Chapter 7 - The Thread of Guilt
Julian stammered, stepping backward until his spine pressed against the cold wood of the grand mahogany doors. "I... I misheard! The melody sounded similar to a piece I was writing—"
"You never wrote a single note of music in your life, Julian," Alistair interrupted, taking a heavy, deliberate step toward his stepbrother.
The child sat quietly on the piano bench, watching the two men with a wisdom far beyond her eight years. She reached inside the pocket of her oversized brown shirt and pulled out a small, tarnished silver locket attached to a frayed velvet ribbon.
"Mummy gave me this," the girl said, holding the silver piece out in her tiny palm. "She told me if I was ever hungry, I should come to the house with the golden lights and play her song. She said the man with the silver hair would know."
Alistair stopped in his tracks. He reached out and gently took the locket. With a soft click, the tarnished silver casing popped open.
Inside was a tiny, faded photograph of Alistair and Elena on their wedding day. And behind the photo, folded into a tight square, was a tiny scrap of yellowed paper.
May you like
Alistair unfolded the paper with trembling fingers. Written in Elena’s distinct, elegant script were three short sentences:
If you are reading this, my daughter Iris has found her way home. Julian poisoned my wine and buried me beneath the floorboards of the north conservatory. Do not let him hurt our child.
