Chapter 8 - The Secret My Mother Kept for Eighteen Years
My mother remembered the red bird.
The moment I mentioned it, tears filled her eyes.
“Your father made that story up for you.”
“No.”
I sat beside her.
“He made it for us.”
Cassian stood near the window while Mateo wrote down every detail.
My mother shook her head.
“I don't understand.”
“Dad hid evidence in seven places.”
“How do you know?”
“Daniel Cross figured out there was a code.”
I repeated the story.
The red bird stole seven golden feathers from a greedy king.
It hid the first where time watched everyone.
The second beneath a lion that never roared.
The third where two roads crossed over water.
The fourth where roses bloomed without spring.
The fifth inside a book nobody read.
The sixth beneath a star that never moved.
The seventh where a bell rang for the dead.
My mother covered her mouth.
“Oh, Thomas.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“I thought he was distracting you.”
“From what?”
“The arguments.”
I remembered them only vaguely.
Whispers after bedtime.
My father pacing.
My mother crying.
“He told me the story every night during his final week,” I said.
“Yes.”
Cassian spoke.
“He needed Lydia to memorize it.”
My mother began crying harder.
“He knew.”
“What?”
“He knew he might die.”
The room became painfully quiet.
I held her.
For eighteen years she had carried guilt.
For eighteen years I had carried gratitude toward the wrong people.
We were both tired of carrying things that belonged to someone else.
Mateo solved the first clue quickly.
“Where time watched everyone.”
The old clock tower in our former neighborhood.
My father used to take me there.
It had been converted into apartments but the original lobby clock remained.
Cassian sent two men.
They found nothing.
Then I remembered.
“It wasn't the tower.”
Everyone looked at me.
“There was a watch repair shop across the street. Mr. Bell's.”
Mateo searched.
Still operating.
Within forty minutes, one of Cassian's men called.
Mr. Bell had died years ago.
His daughter now owned the shop.
When they mentioned Thomas Carter, she brought out an envelope her father had kept in a safe for nearly two decades.
Inside:
A photocopy of bank transfers.
And a number.
2.
The second clue.
The lion that never roared.
I knew that too.
The stone lions outside the New York Public Library.
But there were two.
Which one?
My father had always told me the bird trusted patience more than courage.
The lions were named Patience and Fortitude.
Patience.
Mateo arranged for someone to inspect the area lawfully through an old maintenance contact.
Nothing beneath the statue itself.
But in an archived storage locker associated with a former maintenance supervisor, they found another envelope.
More evidence.
Number 3.
The map was real.
By seven-fifteen, we had solved four clues.
The third referred to a pedestrian bridge where my father used to feed ducks with me.
The fourth led to an indoor conservatory where my parents had married.
Each location held an envelope.
Each envelope contained one piece of evidence.
None contained the list.
The kidnappers’ deadline was eight.
Cassian decided to stall.
At 7:45, we drove toward Newburgh carrying the red archive and copies of the evidence we already had.
The real key stayed behind.
So did my mother.
I sat beside Cassian.
“You're too calm.”
“No.”
“You look calm.”
“Different thing.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Of what?”
“That someone dies because I miscalculate.”
I looked at him.
For the first time, I understood the weight behind his control.
Cassian did not remain calm because he felt nothing.
He remained calm because he felt responsible for everything.
Maybe that was its own kind of prison.
The old ferry terminal was nearly abandoned.
Wind came off the river.
Two of Cassian’s vehicles waited farther away.
We approached alone.
Cassian carried the red box.
I carried nothing.
A black SUV arrived.
Richard Hale stepped out.
Not Adrian.
Richard.
He wore the same expensive coat I had seen him wear at the Aldridge estate dozens of times.
He looked at me as though I were still the maid expected to open doors for him.
“Lydia.”
“Where's Evelyn?”
“Safe.”
“Show me.”
Richard smiled.
“Still impatient.”
Cassian moved slightly in front of me.
Richard noticed.
“Interesting.”
“Where is she?” Cassian asked.
“The box.”
“Evelyn first.”
Richard sighed.
“Always difficult.”
He raised his phone.
A live video showed Evelyn inside a dim room.
She was alive.
Beside her stood Adrian Rusk.
Cassian's face did not change.
But I saw his hand tighten.
“Adrian.”
Richard smiled.
“Disappointing, isn't it?”
“You're making a mistake.”
“No.”
Richard looked at me.
“Thomas Carter made the mistake.”
“My father trusted the law.”
“Your father believed evidence mattered more than power.”
“And you killed him?”
Cassian turned slightly.
Richard smiled again.
“Careful, Lydia.”
“Did you?”
“You have no idea how complicated that night was.”
Not a denial.
My heartbeat thundered.
“The box.”
Cassian placed it on the pavement.
Richard approached.
“Open it.”
Cassian did.
Richard searched the contents.
His expression darkened.
“Where's the list?”
“What list?”
Richard looked at me.
“You know.”
“I don't.”
He grabbed the box.
“Seven pieces.”
My stomach dropped.
He knew the story.
Of course he did.
“How?”
He laughed.
“Your mother talked in her sleep when she was hospitalized after Thomas died.”
Revulsion washed over me.
“You watched her?”
“We watched both of you.”
Eighteen years.
Cassian took one step forward.
Richard immediately raised his hand.
On the phone screen, Adrian put something against Evelyn’s side.
I couldn't see clearly.
I didn't need to.
Cassian stopped.
Richard looked at me.
“The final clue.”
“I don't know it.”
“Yes, you do.”
He stepped closer.
“Where does the bell ring for the dead?”
I knew.
St. Matthew's Church.
Where my father’s funeral had been held.
But I said nothing.
Richard’s expression hardened.
“Your mother loses more than a cottage if you lie.”
Cassian's voice dropped.
“You will never threaten her again.”
Richard smiled.
“You still think this is about Lydia?”
He looked directly at Cassian.
“Ask her mother why Dominic Vale was at Thomas Carter's funeral.”
I froze.
Cassian looked at me.
Neither of us knew.
Richard took the red box.
“Midnight.”
He backed toward the SUV.
“Bring the seventh envelope to Pier 16.”
“And Evelyn?”
“Midnight.”
The SUV drove away.
Cassian watched until the taillights disappeared.
Then turned to me.
“St. Matthew's?”
I nodded.
“How did you know?”
“My father's funeral.”
His expression became complicated.
“Then that's where we go.”
Forty minutes later we stood inside the dark church where I had said goodbye to my father.
The old bell rope still hung beside the sacristy.
Nothing was hidden there.
I walked toward the memorial plaques.
My father's name wasn't listed.
But another name was.
DOMINIC VALE.
I stared.
Cassian stopped beside me.
“My father donated the restoration.”
The date was one month after Thomas died.
Beneath the plaque was a small brass star.
The sixth clue had said beneath a star that never moved.
We had misunderstood the order.
Cassian touched the star.
It shifted.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside was an envelope.
Number 6.
And a note.
THE BELL IS NOT IN THE CHURCH.
I remembered the story.
The red bird heard a bell where no tower stood.
Then I knew.
“My father’s grave.”
Cassian looked at me.
“The cemetery bell.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“My mother gave Dad a tiny brass bell for his desk. She buried it with him.”
Cassian went still.
The final evidence wasn't hidden in a building.
It had been buried with Thomas Carter for eighteen years.
May you like
And Richard Hale had just told us he would kill Evelyn unless we dug it up before midnight.
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