
Same week.
Authorized by V.M.
“What was changed?” Meline asked.
Lorenzo read.
“Brake line assembly.”
Isabella leaned closer.
“This does not prove sabotage.”
Another document appeared.
A payment.
Twenty thousand dollars to an auto shop employee.
Two days after Alessandro died.
Recipient: Samuel Price.
Isabella went silent.
“Can you find him?” Meline asked.
“Probably.”
Lorenzo already had his phone out.
Samuel Price lived in Rhode Island.
Retired.
No criminal record.
Marco located him that evening.
Lorenzo wanted to go personally.
Isabella forbade it.
Meline agreed.
Three hours later, investigators interviewed Samuel.
At midnight Isabella received the call.
She put it on speaker.
Samuel admitted Vittorio had paid him to replace Alessandro’s brake line with a defective used component.
But Samuel insisted he believed Vittorio only wanted Alessandro frightened.
“Did Vittorio know it could fail?” an investigator asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he instruct you to create a failure?”
Long pause.
“Yes.”
Lorenzo stood completely still.
Meline held his hand.
The investigator continued.
“After Mr. Moretti died, did Vittorio contact you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Samuel’s voice trembled.
“He said accidents are useful because people stop asking questions.”
Lorenzo released Meline’s hand.
He walked toward the window.
Nobody followed.
Meline knew grief sometimes needed distance.
Five minutes later she joined him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“That’s cruel.”
“No. It means you’re not pretending.”
He breathed out.
“My uncle killed my father.”
“Yes.”
“I want—”
He stopped.
Meline waited.
“I know what I want.”
“And what did your father ask?”
“Not revenge.”
“Then what?”
Lorenzo looked toward Boston’s dark skyline.
“An ending.”
The next morning federal agents obtained warrants.
Vittorio vanished six hours earlier.
His accounts were empty.
His Boston residence abandoned.
One car was found near Logan Airport.
But no record showed him boarding a flight.
“He knew,” Isabella said.
“Someone warned him,” Lorenzo replied.
Meline thought of Grant.
“Grant.”
Lorenzo nodded.
Marco began searching.
At three that afternoon, Nina came running from the front room.
“Meline.”
“What?”
“A customer wants you.”
“I’m closed.”
“He says you’ll make an exception.”
Meline stepped into the showroom.
Grant Mercer stood beside the green velvet chair.
His face was bruised.
His coat soaked.
He raised both hands.
“I didn’t warn Vittorio.”
Lorenzo entered behind Meline.
Grant went pale.
“I swear.”
“Then why are you here?” Lorenzo asked.
Grant looked at Meline.
“Because Vittorio figured out your mother kept one more recording.”
“What recording?”
Grant swallowed.
“The one Alessandro made the night before he died.”
Meline’s pulse quickened.
“Where is it?”
Grant stared toward the old Singer machine.
“Your mother told me once that if everything went wrong, the truth would be somewhere nobody would ever think to look.”
“Where?”
Grant whispered:
“Inside the machine.”
Meline turned toward the antique Singer.
The machine that had belonged to Evelyn Hayes.
The machine that had sat in plain sight for twenty years.
May you like
And suddenly the final secret was no longer hidden in the Moretti world.
It was sitting in Meline’s shop.
