Chapter 2 - The Girl in the Yellow Dress
For the first time in eleven months, Lorenzo Duca ordered every medication in his son's bedroom removed.
Nobody argued.
Not because everyone agreed with him.
Because Lorenzo's voice made it clear argument was no longer an option.
Within minutes, the third-floor corridor changed.
Security guards appeared at both staircases.
Dr. Keller stood beside Lucas's bed, speaking rapidly with two physicians over the phone.
A medical technician collected blood samples.
Another photographed every bottle, syringe, label, package and chart before sealing them inside evidence bags.
Lorenzo remained beside Lucas.
Emma stood near the bedroom door.
Her aunt had finally arrived, pale and breathless.
“Emma!”
Claire Bell hurried toward her.
“What were you thinking?”
Emma looked down.
“I heard someone coughing.”
Claire wrapped both arms around the girl.
“You can't wander around this house.”
She glanced apologetically toward Lorenzo.
“Mr. Duca, I'm so sorry. I told her to stay downstairs.”
Lorenzo barely heard her.
His attention remained on Keller.
“What was on the label?” he asked.
Keller hesitated.
Lorenzo's voice sharpened.
“You recognized it.”
The physician removed his glasses.
“The fragment could belong to several drugs.”
“But you recognized one.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Digoxin.”
Lorenzo waited.
Keller continued.
“It is used in specific heart conditions. Lucas was prescribed a very low dose months ago, briefly, when we were treating an abnormal rhythm.”
“Then why did you say he should never have received it?”
“Because we discontinued it.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“Why?”
“His kidney function changed.”
“What happens if someone keeps giving it?”
Keller's face tightened.
“Depending on the amount, it can cause nausea, weakness, confusion, abnormal heart rhythm, abdominal discomfort, changes in vision, and in severe cases—”
“Death?”
Keller didn't answer quickly enough.
Lorenzo looked toward Lucas.
The boy slept.
His breathing was shallow but steady.
For months, Lucas had experienced almost everything Keller had just described.
Weakness.
Nausea.
Abdominal pain.
Cardiac irregularities.
Fatigue.
Doctors had blamed an unidentified autoimmune condition complicated by a congenital heart abnormality.
But what if part of the illness was not illness at all?
“What are you saying?” Claire whispered.
Keller looked toward the sealed medication tray.
“I am saying we need laboratory results before anyone draws conclusions.”
Lorenzo turned to one of his guards.
“Find Nurse Vale.”
The guard nodded.
“Already searching.”
“Lock the gates.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nobody leaves.”
Claire stiffened.
Emma watched silently.
Lorenzo noticed the fear in Claire's face and softened his tone.
“You and Emma are not in trouble.”
Claire nodded uncertainly.
Emma tugged at her aunt's sleeve.
“She went downstairs.”
Everyone looked toward her.
Lorenzo crouched slightly.
“Who?”
“The nurse.”
“You saw her?”
Emma nodded.
“When?”
“Before the doctor came in.”
“Where did she go?”
“Toward the back stairs.”
Lorenzo turned.
That staircase led to the servants' corridor, the kitchen and, eventually, a side entrance near the greenhouse.
He called security immediately.
“Back entrance. Greenhouse. Garden wall.”
A voice answered through his earpiece.
“We have movement near the east lawn.”
Lorenzo began walking.
Keller blocked his path.
“Stay with Lucas.”
Lorenzo stopped.
The doctor's tone was not challenging.
It was practical.
“Your son needs you here.”
Lorenzo looked at Lucas.
For years, men had solved his problems because Lorenzo paid them or frightened them.
This was different.
He remained.
Ten minutes later, security returned with news.
Vale had not escaped.
They found her in the greenhouse.
Sitting on the floor beside Isabella's dead rose bushes.
She was crying.
Lorenzo went downstairs only after Keller assured him Lucas was stable.
Two guards stood outside the greenhouse.
Inside, Vale sat beneath the glass roof.
Moonlight covered the tiles.
Her red glasses lay beside her.
Lorenzo stopped several feet away.
“Why did you run?”
Vale looked up.
“I panicked.”
“Why?”
“I knew how it looked.”
“How does it look?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't poison him.”
The word hit Lorenzo harder than he expected.
Nobody had said poison.
Not yet.
He stepped closer.
“Then explain the label.”
“I can't.”
“Explain the drink.”
Her face changed.
“Drink?”
“Emma saw you put something in Lucas's juice.”
Vale stared at him.
“I gave him nothing that wasn't authorized.”
“Then what was it?”
“A supplement.”
“The bottle is in his room.”
“That wasn't the only bottle.”
Lorenzo became very still.
“What do you mean?”
Vale swallowed.
“There are two.”
Silence filled the greenhouse.
“One comes from the pharmacy. One comes from Dr. Keller's private supply.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“Keller's?”
“He told me they were identical.”
“Where is the second bottle?”
Vale looked toward the mansion.
“It disappears after every dose.”
“Who takes it?”
She whispered.
“I thought the doctor did.”
The answer created more questions than it solved.
Lorenzo studied her carefully.
“Why run?”
“Because Dr. Keller looked at me when that girl showed the label.”
“And?”
“And I realized if something was wrong, he would say I did it.”
Lorenzo watched her.
Vale had worked in private medicine for nineteen years.
She had no criminal record.
No unusual debts.
No obvious reason to hurt Lucas.
But Lorenzo trusted records less than he trusted fear.
And Vale was terrified.
“Why were you in Isabella's garden?” he asked.
Vale looked down.
“I wasn't trying to get here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I took the wrong door.”
Lorenzo almost dismissed the answer.
Then he saw something near her shoe.
A square metal corner protruded from the dirt beside the greenhouse wall.
He stepped closer.
The soil looked disturbed.
Not recently.
Old disturbance.
He crouched.
Vale watched.
Lorenzo pulled at the object.
It did not move.
A buried box.
He called for a shovel.
Ten minutes later they uncovered a small metal container wrapped in decayed plastic.
Lorenzo stared at it.
The lock had rusted almost completely.
A guard forced it open.
Inside were gardening gloves.
Pruning scissors.
Several seed packets.
And a notebook.
Lorenzo recognized the handwriting on the cover before he touched it.
ISABELLA'S GARDEN.
His heart stopped.
He lifted the notebook carefully.
Most pages contained planting schedules.
Rose varieties.
Fertilizer notes.
Weather observations.
Typical Isabella.
Then halfway through, everything changed.
The handwriting became hurried.
Dates appeared.
Initials.
License plate numbers.
Short sentences.
A.B. met P.V. at gatehouse.
Lucas medicine changed.
A.K. refuses second opinion.
Someone watching east road.
Lorenzo's breathing slowed.
A.K.
Adrian Keller.
P.V.
Patricia Vale.
A.B.?
Unknown.
He turned another page.
One sentence had been underlined twice.
If anything happens to me, do not trust the diagnosis.
Lorenzo's hands went cold.
Vale stared over his shoulder.
“What is that?”
Lorenzo turned the page.
The next entry was dated two days before Isabella died.
I found the files. Lucas was never the target then.
Then?
Lorenzo read the next sentence.
But they know I found them.
His pulse hammered.
The final complete page was dated the morning of the explosion.
I moved the copy. Not in the house.
Below that sentence Isabella had drawn a crude picture.
A rose.
A small circle.
And the number 17.
Lorenzo closed the notebook.
For three years he had believed his wife's death and his son's illness were separate tragedies.
Now, for the first time, he understood something terrifying.
They might be the same story.
May you like
And upstairs, his six-year-old son was still sleeping beside a machine that someone may have been using to hide an attempted murder.
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