Chapter 3 - Shadows and Silver
I didn't say a word about the locket that night. I stayed in the nursery until the twins' eyelids grew heavy and their breathing settled into the soft, rhythmic purr of deep sleep. Elise tucked them in with a tenderness that seemed entirely instinctive, brushing stray curls from Rosie’s forehead before gently pulling the duvet up over Maisie’s shoulders.
"Goodnight, little birds," she murmured under her breath.
My heart seized at the phrase. *Little birds.* That was what Clara had called them when she carried them inside her, when her belly was round and full of impossible hope. Was it a coincidence? A common, affectionate pet name?
"You should get some rest, Mr. Caruso," Elise whispered as she stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, quietly pulling the door shut until it clicked. "They won't wake up until dawn now. Their nervous systems finally calmed down."
I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the tension in my posture. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"I grew up in an overcrowded foster home in upstate New York," she replied simply, leaning her head back against the wood paneling, looking exhausted. "There were eight of us in a three-bedroom house. Tears were contagious. If one started, five others joined in. If you didn't learn how to make people laugh, you drowned in the noise."
She spoke without self-pity, just laying out facts with an honesty that was disarming.
"The agency said you worked for a family in Connecticut for two years," I said, watching her eyes closely.
A subtle flicker of hesitation crossed her face, gone so fast I almost doubted I’d seen it. "Yes. The Hendersons. Lovely family."
"And your family heirlooms?" I asked, keeping my tone casual, nodding toward the pocket of her skirt where the silver chain glinted. "That locket."
Elise’s hand instinctively darted to the pocket. She pulled out the silver oval, holding it by its delicate chain. Her thumb stroked the engraved ivy leaf. "It’s... just something I found a long time ago. A good luck charm."
"It's unique," I pressed, stepping closer. "Handcrafted Victorian silver. You don't see craftsmanship like that at vintage markets very often."
"I guess I got lucky," she said, her voice dropping an octave. She quickly slid the pendant back inside her pocket, breaking eye contact. "If you don't mind, Mr. Caruso, I'm going to head down to the guest suite. It’s been a very long day."
"Of course," I said. "Thank you, Elise. For tonight."
She offered a faint, tired nod and walked down the grand staircase, her footsteps silent on the runner.
I waited until her door clicked shut at the end of the lower hallway before I turned toward my study. I locked the heavy mahogany door behind me, poured three fingers of bourbon into a tumbler, and opened my laptop.
My security team had cleared Elise Vance before she set foot in my penthouse. Clean record, stellar references from the Henderson family, top marks in early childhood development courses. But high-society security agencies looked for criminal records and financial debt; they didn't look for ghosts.
I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk and brought out Clara's jewelry box. Inside, amidst diamond earrings and Cartier watches, lay an empty velvet indentation shaped like an oval with an ivy-leaf crest. Clara had claimed she lost it at a café downtown a month before her diagnosis.
Why did my new nanny have my dead wife's locket?
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And worse—why had Clara told me it was lost forever?
***
