Chapter 5 - THE SAFE HOUSE WITH NO VOSS KEYS
Harlan’s “safe house” had six bedrooms, a heated driveway, bullet-resistant windows, and a view of Lake St. Clair.
Apparently wealthy criminals define modesty differently.
“This is not a house.”
I told Elias.
“What is it?”
“A small hotel.”
He almost smiled.
Elias had been formally cleared of immediate suspicion after forensic technicians confirmed his credentials were cloned through Caleb Moss’s administrator account.
Not fully cleared.
Harlan trusted nobody completely now.
Including Elias.
I respected that more than blind loyalty.
Belle arrived forty-eight hours after discharge.
Her doctors wanted strict monitoring.
Medication schedule.
Temperature control.
No strenuous activity.
Immediate return for certain symptoms.
Harlan repeated every instruction back to Dr. Patel.
I watched.
Good father.
Terrible profession.
Both.
The first night, Belle refused to sleep alone.
Not surprising.
She wanted Rue.
I sat beside her bed until two in the morning reading the same picture book six times.
Harlan appeared at the doorway around midnight.
He did not enter.
“Need anything?”
“Coffee.”
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
He disappeared.
Coffee arrived ten minutes later.
I hated that.
Helpful without argument.
Very inconvenient.
Belle slept eventually.
I stepped into the hallway.
Harlan stood at the far window.
No jacket.
White shirt sleeves rolled.
He looked younger without armor.
“How is she?”
“Sleeping.”
“She ask for me?”
“No.”
Pain crossed his face.
I hated that I noticed.
“She’s scared.”
“I know.”
“Not only of you.”
“That is not better.”
“No.”
I walked beside him.
“You built a house where every person had access because you trusted them.”
“Yes.”
“Now she doesn’t know who to trust.”
“Yes.”
“Neither do you.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You do.”
“What?”
“She trusts you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m magical.”
“I know.”
“She trusted Dr. Price too.”
The sentence landed.
Harlan looked away.
Good.
Trust should not become blind just because it feels good.
“Background check?”
I asked.
“Already.”
“Of course.”
“What did you find?”
“Rue Callaway.”
He recited.
“Twenty-seven.”
“Community college two semesters.”
“Dropped out.”
“Mother died when you were nineteen.”
“Father unknown.”
“One younger brother, deceased.”
My body froze.
“Stop.”
Harlan immediately stopped.
Good.
“You had no right.”
“I’m protecting Belle.”
“You could have asked.”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
No defense.
“I should have.”
I looked away.
My brother, Danny, died at seventeen.
Asthma attack.
Cheap apartment.
No inhaler refill because our insurance coverage had lapsed after Mom’s death.
I had been twenty-one.
Working two jobs.
I found him on the bathroom floor.
That was why coughing in the garage stopped me.
I had heard that sound before.
I did not tell Harlan.
Not yet.
“Anything else?”
I asked.
“No criminal history.”
“Congratulations.”
“Two unpaid medical collections.”
I glared.
He almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“Eviction.”
“Yes.”
“I told you I’m not paying it.”
“Good.”
“But your landlord changed the locks today.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You were legally served?”
“Yes.”
“Did the date say Friday?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Thursday.”
My blood boiled.
“He can’t.”
“He did.”
Of course he knew because his people had checked.
“I need my things.”
“We can arrange police escort.”
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
“Harlan.”
“Rue.”
I hated when he did that.
I went with Elias and a Detroit officer.
Harlan stayed with Belle.
Good.
At my apartment, the landlord looked suddenly polite when two black SUVs and a uniformed officer arrived.
Amazing.
My possessions fit into six boxes.
That hurt.
Clothes.
Photos.
Cheap dishes.
Danny’s hoodie.
Mom’s recipe notebook.
A small ceramic dog.
Nothing anyone would call valuable.
Everything I cared about.
Then Elias found the window open.
I had locked it.
He held up one hand.
“Don’t touch anything.”
My stomach tightened.
The apartment had been searched.
Not robbed.
Television still there.
Laptop too.
Drawers opened.
Mattress shifted.
Papers missing.
“What?”
Elias asked.
“My purse documents.”
“Which?”
“Eviction.”
“Bank statements.”
“Old mail.”
“Anything connected to Belle?”
“No.”
Then I remembered.
Belle’s phone number.
Harlan’s number remained in my call history, not paper.
But somebody had left something.
Inside my kitchen sink.
One black shoe.
Child-sized.
Belle’s missing shoe?
No.
