Chapter 3 - THE GIFT BOX ON THE MARBLE FLOORA tiny sugar pearl rested on one side of the cake.
It was almost invisible among the white decorations.
The pearl marked the slice nearest my place.
I looked at Nathaniel.
“What does this mean?”
“It’s decoration.”
“Only one slice has it.”
“The baker probably—”
“The cake has not been cut,” Clara interrupted.
Nathaniel looked irritated.
“I can see that.”
“Then how do you know it marks a slice?”
He had made a mistake.
A small one.
Nathaniel corrected himself.
“I assumed that’s what Grandmother meant.”
Rebecca picked up the fallen gift box.
The ribbon had opened.
Something metallic moved inside.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A present.”
“For whom?”
“You.”
“Open it.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
My daughter looked at Nathaniel.
That glance held a conversation.
Clara saw it.
She took the box from Rebecca before her mother could object.
Inside was a silver desk clock.
Elegant.
Antique in appearance.
A small microphone opening sat beneath the number six.
Clara turned it over.
There was no maker’s mark.
Only a battery compartment and a miniature data port.
“This is recording equipment,” she said.
Rebecca shook her head.
“It plays birthday messages.”
“Where are the speakers?”
No one answered.
Clara removed the battery cover.
A memory card was already installed.
The clock had been recording.
She placed it carefully on the table.
Nathaniel reached for it.
“Let me see.”
I stopped him.
“No one touches it.”
His hand remained suspended.
Then he withdrew it.
Rebecca pressed her fingers against her temples.
“This is becoming absurd.”
“Someone brought a hidden recorder into my dining room,” I said.
“You don’t know that it was hidden.”
“It was inside a gift box.”
“It was meant to be opened tomorrow.”
“Then why was it already active?”
Rebecca looked at Nathaniel.
Again.
A silent request.
This time, Clara spoke.
“Mom, what do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
“I dropped a gift in front of my ninety-year-old mother after a bird announced her murder.”
Rebecca’s voice cracked.
“Of course I’m shaking.”
That explanation was reasonable.
It was also incomplete.
Snow climbed onto the chair nearest Nathaniel.
“Sign it, Grandmother.”
The words came in Nathaniel’s voice.
Then Snow changed tones.
He used Rebecca’s.
“She won’t understand.”
Rebecca backed away.
Clara covered her mouth.
I remained still.
The bird had heard a conversation.
Not a television.
Not a joke.
A discussion about my signature.
My understanding.
My birthday.
And my death.
I looked toward the castle security director standing near the dining hall entrance.
“Close the doors.”
Nathaniel stared at me.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am entirely serious.”
The security director obeyed.
No guest or employee would enter.
No family member would leave until we determined what was on the table.
Then Clara pointed toward the gift box lying on the marble.
May you like
A small glass bottle had rolled from beneath the torn wrapping paper.
It was blue.
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