Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN WHITE GLOVES
Vincent did not confront Cassandra immediately.
That frightened me more than if he had.
I had already learned something about Vincent Moretti during the year I worked inside his house.
When he shouted, someone had annoyed him.
When he became quiet, someone had become a problem.
The drive back from the hospital took thirty minutes.
Vincent said perhaps ten words.
Enzo slept in a car seat beside him under Dr. Romano’s supervision.
Lily slept against my shoulder.
I kept watching her face.
Three years old.
She should have been worried about crayons and cookies.
Instead, she had become a witness in something I barely understood.
“Lily cannot be questioned by anyone without you present.”
Vincent’s voice startled me.
“What?”
He looked through the window.
“Not my staff. Not security. Not police if they become involved.”
His jaw tightened.
“She is three.”
I had expected him to treat Lily as useful information.
Instead, he was protecting her.
“Thank you.”
He nodded once.
When we reached the mansion, Cassandra was sitting in the formal living room.
Still wearing white.
The gloves were gone.
Victor Salvi, Vincent’s security chief, stood near the doors.
Mrs. Hargrove sat stiffly on a chair.
Norah was nowhere in sight.
Cassandra stood.
“Is Enzo all right?”
Vincent handed the baby to Dr. Romano.
“He will be.”
Relief crossed Cassandra’s face.
Too quickly.
Then Vincent asked:
“Where are your gloves?”
Silence.
Cassandra looked at her hands.
“My gloves?”
“The white pair.”
“In my room, probably.”
“Probably?”
Her expression hardened.
“I don’t catalog my wardrobe for you.”
Vincent watched her.
“Lily says someone with white hands touched Enzo’s bottle.”
Cassandra’s eyes moved toward my sleeping daughter.
The look lasted less than a second.
But I felt it.
Something cold.
“Vincent, surely you are not allowing a toddler to accuse me of poisoning your son.”
“No one said poisoning.”
Cassandra realized her mistake.
I did too.
Vincent stepped closer.
“What exactly do you think was in the bottle?”
She laughed.
“This is absurd.”
“Then answer.”
“You told me medication was found.”
“After Lily spoke.”
For the first time, Cassandra’s composure cracked.
Only slightly.
Then she smiled.
“You called from the hospital, remember? You said tests were being done.”
Vincent did not respond.
Maybe that was true.
Maybe not.
Cassandra continued.
“Half the women in this house wear pale gloves while cleaning.”
Mrs. Hargrove stiffened.
“My staff wear black.”
Cassandra looked at her.
“Then perhaps your staff should be questioned.”
Victor Salvi entered carrying a plastic evidence bag.
Inside were Cassandra’s white gloves.
He handed them to Vincent.
“Found in the fireplace ash basket outside Miss Vale’s suite.”
Cassandra went pale.
“I threw them away.”
“Why?”
“They were stained.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent gave them back to Victor.
“Test them.”
Cassandra’s voice sharpened.
“You are humiliating me based on the words of a maid’s child.”
That sentence woke something inside me.
Before I could answer, Vincent did.
“Her name is Lily.”
Cassandra stared at him.
“And the maid’s name is Elena.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“If you cannot remember the names of people under my roof, perhaps you shouldn’t plan on living under it.”
Cassandra’s face hardened.
“I am your fiancée.”
“For now.”
No one breathed.
Then Norah entered.
She was crying.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Victor immediately moved between her and Enzo.
Norah noticed.
Her face collapsed.
“I didn’t hurt him.”
Vincent’s expression remained blank.
“Sit.”
She did.
“Where were you during the seventeen-minute camera outage?”
“In the laundry corridor.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for replacement sheets.”
“Your assistant says the sheets were delivered yesterday.”
Norah shook her head.
“She’s mistaken.”
Victor placed another item on the table.
A small glass vial.
My stomach turned.
“We found this in Elena’s staff locker.”
I stared.
“What?”
Norah looked directly at me.
“I knew it.”
I stood.
“I have never seen that.”
Cassandra’s expression changed.
Almost relief.
Vincent picked up the vial.
“Where exactly?”
Victor answered.
“Inside the pocket of her spare apron.”
“That’s not mine.”
Norah pointed at me.
“She has been obsessed with Enzo’s bottles for weeks.”
“Because something was wrong.”
“You created the red tags yourself!”
“Yes!”
“And now suddenly the bottle you marked contains medication?”
I looked at Vincent.
“Please.”
His expression gave me nothing.
I hated how much that hurt.
Cassandra approached slowly.
“Elena, perhaps you’ve been under stress.”
I almost laughed.
“Don’t.”
“You fainted.”
“Because somebody drugged me.”
“Or because you took something.”
My hands shook.
Vincent spoke.
“Enough.”
He turned toward Victor.
“Did you touch the vial?”
“Gloves only.”
“Send it to the independent lab.”
Cassandra frowned.
“Why independent?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Because someone inside this house believes planting evidence will work.”
My breath caught.
He believed me.
Or at least he did not believe the vial.
Norah began crying harder.
“I should have watched him.”
Vincent turned.
“Yes.”
She froze.
“You were paid to protect my son.”
“I know.”
“And you left.”
“I made a mistake.”
“For seventeen minutes?”
“I panicked.”
“About what?”
No answer.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Norah.”
Her eyes closed.
“Someone called me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“They said my mother had fallen.”
Vincent looked toward Victor.
“Check her phone.”
Norah suddenly stood.
“No!”
Too fast.
Victor moved.
Norah grabbed her handbag.
Something fell out.
A thick envelope.
Cash spilled across the carpet.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Mrs. Hargrove whispered:
“Oh, dear God.”
Vincent stared at the money.
“Who paid you?”
Norah shook her head.
“It isn’t what you think.”
“That answer has never improved anything.”
Cassandra moved toward the door.
Victor blocked her.
She glared.
“Get out of my way.”
Vincent did not look at her.
“No one leaves.”
Norah covered her face.
“I never put anything in Enzo’s bottle.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did the money come from?”
Silence.
Finally:
“Someone was paying me to change his records.”
My chest tightened.
“What records?”
“Sleep.”
“Feeding.”
“Crying episodes.”
Vincent’s expression shifted.
“You falsified my son’s medical history?”
Norah nodded.
“Why?”
She was sobbing now.
“They said nobody would hurt him.”
“Who?”
Norah looked toward Cassandra.
Cassandra’s face went completely still.
Before she could answer, Mrs. Hargrove suddenly stood.
“There is something you need to see.”
Everyone turned.
She looked at Vincent.
“I should have shown you months ago.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Moretti left a notebook.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
His late wife.
Isabella.
Mrs. Hargrove continued.
“She kept notes during Enzo’s first months.”
“Where is it?”
“In the old nursery cabinet.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Get it.”
Mrs. Hargrove returned carrying a small ivory journal.
Vincent opened it.
Pages of feeding times.
Pediatric appointments.
Milestones.
Then he stopped.
His hand began trembling.
“What?”
I asked quietly.
He turned the journal so I could see.
Isabella had written one sentence twice.
The second time underlined.
If something happens to me, do not let Cassandra Vale make decisions for Enzo.
The room went silent.
Cassandra whispered:
“Vincent.”
He slowly lifted his eyes.
But before anyone could speak, Norah made a sound like someone had hit her.
“There’s more.”
Vincent turned.
Norah stared at Isabella’s journal.
“She called me the night before she died.”
Cassandra’s face drained of color.
Vincent whispered:
“What did my wife tell you?”
Norah swallowed.
May you like
“She said her accident wasn’t going to be an accident.”
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