Chapter 5 - The Envelope in the Dark
I pulled my arm back from Emily's touch—not out of anger, but out of a sudden, instinctive need to protect her from whatever was standing at my front door.
"Stay here," I commanded softly.
I walked down the long, marble hallway toward the entrance. Through the frosted glass panels of the double front doors, I could see two figures standing under the porch light.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Standing on my porch was a man in a rumpled grey suit holding a heavy, black leather briefcase, flanked by a uniformed officer from the City Police Department.
"Arthur Harrison?" the man in the suit asked, pulling a silver badge from his coat pocket. "Detective Vance, Major Crimes Division."
I frowned. Vance. The same surname as Emily.
"No relation," the detective said quickly, noticing my sharp intake of breath. "Pure coincidence, sir. I'm here regarding an active investigation involving Margaret Miller."
"Margaret?" I stepped onto the porch, closing the door slightly behind me. "She was terminated from my employment yesterday evening."
"We know," Detective Vance said, opening his briefcase and pulling out a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was a small, ancient-looking leather-bound diary with a brass lock that had been broken open. "We arrested Miss Miller two hours ago at a bus depot in Newark trying to board a charter to Canada. She had this in her luggage, along with forty thousand dollars in unregistered bearer bonds stolen from your late wife's personal safe."
My blood ran cold. "Clara's safe? The master combination was only known to Clara and myself."
"Apparently, Miss Miller found the secondary key inside a silver jewelry box three years ago," the detective explained, his face grim. "She didn't just steal the bonds, Mr. Harrison. She’s been using the contents of this diary to blackmail several high-profile individuals in Boston for the last eighteen months—including your mother-in-law, Victoria Montague."
I stared at the clear plastic bag.
I recognized the book instantly. It was Clara's private journal from her final year of life—the book I thought had been lost in the car wreckage.
"What is in that book, Detective?" I asked, my hand gripping the edge of the door frame until my knuckles turned white.
"Sir, I think you need to read it yourself," Detective Vance said, stepping closer and handing me the evidence bag. "Margaret Miller was threatening to release this to the tabloids tomorrow morning unless Victoria Montague paid her two hundred thousand dollars. But... what's written inside isn't a story of a tragic accident, Mr. Harrison."
May you like
He looked at me with a look of profound, solemn pity.
"It's a murder confession."
