Chapter 2 - MY MOTHER KNEW HIS WIFE
I drove to my mother's care facility at midnight.
Vincent followed.
I told him not to.
He followed anyway.
Mom was awake.
Dementia had become unpredictable.
Some nights she called me by her sister's name.
Other nights she could describe the dress I wore on my first day of kindergarten.
That night, when she saw Vincent, she became completely lucid.
Her face changed.
“Isabella?”
Vincent stopped.
“No, Margaret.”
Mom stared.
Then whispered:
“Vincent.”
His expression tightened.
“You remember me?”
She looked at me.
“You weren't supposed to bring him.”
“Mom, how did you know Isabella?”
Fear entered her eyes.
“I don't.”
I placed the photograph in front of her.
She began crying.
“Mom.”
“Claire, leave it alone.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Why is my name engraved inside Isabella's ring?”
Her eyes snapped toward me.
“What?”
Vincent showed her.
Mom stared.
Then covered her mouth.
“She did it.”
“Who?”
“Isabella.”
“Why?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Because she knew someone would eventually give that ring to the wrong woman.”
I looked at Vincent.
He looked just as confused.
Mom told us the truth in fragments.
Twenty-two years earlier, she worked as an oncology nurse.
Isabella was not her patient.
She was her friend.
They met after Isabella secretly brought an injured woman into the hospital under a false name.
The woman had been beaten by a man connected to the Marlowe organization.
Isabella wanted her protected.
That became the beginning of something.
For years, Isabella secretly helped women and families escape men connected to her husband's criminal network.
My mother helped.
Vincent looked sick.
“I didn't know.”
Mom laughed bitterly.
“That was the point.”
“Why didn't she trust me?”
“She loved you.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Sometimes loving someone and trusting what they will do with the truth are different things.”
Vincent absorbed that in silence.
Then Mom looked at me.
“Isabella knew she was in danger before she died.”
Officially, Isabella had been killed in a boating accident.
Her body was recovered three days later.
Mom shook her head.
“It wasn't an accident.”
Vincent became still.
“Who killed my wife?”
Mom looked at him.
“I never knew.”
Then she looked at me.
“But Isabella did.”
“Where's the evidence?”
Mom pointed toward the ring.
May you like
“The woman who wears that ring was supposed to find it.”
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