The ambulance doors slammed shut behind Julian DeLuca, sealing him inside a narrow white box filled with alarms, fluorescent light, and the woman he had intended to marry.
Cassandra Vale did not look untouchable anymore.
Her silver gown had been cut open at the shoulder so the paramedics could place monitoring pads against her skin. Her carefully arranged hair had come loose. One strand stuck to the corner of her mouth beneath the oxygen mask.
Julian sat beside the stretcher, gripping the steel rail hard enough for his knuckles to whiten.
“What did she drink?”
The paramedic did not look up.
“We don’t know yet.”
“It was champagne.”
“I understand.”
“She collapsed less than thirty seconds after swallowing it.”
“We understand that too.”
Julian’s voice dropped.
“Then tell me what happened.”
The paramedic finally looked at him.
“I can tell you that her heart rhythm became unstable almost immediately. I can tell you her blood pressure dropped dangerously fast. I can tell you this does not look like an ordinary allergic reaction.”
Julian stared at Cassandra.
“What does it look like?”
The man hesitated.
“Something toxic.”
The word entered Julian like a blade.
Toxic.
Not sick.
Not faint.
Poisoned.
Cassandra’s fingers moved weakly beneath his hand.
Julian leaned closer.
“Cass?”
Her eyes fluttered but did not open.
He remembered the ballroom.
The shattered flute.
Thomas Bell near the curtains.
The old man’s eyes fixed not on Cassandra but on Julian’s untouched champagne.
Then Thomas stepping backward.
Disappearing.
Julian pulled out his phone.
His security director answered on the first ring.
“Mr. DeLuca.”
“Lock the estate.”
“It’s already done.”
“No one leaves.”
A pause.
“Police are arriving.”
“Good.”
“Mr. DeLuca, there’s something else.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“What?”
“Thomas Bell is missing.”
Julian said nothing.
The ambulance siren wailed above them.
“He was seen entering the west service corridor two minutes after Miss Vale collapsed,” the security director continued. “That corridor leads to the staff parking area and the old wine cellar.”
“Search both.”
“We are.”
“Find him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Julian ended the call.
For thirty-two years, Thomas Bell had been more permanent than furniture.
Thomas had carried Julian downstairs the morning Julian’s mother died because the nine-year-old boy refused to walk into the room where adults were crying.
Thomas had taught him which fork to use at state dinners and how to drive a manual transmission in the estate’s oldest Mercedes.
When Julian’s father was buried, Thomas had stood six feet away beneath a black umbrella.
When Julian took control of the DeLuca companies, Thomas had been one of three people permitted to enter his office without knocking.
And four years ago, when Claire Arden disappeared, Thomas had been the man who sat outside Julian’s study until sunrise while Julian made phone call after phone call.
Thomas knew how long Julian had searched.
He knew what Claire had meant.
He knew everything.
Julian looked at Cassandra again.
“Don’t die because of me,” he whispered.
The monitor continued its frantic rhythm.
At Northwestern Memorial Hospital, a trauma team was waiting.
The ambulance stopped.
The doors opened.
Cassandra vanished beneath a crowd of doctors.
Julian tried to follow.
A nurse blocked him.
“You need to stay here.”
“I’m going with her.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m Julian DeLuca.”
The nurse’s expression did not change.
“And in this hospital, you’re the fiancé in the hallway.”
For perhaps the first time that night, Julian obeyed.
He stood under painfully bright lights while the doors closed.
Eleven minutes later, two Chicago police detectives approached.
Detective Lena Alvarez was a compact woman in her forties with tired eyes and a black notebook. Beside her stood Detective Marcus Reed, younger and broader, his coat still damp from the November rain.
“Mr. DeLuca?”
“Yes.”
“We need to ask about what happened.”
“You should be at my house.”
“We have officers there.”
“Then ask me.”
Alvarez studied him.
“Who poured Miss Vale’s champagne?”
“A waiter brought the tray.”
“Name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who ordered the tray?”
“Cassandra.”
“Who delivered it?”
“My head butler arranged it.”
“Thomas Bell?”
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
“You already know his name.”
“He hasn’t been located.”
Julian folded his arms.
“You think he poisoned her.”
“We think someone may have tampered with the drink.”
“Thomas has worked for my family longer than you’ve probably been a detective.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No. It tells you not to make the easiest assumption because you’re in a hurry.”
Alvarez closed the notebook halfway.
“You were supposed to drink from the tray too.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Cassandra collapsed before I could.”
“Where’s your glass?”
“Ballroom floor, last I saw.”
“Untouched?”
“Yes.”
The detectives exchanged a glance.
Julian noticed.
“What?”
Reed answered.
“The glass has already been collected.”
“And?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Julian stepped toward him.
“If there was something in that glass—”
“We’ll know.”
Julian’s phone vibrated again.
He looked down.
Nora Bennett.
He had never received a call from her before.
He answered immediately.
“Nora.”
Her breath sounded uneven.
“Mr. DeLuca, I’m sorry. I know this is not the time.”
“Is Lily all right?”
There was a brief silence.
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“In the staff apartment.”
“Security has you there?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
“Mr. DeLuca.”
