Chapter 2 - The Red StonePolice searched the mansion room by room.
No intruder was found.
The upstairs door Margaret had heard belonged to a guest bedroom overlooking the east garden.
The room was empty.
The window was locked.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Detective Lena Ortiz arrived forty minutes later.
She was calm, deliberate, and careful not to turn the kitchen into a circus.
Rosie had been examined by paramedics and taken briefly to a nearby hospital with Michael. Margaret went with them.
By noon, doctors had found no serious physical injury.
That should have comforted Michael.
It didn’t.
Someone had terrified his daughter inside the safest place he knew.
The mansion had belonged to the Hawthorne family for thirty-one years.
Rosie knew every hallway.
Every staircase.
Every bedroom.
Now she clung to Michael’s shirt whenever anyone opened a door.
Ortiz arranged for a child forensic interviewer rather than allowing the family to bombard Rosie with questions.
Michael hated waiting.
But he understood.
Rosie sat in a quiet hospital room beside a woman trained to speak with frightened children.
Michael watched through the permitted observation setup with Ortiz nearby.
“Rosie,” the interviewer said gently, “do you remember anything about the person who was with you before you were inside the cabinet?”
Rosie stared at a stuffed rabbit someone had given her.
A long silence followed.
Then she nodded.
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“Was it someone you knew?”
Another nod.
Michael closed his eyes.
That answer hurt more than he expected.
The interviewer continued slowly.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t remember. Did you see their face?”
Rosie shook her head.
Michael opened his eyes again.
“Did you hear their voice?”
Rosie hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
Rosie rubbed the rabbit’s ear between her fingers.
“They told me Grandma would be angry.”
Margaret, standing behind Michael, whispered, “What?”
Ortiz motioned gently for silence.
“Why would Grandma be angry?”
Rosie’s lower lip trembled.
“Because I went in Grandpa’s office.”
Harold’s study.
Michael turned toward his father.
Harold stared through the glass.
Color drained from his face.
The interviewer continued.
“What happened in Grandpa’s office?”
“I saw papers.”
“What kind of papers?”
Rosie shrugged.
“Blue ones.”
“And then?”
“There was a lady.”
Every muscle in Michael’s body tightened.
“A lady?”
The interviewer asked, “Anything you remember about her?”
Rosie stared down.
“She smelled like flowers.”
Margaret’s expression changed.
Michael noticed.
“What?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Nothing.”
But something had crossed her face.
Recognition.
Inside the room, Rosie continued.
“She had a ring.”
“What did it look like?”
Rosie lifted her small hand and pointed at her finger.
“Big.”
“What color?”
“Red.”
Margaret took one step backward.
Michael turned.
“Mom.”
Harold looked at her too.
“What is it?”
Margaret looked between them.
“There is someone in this family who wears a ring like that.”
Michael knew before she said the name.
His sister.
His older sister Evelyn Hawthorne Chandler.
Evie.
A forty-two-year-old executive at Hawthorne Development.
Margaret’s firstborn.
Rosie’s aunt.
Harold immediately shook his head.
“No.”
Michael stared at him.
“You haven’t even heard the rest.”
“Evie would never hurt Rosie.”
“Then why did Mom react?”
Margaret whispered, “It belonged to my mother.”
She looked almost ashamed to say it.
“I gave it to Evie when she turned thirty.”
Michael’s face hardened.
Ortiz turned toward him.
“Where is Evelyn now?”
“According to her,” Michael said, “Boston.”
“Can that be confirmed?”
Harold answered too quickly.
“She had meetings.”
Ortiz noticed.
“So you’ve spoken to her?”
Harold hesitated.
“This morning.”
Michael stared.
“When?”
“A little after eight.”
“What did she say?”
“That she had arrived in Boston.”
Ortiz took out her notebook.
“Do you know the exact time?”
Harold’s expression tightened.
“No.”
Margaret suddenly remembered something.
The kitchen.
Maria.
The shape moving near Harold’s study.
“Maria said she saw someone here.”
Michael turned toward Margaret.
Before he could speak, his phone buzzed.
A message.
From Evie.
He looked down.
WHERE IS ROSIE? I’VE BEEN CALLING DAD.
Michael went motionless.
Ortiz leaned slightly closer.
“Don’t answer yet.”
Michael stared at the screen.
The message appeared concerned.
Ordinary.
Exactly what an aunt should send after hearing something terrible had happened.
Except nobody had told Evie Rosie had been found.
Michael raised his eyes.
“Dad.”
Harold looked at him.
Michael’s voice dropped.
“You said you spoke to Evie this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her about Rosie?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
Margaret shook her head.
Maria hadn’t.
Michael certainly hadn’t.
Detective Ortiz looked again at the message.
May you like
Then she said quietly:
“Someone did.”
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