Chapter 5 - Grace DisappearsVictoria reached the motel in less than forty minutes.
The door to Room 214 was open.
The roses were scattered across the floor.
Sarah was gone.
Grace was gone.
Victoria stood in the doorway, unable to move.
The bedspread had been torn from one corner. A lamp lay broken near the bathroom. On the mirror, written in red lipstick, were four words:
Stop opening graves, Victoria.
Marcus entered behind her and swore under his breath.
Victoria bent down and picked up one of Grace’s roses. Its stem had snapped.
“She was nine,” Victoria whispered. “She was just selling flowers.”
Marcus checked the parking lot. “No cameras. Whoever did this knew where to stand.”
Victoria’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered without speaking.
A child’s breathing filled the line.
Then Grace whispered, “Miss Victoria?”
Victoria closed her eyes. “Grace, sweetheart, where are you?”
“I don’t know. They put something over Mom’s eyes. Mine too.”
Victoria pressed the phone to her ear. “Are you hurt?”
“No. But Mom is quiet.”
A man’s voice came onto the line.
“Mrs. Vance. Your grandmother would like a private conversation.”
Victoria’s voice hardened. “Put Grace back on.”
“Not yet.”
“If you touch that child—”
“You have something that belongs to Mrs. Rosewood.”
“The letter?”
“And the rings.”
Victoria looked at Sarah’s ring on the motel table. They had not taken it. That meant they wanted both rings in her hand, not by force, but by exchange.
“Where?” she asked.
“The north garden. Sunset. Come alone.”
The line went dead.
Marcus watched her face.
“No,” he said immediately. “You are not going alone.”
Victoria picked up Sarah’s ring and put it beside hers.
“I’m not.”
“Victoria.”
She turned to him. “How many people do you know who hate my grandmother enough to help me?”
Marcus gave a grim smile.
“In Newport? Quietly? More than you think.”
By noon, Victoria was no longer just an heiress with a family scandal.
She was a woman building a war.
She called a retired detective who once investigated Rosewood finances before the case disappeared. She called a journalist Eleanor had ruined with one phone call. She called an old attorney who used to send Christmas cards to her grandfather until Eleanor banned his name from the house.
By three, Victoria had a team.
By five, she had a plan.
By sunset, she walked alone into the north garden with two rings on one finger and a recorder hidden beneath her collar.
The roses were blooming dark red around her.
At the center of the garden stood Eleanor Rosewood.
Beside her, Sarah was on her knees.
Grace stood crying next to Charles Wexler, who held her shoulder too tightly.
Victoria stopped.
Eleanor smiled.
“Finally,” she said. “The obedient girl comes home.”
Victoria looked at Grace.
Then Sarah.
May you like
Then her grandmother.
“No,” Victoria said. “The obedient girl died last night.”
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