Police had recovered that from Julian’s garage.
This was another.
Same size.
Same style.
A message.
I backed away.
Elias’s face turned deadly.
He called Harlan.
I heard only one side.
“Yes.”
“Replica.”
“Placed recently.”
“No camera.”
Then he looked at me.
“Rue.”
“What?”
“We’re leaving.”
For once, I did not argue.
Back at the safe house, Harlan saw my face.
“What happened?”
“You know.”
“Tell me.”
“Someone went through my apartment.”
His jaw tightened.
“They left a shoe.”
“Yes.”
“Message.”
“Yes.”
“Target is you now.”
I swallowed.
“Probably.”
Belle heard from the living room.
“Rue?”
I forced my face normal.
“Hey.”
She smiled.
Then saw the box in my arms.
“You live here now?”
“No.”
Harlan looked at me.
I looked at him.
Belle frowned.
“Where do you live?”
Children.
Honesty.
“Nowhere right now.”
Her face became horrified.
“You don’t have a house?”
“Temporary problem.”
She immediately looked at Harlan.
“Daddy.”
He raised both hands.
“I didn’t do it.”
I almost laughed.
Belle climbed off the sofa.
Walked toward me slowly because strenuous activity was restricted.
“You can have the yellow room.”
“I have a guest room.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Yellow room is better.”
Harlan said:
“The yellow room is her playroom.”
Belle stared.
“So?”
I looked away to hide a smile.
Apparently I had been assigned housing by a six-year-old.
“Temporary.”
I said.
“Okay.”
She accepted.
Easy.
That night, a forensic report came from Belle’s medication bottles.
Two of three refills had been tampered with.
Not poison.
Lower dose.
Capsules replaced with similar-looking compounded medication containing less active drug.
Someone had been weakening her gradually.
Dr. Price had signed the refills.
But pharmacy video showed another person collecting them.
A woman.
House manager Lydia Shaw.
Harlan summoned her to a police interview.
Lydia had worked for his family twenty-two years.
Helped raise Julian.
Helped care for Belle after Celeste died.
She cried when shown the footage.
“Yes.”
She had picked up medication.
“Why?”
“Dr. Price asked.”
“Did you know it was altered?”
“No.”
“Who gave you the replacement bottles?”
She hesitated.
There.
“Lydia.”
Harlan’s voice became cold.
“Who?”
“Caleb.”
Caleb Moss.
Technical manager.
Missing.
“Why?”
“He said the pharmacy had filled the wrong formulation and Dr. Price fixed it privately.”
“Why would a technical manager handle medicine?”
Lydia covered her face.
“I should have asked.”
Yes.
“But I trusted him.”
Again.
Trust.
Then Detective Ward asked:
“Did Caleb ever discuss Belle’s seventh birthday?”
Lydia’s face changed.
“No.”
“Celeste?”
Silence.
Harlan noticed.
“What?”
Lydia began crying harder.
“Celeste came to me before she died.”
Harlan stopped.
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether I had ever seen Caleb in Richard’s old office.”
Harlan’s father.
“Had you?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“After midnight sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He said he was fixing security.”
Harlan laughed bitterly.
Of course.
Then Lydia whispered:
“Celeste gave me a key.”
Everything stopped.
“What key?”
Lydia reached inside her coat lining.
A tiny brass key.
“I’ve carried it three years.”
Harlan stared.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“Because Celeste told me not to.”
His face hardened.
“She was my wife.”
“She was afraid you would take it straight to Julian or Elias.”
That hurt.
Truth does that.
“What did she say?”
Lydia’s voice shook.
“She said, ‘If I die before Belle turns seven, give this only to someone Harlan has no reason to control.’”
Everyone looked at me.
I actually stepped backward.
“No.”
Harlan stared.
Lydia stared.
Detective Ward looked amused.
“Why me?”
Lydia answered:
“Celeste couldn’t mean you specifically.”
“Good.”
“But…”
She looked toward Belle.
“You found Belle.”
Harlan’s face became unreadable.
I shook my head.
“I’m not taking some dead woman’s secret key.”
Then Belle walked into the hallway holding Marbles, her recovered rabbit.
She looked at the key.
Her eyes widened.
“Mommy’s piano key.”
Silence.
Harlan turned.
“What?”
Belle pointed.
“The little door under the piano.”
Harlan’s safe house suddenly felt less safe.
Because the piano was still inside Voss Manor.
May you like
The house Belle refused to return to.
And apparently Celeste had hidden something there before she died.
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