CHAPTER 4 — THE LETTER FROM A DEAD WOMAN
CHAPTER 4 — THE LETTER FROM A DEAD WOMAN
No one claimed the envelope.
The detective laid it carefully on Adrian Vale's table as though it might explode.
"I think you should open it, Mr. Vale."
Adrian looked at the handwriting.
The color drained from his face.
His fingers hovered over the words but refused to touch them.
"I know this handwriting."
His voice was barely audible.
"It can't be."
The room was silent.
"My wife wrote exactly like this."
A chill ran through me.
Margaret Vale had been dead for twenty years.
At least, that was the story everyone knew.
Adrian slowly broke the seal.
Inside were three items.
A handwritten letter.
A faded photograph.
A small cassette tape.
The detective frowned.
"We found no return address."
"It was mailed from a public mailbox yesterday morning."
Adrian unfolded the letter.
His lips trembled before he spoke.
"It's addressed to me."
He looked at the date written in the corner.
August 14—Twenty Years Earlier.
The paper had yellowed with age.
He began reading aloud.
Adrian,
If you are reading this, then someone has finally failed to keep the truth buried.
I pray our daughter is alive.
If she is standing beside you now, then everything I endured was worth it.
Do not blame yourself.
The danger came from inside our own family.
A collective gasp swept through Bellamy House.
Celeste took an involuntary step backward.
Adrian continued.
I overheard a conversation three days ago.
They believe that if our daughter disappears, the Vale fortune will eventually pass where they want it to go.
They think I know too much.
If anything happens to me, never believe it was an accident.
Adrian stopped reading.
His breathing became uneven.
"I was told..."
He swallowed hard.
"They said Margaret lost control of the car during the storm."
The detective exchanged a glance with his partner.
"Mr. Vale, the original investigation classified it as an accident."
"I know."
"But I never saw the full report."
The detective nodded slowly.
"You will."
Adrian looked back at the letter.
Trust no one who profits from our daughter's absence.
Especially those who suddenly become indispensable after we are gone.
His hands began shaking.
He lowered the page.
"Celeste."
Everyone turned.
Celeste's face had become almost ghostly white.
"This has nothing to do with me."
"No?"
Adrian's voice was dangerously calm.
"My wife dies."
"My daughter disappears."
"My brother dies five years later."
"And somehow..."
"...you become the sole heir to everything."
She forced a laugh.
"Coincidences happen."
"Not like this."
The detective carefully picked up the old photograph.
It showed Margaret standing beside a black sedan.
The image itself looked ordinary.
Until he turned it over.
Written on the back were six words.
License plate. Remember this number.
Below was a handwritten plate number.
The detective immediately handed it to his partner.
"Run it."
The younger detective stepped outside with his phone.
Inside the restaurant, no one moved.
Then Adrian picked up the cassette tape.
"I haven't seen one of these in years."
One of the older guests quietly said,
"My car still has a player."
Within minutes, his vintage sedan had been brought to the front entrance.
The cassette clicked into place.
Static filled the speakers.
Then a woman's frightened voice.
Margaret.
"If someone finds this..."
Her breathing was ragged.
"They're following me."
"I couldn't go to the police."
"I don't know who I can trust."
A car horn blared in the background.
"I heard Victor arguing with someone tonight."
The name hit Adrian like a hammer.
"My brother..."
Margaret continued.
"He kept saying Adrian's daughter couldn't be allowed to inherit."
My heart stopped.
She wasn't talking about Celeste.
She was talking about me.
The recording crackled.
Then another voice entered.
A man's voice.
Angry.
Distant.
"You should never have listened."
Margaret gasped.
The tape suddenly ended with tires screeching and the sound of metal crashing.
Silence.
No one inside Bellamy House spoke.
Even the detectives looked shaken.
The younger detective hurried back inside.
"We identified the license plate."
He looked directly at Adrian.
"The car belonged to Victor Vale."
Adrian closed his eyes.
"My own brother..."
The detective continued.
"It was reported stolen the night before Mrs. Vale died."
"Recovered?"
"No."
"It disappeared permanently."
Before anyone could respond, another voice echoed through the restaurant.
"I can explain."
Everyone looked toward Celeste.
Tears streamed down her face.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
The detective's attention sharpened instantly.
"What exactly wasn't supposed to happen?"
She realized her mistake.
"I—I meant..."
But it was too late.
The words were already hanging in the air.
The detective stepped closer.
"Miss Bellamy..."
"Were you referring to Mrs. Vale's death..."
"...or the disappearance of the child?"
Celeste stared at the floor.
She said nothing.
That silence lasted only a few seconds.
The restaurant's elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Evelyn Brooks, slowly stood from a corner table where she had been quietly celebrating her retirement.
She was seventy-eight years old.
She had worked for the Vale family longer than anyone else alive.
"I've carried a secret for twenty years."
Every eye turned toward her.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked at me.
"I saw the little girl that morning."
My pulse quickened.
Mrs. Brooks pointed a trembling finger toward Celeste.
"No..."
She whispered.
"It wasn't strangers who took Mr. Vale's daughter."
May you like
She looked directly into Adrian's eyes.
"It was someone from this family."
