Chapter 2 - The Master Key in the Woman’s Hand
Renick ordered the library doors locked.
The employees watching from the hallway disappeared at once.
Sully shut the curtains, and the fire became the only warm thing in the room.
“Who has access to master keys?” Renick asked.
“Four people,” Sully answered. “You, me, Chief Mercer, and Mrs. Kavanaugh’s former attendant.”
Renick’s expression did not move.
“My wife has been dead for three years.”
“Yes.”
“Her attendant disappeared after the funeral.”
“Yes.”
Belle felt Micah press closer to her leg.
The woman on the screen wore a cap low over her forehead, but part of her face remained visible.
Dark hair.
Narrow cheekbones.
A pale scar near her mouth.
Sully whispered the name.
“Celia Ward.”
Renick stared at him.
“You told me Celia left the country.”
“That was the report I received.”
“From whom?”
Sully hesitated.
“Chief Mercer.”
The same security chief who controlled every guard on the estate.
Renick turned to the young officer.
“Where is Mercer?”
“He left the grounds ten minutes ago.”
“Why?”
“He said he was pursuing the suspect.”
“Without informing me?”
The officer said nothing.
Renick lifted his phone.
Every gate locked.
Every Kavanaugh vehicle disabled remotely.
All private aircraft grounded.
No one entered or left the estate without his personal authorization.
His orders were quiet.
That made them terrifying.
Belle wanted no part of it.
She took Micah’s hand.
“We should go home.”
Renick looked toward her.
“You cannot.”
Her spine stiffened.
“My son saved your daughter. That does not make us prisoners.”
“No.”
He walked closer but kept his distance.
“It makes you targets.”
“Why would anyone target us?”
“Because your son saw Celia.”
“He saw a woman from behind.”
“He also prevented Brinley’s death.”
Belle felt cold.
If the incident had been planned, Micah had interrupted it.
Renick looked at Sully.
“Move them into the east guest wing.”
“I’m not staying here,” Belle said.
“I have a basement apartment. My son has school tomorrow.”
“Your landlord changed the locks this morning.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
Renick held out a tablet.
Security footage showed a man entering the narrow basement unit where Belle and Micah lived. He carried no landlord’s tools.
He searched drawers.
Lifted mattresses.
Opened Micah’s schoolbag.
Then placed something beneath the kitchen sink.
The feed came from a camera across the alley.
One of Renick’s men had already been watching Belle’s building after the balcony rescue.
“Why were you watching my home?” she asked.
“Because Brinley’s attacker saw your face on the balcony.”
The video continued.
The stranger left.
A second man arrived wearing a city utility jacket and carried the object from beneath the sink away in a sealed container.
“What was it?” Belle whispered.
“An incendiary device.”
Micah looked up at her.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Renick answered differently.
“Something meant to start a fire.”
Belle turned on him.
“He is seven.”
“He deserves a truthful answer that does not make him responsible for adult danger.”
The words were harsh, but not cruel.
Micah absorbed them quietly.
“Were they going to burn our home?” he asked.
Renick lowered himself again.
“They tried. They failed.”
“Because of your men?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Renick looked away for half a second.
Belle understood then that gratitude made him more uncomfortable than fear.
Sully escorted them to the east wing.
The room assigned to Belle was larger than her entire apartment.
Micah was given the connecting room, though he refused to sleep alone.
Belle checked the windows, locks, and vents.
She did not trust luxury.
Poor homes announced their dangers openly.
Rich homes hid them behind polished doors.
At nine that night, someone knocked.
Belle opened the door expecting Sully.
Renick stood there.
Alone.
No guards.
No jacket.
Only a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“Brinley asked for Micah.”
“He’s asleep.”
Renick looked past her.
Micah sat awake on the bed reading an old library book.
Belle sighed.
“You may come in.”
Renick entered carefully, as though the room belonged to her.
“Brinley hasn’t spoken much since her mother died,” he said.
“She spoke today.”
“She said two words.”
“Bird boy.”
“Yes.”
Micah closed the book.
“Why does she call me that?”
Renick sat across from him.
“Her mother used to draw birds for her.”
“Did she see me with one?”
“You were feeding sparrows near the fountain yesterday.”
Micah nodded.
“Birds don’t like people who move fast.”
Renick’s gaze sharpened.
“Brinley does not either.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“She flinched when the guard tried to pick her up.”
Belle had noticed too.
Renick had not.
Or he had refused to name it.
“Does someone hurt her?” Micah asked.
The room became still.
Renick answered carefully.
“I don’t know.”
“Then you should ask her without making her scared.”
A seven-year-old boy gave the most feared man in Boston an order.
Renick accepted it.
“Will you help me?”
Micah looked toward Belle.
She wanted to say no.
Then she remembered Brinley leaning into her arms like a child starved for comfort.
“You may speak to her,” Belle said. “But Micah is not an investigator.”
Renick nodded.
That night, Brinley came into Micah’s room holding a wooden bird.
She sat beside him on the carpet.
Renick remained by the doorway.
Belle watched from the bed.
Micah drew a balcony.
Then a woman.
Brinley stared.
“Who opened the door?” he asked.
She touched the woman’s picture.
“Pretty lady.”
“Did you know her?”
Brinley nodded.
“She sings Mommy’s song.”
Renick’s face went pale.
“What song?” he asked.
Brinley hummed four soft notes.
Renick gripped the door frame.
His dead wife, Amelia, had composed that lullaby for Brinley.
Only three other people knew it.
Renick.
Sully.
And Celia Ward.
Micah drew a key.
Brinley touched it.
Then she drew something herself.
A square beneath the house.
Inside it, she made two small figures.
One tall.
One child-sized.
“Where is this?” Micah asked.
Brinley pointed toward the floor.
“Down.”
Renick frowned.
“There is no room beneath this wing.”
Sully, standing in the corridor, whispered:
“Yes, there is.”
The east wing had been built over the estate’s original servants’ quarters.
A sealed basement had not appeared on modern plans for nearly fifty years.
Belle looked at Brinley’s drawing again.
Two figures.
May you like
Someone was living beneath the Kavanaugh estate.
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