Chapter 2 - The Glass Room
The Westchester Memorial pediatric ward smelled of antiseptic, warm apple juice, and institutional dread.
Lily was asleep under a thin thermal blanket, an IV line taped to her fragile hand. The monitor beside her bed emitted a rhythmic, reassuring beep, but Mark couldn't sit down. He paced the narrow perimeter of the private room, his soaked clothes replaced by gray scrubs given to him by a sympathetic triage nurse.
Detective Thomas Miller leaned against the doorframe, chewing on an unlit toothpick. Miller was fifty-five, shaped like a beer barrel, with bloodhound eyes that had surveyed thirty years of suburban deceit.
"We charged her with attempted second-degree homicide and child endangerment," Miller said, flicking his notebook closed. "Bail will be astronomical, Mark. She isn't walking out tonight. But your daughter’s claim..."
"It’s not just a claim, Miller," Mark snapped, whirling around. His hair was still damp, his face shadowed with exhaustion. "Brenda Collins was Clara’s closest friend at the architectural firm. When Clara vanished three years ago, Brenda was the one who brought me casseroles. Brenda was the one who helped clean out Clara’s studio. Brenda inserted herself into every corner of my shattered life!"
"Grief does weird things to people, Vance."
"Look at Lily!" Mark pointed an unsteady hand at his sleeping daughter. "Brenda tried to silence a seven-year-old child! Why? Because Lily found something. Because Lily started asking why Brenda wore Clara’s vintage gardenia perfume. And when Lily fought back, Brenda slipped. She threatened her with *the glass room*."
Miller sighed, pulling the toothpick from his mouth. "Three years ago, Clara Vance’s car was found abandoned on the Bear Mountain Bridge. The driver’s side door was open. Her purse, her wedding ring, her phone—all on the passenger seat. The Hudson River took her body. We dragged that water for three months."
"You never found a body!" Mark’s voice spiked, prompting a twitch from Lily on the bed. He immediately lowered his voice to a lethal whisper. "You found nothing. No note. No witnesses. Just an empty car. Clara loved Lily more than life itself. She would never have jumped. I told you that then, and I’m telling you now."
Miller looked uncomfortable. "Brenda’s lawyer is already at the precinct. He’s Arthur Vance’s personal attorney."
Mark stopped dead. "My brother’s lawyer?"
"Arthur retained him thirty minutes after Brenda’s arrest," Miller said quietly, studying Mark’s face for reactions. "Arthur says Brenda is family, that this is an unfortunate domestic misunderstanding brought on by Brenda’s sudden nervous breakdown."
A cold dread coiled in the pit of Mark’s stomach. Arthur Vance was his older brother, the majority shareholder of Vance Heavy Industries—the firm that Clara had been auditing just before she disappeared.
"I need to speak to Brenda," Mark demanded.
"Not a chance. Lawyer invoked her fifth amendment rights the second his wingtips crossed the precinct threshold. Nobody talks to her until the arraignment."
"Miller, you owe me," Mark stepped close, his eyes blazing. "You closed Clara’s file because the department wanted to call it a suicide and save budget. If Clara is alive, every single officer who signed off on that report is complicit in her imprisonment."
Before Miller could reply, Lily stirred.
A sharp gasp broke the room’s silence. Mark was at the bedside in a second, taking his daughter's cold hand. "Lily? Daddy’s here."
Lily’s hazel eyes flickered open, dilated and glassy from the mild sedative. "Daddy... the drawer."
"What drawer, baby?"
"In Mommy's studio... under the floorboards," Lily breathed, her voice raspy. "I found the key yesterday. That’s why Brenda was mad. Brenda caught me with the silver key."
May you like
Mark exchanged a dark, electrified glance with Detective Miller. Clara’s old studio was an outbuilding on the Vance property—a place Mark hadn't set foot in for three agonizing years.
***
