Chapter 12 - The Man Who Wanted Josiah’s Daughters
Percival entered Whitmore House covered in snow.
He had no idea Finch had confessed.
Evelyn realized that immediately.
Percival removed his gloves calmly.
“My hotel lost heat.”
Josiah stood across the foyer.
“Unfortunate.”
“I assumed family hospitality might extend even to me.”
“No.”
Percival smiled.
Then he noticed Samuel.
Mrs. Crowley.
The sheriff.
And Thomas Vale.
The smile disappeared.
Evelyn watched understanding spread across his face.
“Percival Harrington,” the sheriff said, “I need to ask you some questions.”
Percival looked at Josiah.
“What have you done?”
Josiah took one step forward.
Evelyn’s hand closed around his.
Enough.
Let the law do it.
Finch was brought inside on a stretcher after the doctor stabilized him.
Percival saw him.
All color drained from his face.
That was the first time Evelyn knew with absolute certainty.
He was guilty.
Not of intending Clara’s death.
But of setting the events in motion.
The interrogation lasted hours.
Percival denied everything.
Finch lied.
Vale lied.
Clara lied.
Everyone lied except Percival.
That was his story.
Then Abigail came downstairs.
Evelyn hurried toward her.
“You should be sleeping.”
Abigail looked past her.
At Percival.
Her body trembled.
But she did not hide.
Percival softened his voice.
“Abigail.”
She gripped Evelyn’s hand.
Then spoke.
“You scared Mama.”
The room froze.
Percival’s composure cracked.
“You remember me?”
Abigail nodded.
“You said Papa would lose us.”
Josiah went rigid.
Percival looked toward the sheriff.
“This is absurd. She is a traumatized child.”
Abigail continued.
“You took Mama’s box.”
Percival’s eyes changed.
Small.
But enough.
Evelyn saw it.
Samuel saw it.
So did the sheriff.
“What box?” the sheriff asked.
Percival recovered.
“I have no idea.”
Abigail stepped closer to Evelyn.
“Music box.”
“Mr. Harrington?”
“I said I know nothing about it.”
The sheriff studied him.
Because of Finch’s confession, there was now enough evidence for a search.
Percival’s hotel rooms were examined at dawn.
The music box was found inside a locked traveling trunk.
Fourteen months after Clara died.
Percival still carried it.
Why?
Because he could not open the hidden compartment.
Abigail could.
The box returned to Whitmore House under supervision.
It was shaped like a small grand piano.
Abigail placed it on a table.
She pressed one carved flower.
Nothing.
Then another.
A panel beneath the base clicked open.
Inside were folded papers.
Clara’s final evidence.
Copies of financial transfers.
Letters between Percival and Charles Wexler.
A draft document intended to alter management of the girls’ trust.
And one note in Clara’s handwriting.
If Percival has taken this box, he knows enough to fear what is inside but not enough to find it. Abigail knows the latch. I pray she never needs to use it.
Josiah sat down.
The hearing ended before noon.
Percival withdrew his custody petition.
Not voluntarily.
His attorneys advised him he had no chance.
The district attorney began investigating the carriage incident and financial crimes.
Charles Wexler disappeared east before authorities could question him.
Percival remained in Colorado under legal restriction pending further proceedings.
The girls were safe.
It should have felt finished.
It did not.
That evening Josiah stood on the balcony.
Snow covered everything.
Evelyn joined him.
“It’s over.”
“No.”
“The custody fight is.”
“For now.”
She touched his back.
He turned.
“I brought him into this house.”
“You didn’t.”
“Clara warned me her family was dangerous when we married.”
“You believed her.”
“Not enough.”
“Josiah.”
He shook his head.
“I’m tired of failing women I love.”
The words stopped her.
Women.
Plural.
He realized what he had said.
Neither moved.
Then Evelyn took his hands.
“You did not fail Clara.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“You cannot be everywhere.”
“She died.”
“Yes.”
His face twisted.
“And that is terrible.”
Evelyn’s eyes filled.
“But if you make every tragedy evidence that you should have been more powerful, eventually you’ll believe love means controlling every possible danger.”
He stared.
“It doesn’t.”
“What does it mean?”
“Staying.”
The word came from the doorway.
Margaret.
She stood there with Abigail.
Evelyn smiled through tears.
“Yes.”
Margaret walked toward them.
“Staying.”
Josiah knelt.
Both daughters entered his arms.
Evelyn watched.
Then Abigail looked toward her.
“Mama Evie.”
Evelyn’s breath caught.
“Come.”
She joined them.
Four people held one another beneath a Colorado sky cleared after the storm.
For the first time, Evelyn thought perhaps the story could end there.
It could not.
Because the next morning Samuel arrived with another legal document.
Not from Percival.
From Boston.
Clara’s father, Everett Harrington, had filed a new petition.
He claimed Percival’s crimes proved exactly what the family had argued all along:
the Whitmore girls required protection from unstable adults.
May you like
And this time, the most powerful Harrington of them all was coming west personally.
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