Chapter 17 - The Cedar Chest
Belle’s apartment door was open.
That image would haunt her longer than the gunfire.
Not broken. Not splintered. Open.
As if her life had been easy to enter.
The chair she used as a barricade lay tipped on its side. The drawers were pulled out. Micah’s cereal-box city had been crushed under a boot print. Their clothes were scattered across the floor. The coffee tin was gone.
Belle stood in the doorway and felt something inside her harden past tears.
Micah stepped beside her, saw the ruined boxes, and went silent.
That hurt worse.
Renick looked at the crushed cardboard skyline, then at Belle.
“I’m sorry.”
Belle’s voice was flat. “Don’t be sorry. Be useful.”
Ortiz made a small sound that might have been approval.
Renick turned to Eli. “Find Dugan.”
Belle grabbed his arm.
He looked at her hand, then at her face.
“No violence,” she said.
“Some violence is organizational.”
“Renick.”
He breathed through his nose. “Fine. Minimal violence.”
“Legal violence,” Ortiz corrected.
Renick looked pained.
Micah walked carefully through the apartment and picked up one bent cereal-box tower. He smoothed the cardboard with his palm.
Brinley stood beside him. “I can fix.”
Micah shook his head. “It’s okay.”
“No,” she said, suddenly firm. “Broken houses still houses.”
Everyone went quiet.
Belle closed her eyes.
Then she moved.
The cedar chest was not in the apartment closet. Not under the bed. Not beside the water heater alcove where it should have been.
Belle turned slowly.
“It’s gone.”
Ortiz’s face tightened.
Renick looked at the floor.
“What did it weigh?”
“Too much for one man to carry easily.”
“Dugan didn’t take it alone.”
Eli came in from the hallway. “Basement storage is open. Three lockers cut.”
Belle ran.
The building basement was colder than her apartment and smelled of mildew and old paint. Her storage locker door hung from one hinge. Inside sat Christmas decorations from strangers, a broken fan, two trash bags of Micah’s baby clothes—
No chest.
Belle gripped the doorframe.
For one awful second, despair nearly took her.
Then Micah’s voice came from behind her.
“Mom.”
He pointed to the floor.
A trail of cedar dust led toward the laundry room.
Renick crouched, touched it. “Dragged.”
They followed the trail past the washers, past the utility sink, to a maintenance closet Belle had never had a key for.
Eli opened it with a crowbar.
Inside was Mr. Dugan.
He was tied to a pipe with duct tape over his mouth, eyes bulging, face bruised.
Belle stared.
Renick sighed. “See? Not me.”
Ortiz gave him a look.
Eli removed the tape.
Dugan gasped. “They took it. They took the damn box.”
“Who?” Ortiz demanded.
Dugan’s eyes flew to Renick and filled with terror.
“Her people.”
Belle frowned. “Vivienne?”
“No.” Dugan swallowed hard. “The old man.”
Renick went still.
“What old man?” Belle asked.
Dugan looked like he wished he could swallow his own tongue.
Renick stepped closer.
Dugan started shaking.
“Cormac,” he whispered. “Cormac Kavanaugh.”
Belle remembered the angry voice from the safe house.
Renick’s uncle.
The one who told him to bury this years ago.
Renick turned away, one hand flexing.
Ortiz spoke first. “Where did he take it?”
Dugan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Renick crouched in front of him.
Dugan began crying.
“I don’t know, I swear. They came in through the back. They said if I opened the unit, they’d wipe my debts. Then the old man saw the chest and went crazy. Said Nora Ashford should’ve burned with the others.”
Belle’s vision went red.
“With the others?” she whispered.
Renick looked at her sharply.
Dugan sobbed. “That’s all he said.”
Belle stepped back.
Her mother had died of cancer.
Slowly. Painfully. In a hospital bed Belle could still smell if she thought too long.
But before that, there had been a fire at Saint Oran’s.
The east wing.
The wing everyone said was empty.
Belle turned to Ortiz.
“My mother worked that night.”
Ortiz’s face changed.
Renick’s voice was low. “Belle.”
She looked at him.
“My mother didn’t die from this,” she said.
No one answered.
Belle laughed once, and it sounded nothing like laughter.
“She survived it. Didn’t she?”
Ortiz nodded slowly. “Nora Ashford was the anonymous witness who first contacted my office.”
Belle’s knees weakened.
Renick reached for her, then stopped before touching.
Belle appreciated and hated that.
Ortiz continued gently, “She gave us partial records. Names. Dates. Not enough to charge. Enough to know something monstrous was happening.”
“And then she got sick,” Belle whispered.
“Yes.”
Belle thought of hospital bills. Chemo. Her mother apologizing for the cost of staying alive.
Then Micah stepped into her side and wrapped both arms around her waist.
Belle bent over him and held on.
Renick’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face went dark.
Cormac’s voice came through, amused and old and cruel.
“Tell the maid I have her mother’s little box.”
May you like
Renick’s eyes met Belle’s.
Cormac continued, “And tell the boy the birds are about to stop singing.”
