Chapter 4 - The Woman in Pink
Security footage showed the woman entering the estate at 2:41 p.m.
No invitation.
No identification.
Yet the guard waved her through.
Rafael watched the recording repeatedly.
Pink dress.
Dark hair.
Early thirties.
She moved through the Montaro estate as though she had lived there.
At 2:53 she entered the kitchen.
At 3:17 she left.
At 3:21 Lucille entered.
The rest matched Rosa's account.
But something happened at 3:36.
The woman in pink returned.
She stood outside the kitchen doorway and spoke briefly to Emmett.
Then she crouched and handed him something.
Rafael zoomed in.
A folded piece of paper.
Emmett put it in his jacket pocket.
Rafael's blood ran cold.
He went upstairs.
The stained suit lay in the laundry room.
He searched the pockets.
Nothing.
Then he noticed a small tear in the lining.
His fingers found paper.
He unfolded it.
Three handwritten words:
ASK ABOUT ELENA.
On the reverse was an address.
Rafael drove there the next morning.
It led to a cemetery.
He found Elena Vale's name on a modest stone.
ELENA VALE
1957–1997
Rafael stared.
She hadn't disappeared forever.
She had died one year later.
Someone had known.
Someone had buried her.
At the base of the grave sat fresh blackberries.
And beside them was a photograph.
Rafael picked it up.
A young Elena stood smiling beside his father.
Between them was a little girl.
On the back someone had written:
Sofia. Age 4.
Rafael heard footsteps.
He turned.
The woman in pink stood twenty feet away.
“Who are you?”
She didn't move.
“My name is Sofia Vale.”
Rafael looked at the photograph.
Then at her.
The ages didn't match.
“The girl in this photograph would be thirty-three.”
“I am.”
“Why did you use my son?”
Pain crossed her face.
“I never intended Lucille to hurt him.”
“You manipulated a three-year-old.”
“I thought she would refuse the dessert.”
“She kicked it out of his hands.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
“I was wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know whether she'd changed.”
“And my son was your test?”
“No.”
“That's exactly what he was.”
Sofia stepped closer.
“I owe Emmett an apology.”
“You're never going near him again.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
Rafael held up the photograph.
“Was Elena your mother?”
“Yes.”
“And Lucille knew?”
“Yes.”
“What happened twenty-nine years ago?”
Sofia looked toward the grave.
“My mother didn't steal two million dollars.”
“Then who did?”
May you like
Sofia met his eyes.
“Lucille.”