Something in her voice stopped him.
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
He walked several feet away from the detectives.
“Tell me.”
Nora whispered, “Lily saw something.”
Julian went still.
“What did she see?”
“She says Mr. Bell didn’t touch the champagne.”
“Children misunderstand things.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“She saw someone else near the tray.”
Julian closed his eyes.
“Who?”
“She doesn’t know his name.”
“Describe him.”
“She said he was the man with the gold bird.”
Julian opened his eyes.
The hospital corridor seemed suddenly colder.
“Say that again.”
“The man with the gold bird.”
Julian’s mind moved rapidly through the guests.
Then it stopped.
At DeLuca Maritime, senior executives wore small gold lapel pins at major public events.
Most were shaped like ships.
One man had refused the ship design years ago because he considered it unfashionable.
His custom pin was a falcon.
Miles Greer.
Chief financial officer.
Julian’s father’s former protégé.
One of the few men who had known Claire.
Julian turned toward the detectives.
“Come to the estate.”
Alvarez raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because your witness is four years old.”
Forty minutes later, Cassandra was still fighting for her life.
Julian stood at the elevator when the attending physician approached.
“Mr. DeLuca?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve stabilized her for now.”
The words nearly took Julian’s legs from beneath him.
“For now?”
“She’s critically ill, but she’s responding.”
“Do you know what caused it?”
“We’re running a full toxicology screen. There are several possibilities.”
“Will she live?”
The doctor did not give him the comforting lie he wanted.
“We are doing everything we can.”
Julian nodded once.
Then he left.
By the time he returned to the DeLuca estate, the mansion no longer resembled a gala.
The musicians were gone.
Guests had been interviewed in the library and released in groups.
Police tape crossed the ballroom doors.
Broken champagne glass still glittered beneath evidence markers.
The chandeliers remained lit, absurdly beautiful over a crime scene.
Nora sat in the drawing room with Lily asleep across her lap.
The child was still wearing the pale blue dress.
Her bare feet were tucked beneath Nora’s coat.
Her stuffed rabbit rested against her cheek.
Detective Alvarez sat nearby.
Julian entered quietly.
Nora started to stand.
“Don’t,” he said.
She remained seated.
Lily stirred.
Her eyes opened.
She saw Julian and sat up.
“Is the shiny lady okay?”
The question struck him harder than anything an adult had said all night.
“She’s very sick.”
Lily looked down.
“Because of the drink?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t make her sick.”
“No.”
Her eyes lifted quickly.
“I only danced.”
Julian crouched in front of her.
“You did nothing wrong.”
Lily studied his face with unnerving seriousness.
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“My mama says sad people need somebody to sit close.”
Nora looked away.
Julian remained crouched.
After a moment, Lily moved the stuffed rabbit aside and patted the sofa cushion beside her.
The most feared man in Chicago sat.
Detective Alvarez leaned forward.
“Lily, your mother told us you saw somebody near the drinks.”
Lily nodded.
“The bird man.”
“Can you tell us what he did?”
“He put his hand by the glasses.”
Nora’s fingers tightened around Lily’s shoulders.
“Did he put anything inside them?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened after that?”
“Mr. Thomas came.”
Julian focused completely on her.
“What did Thomas do?”
“He looked mad.”
“Did he touch the glasses?”
Lily shook her head.
“He told bird man, ‘Not tonight.’”
The room became silent.
Alvarez wrote it down.
“What did the other man say?”
Lily frowned, remembering.
“He said…”
She looked toward Nora.
“What did he say, sweetheart?”
Lily’s small brow furrowed.
“He said, ‘Four years was already too long.’”
Julian stopped breathing.
Four years.
Claire had disappeared four years ago.
Alvarez looked at him immediately.
“That means something to you.”
Julian stood.
Before he could answer, a security officer entered.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We found Mr. Bell.”
Julian’s expression hardened.
“Where?”
“The old nursery.”
Nora made a small sound.
Julian turned.
Her face had gone white.
“Why does that matter?”
Nora did not answer.
“Nora.”
She looked at Lily.
Then at the stuffed rabbit.
Finally, she looked at Julian.
“Because that nursery used to belong to Claire.”
The room froze.
Julian stared at her.
“You knew Claire?”
Nora’s eyes filled.
“She was my sister.”
Julian took one step backward.
Everything around him seemed to lose its shape.
“You told me your last name was Bennett.”
“It is.”
“Claire’s name was Arden.”
“Her professional name.”
“You have lived in my house for eighteen months.”
“Yes.”
“You have served meals at my table.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me search for her.”
Nora’s voice broke.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lily looked frightened now.
Nora hugged her.
“Because Claire made me promise.”
“Promise what?”
Nora stared at Julian across the wreckage of the night.
“That I would never tell you who Lily was unless you recognized the dance.”
Julian looked at the little girl.
The dark curls.
The serious gray-green eyes.
The bluebird turn.
His hand gripped the back of a chair.
“No.”
Nora began to cry.
Julian shook his head once.
“No.”
Lily looked between them.
“Mama?”
Nora kissed her hair.
Julian’s voice was barely audible.
“Who is her father?”
Nora closed her eyes.
