Chapter 2 – THE STOLEN SAPPHIRE LOCKET

Vanessa froze.

The entire dining room seemed to lose its oxygen.

“Let me see that,” Teresa demanded, her voice suddenly strong.

I helped the old woman stand. We walked toward the doorway. Luca handed his mother the photograph.

Teresa’s eyes widened. She touched the image with a trembling finger.

“The sapphire locket,” Teresa whispered. “Catherine never took it off. She wore it the night she died. But the paramedics said it wasn’t on her body.”

Vanessa took another step backward, hitting the edge of the dining table. Glasses rattled.

“It’s a replica!” Vanessa stammered, her chest heaving. “I admired Catherine’s so much, I bought a similar one. It’s costume jewelry!”

Luca’s jaw clenched.

“Catherine’s locket belonged to her great-grandmother. It was custom-made in Italy in nineteen-twenty. There are no replicas.”

Sofia stepped closer to her brother.

“She took it, Luca. She was in the room that night.”

“I WAS NOT THERE!” Vanessa screamed, her polite, elegant facade completely crumbling. “Elena is lying! Sofia is lying! They hate me because I made you happy after Catherine left us!”

Elena stood her ground.

“I was the night nurse,” Elena said, her voice steady now. “Catherine was having a terrible asthma attack. I went downstairs to the kitchen to get her emergency inhaler from the refrigerator.”

The room was dead silent. Every guest was hanging on Elena’s words.

“When I came back upstairs,” Elena continued, “the bedroom door was locked from the inside.”

Luca’s face went pale. “What?”

“I knocked,” Elena cried, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. “I knocked and I yelled. I heard Catherine gasping. And I heard another woman’s voice whispering to her.”

“Who?” Luca demanded.

“I didn’t know then,” Elena sobbed. “But when the door finally unlocked ten minutes later, Catherine was gone. And the back staircase door was wide open.”

Vanessa shook her head violently. “A tragic story, but you didn’t see me!”

“No,” Elena admitted. “I didn’t see your face. The hallway was too dark.”

Vanessa let out a loud, triumphant breath. She looked at the guests.

“You see? She’s making assumptions! This is a witch hunt!”

But Teresa suddenly gripped my arm.

“Hannah,” the old woman whispered to me. “Her coat.”

I looked at Teresa, confused.

“Check Vanessa’s coat in the cloakroom,” Teresa urged.

Vanessa whipped her head toward us.

“Don’t you dare touch my things!”

Luca looked at me. His eyes were desperate.

“Hannah. Go.”

I didn’t hesitate. I ran across the hall to the guest cloakroom. I found Vanessa’s expensive beige cashmere coat hanging alone on the gold rack.

My hands shook as I patted down the pockets.

Empty.

I checked the inside lining. Nothing.

I walked back into the hallway, feeling a terrible weight in my chest.

“There’s nothing in her coat,” I said quietly.

Vanessa smirked. She smoothed down her red dress and looked at Luca.

“Are we done with this circus, darling? Can we please ask these people to leave?”

But I wasn’t finished.

“There’s nothing in her coat,” I repeated, looking directly at Vanessa. “But I know what’s in her bedroom safe.”

Vanessa’s smirk vanished.

Luca turned to me. “Hannah?”

I took a deep breath. My mother’s medical bills flashed through my mind, but I pushed the fear away.

“Two weeks ago, Mrs. Bellini asked me to clean her jewelry box. She left the wall safe open by mistake.”

Vanessa lunged forward. “Shut your mouth, you little—”

Luca caught Vanessa by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Finish your sentence, Hannah.”

I looked at Teresa. The old woman nodded at me.

“There was a small wooden box inside the safe,” I said. “Inside it was a broken rosary. And a sapphire locket.”

Vanessa let out a guttural sound. “She’s lying! She’s trying to steal my job and my fiancé!”

“Then open the safe, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice cold as ice.

Vanessa ripped her arm out of his grip.

“I will not be humiliated in my own home!”

Suddenly, a tiny voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

“It’s not your home.”

Everyone looked up.

Standing at the top of the stairs in her pink pajamas was seven-year-old Mia. Luca and Catherine’s daughter.

She was clutching a piece of paper against her chest.

Luca immediately softened. “Mia, sweetheart, go back to bed.”

Mia slowly walked down the heavy wooden steps.

“I couldn’t sleep, Daddy. The shouting woke me up.”

Vanessa forced a sweet, maternal smile. “Mia, honey, come to Auntie Vanessa. Let’s go back upstairs.”

Mia stopped halfway down the stairs. She looked at Vanessa with absolute terror.

Then, she looked at me.

“Hannah,” the little girl whispered. “Can I hold your hand?”

I walked to the stairs and gently took Mia’s small, trembling hand.

Mia looked at her father.

“Daddy,” she said, her voice shaking. “I have something to show you. I drew it in school today.”

Mia turned the piece of paper around.

It was a child’s drawing in crayon.

It showed a bedroom. A bed. A woman with dark hair lying down.

And another woman with yellow hair standing over her, holding a pillow.

Underneath the drawing, in messy child’s handwriting, were four words.

“Aunt Vanessa hurt Mommy.”

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