Chapter 15 - THE RETURN TO THE ESTATE
By the time Dominic’s black sedan turned through the wrought-iron gates of the Valente estate on Monday evening, a steady, driving rain had begun to fall, turning the gravel drive into a slick black mirror that reflected the amber glow of the security lamps.
He didn't go into the study immediately. He walked through the grand hall, his wet boots leaving dark, distinct prints across the newly polished marble that Mrs. Gately had labored over all morning. He didn't care about the footprints. He walked straight down the corridor toward the servants' stairwell, stopping at the small landing where the narrow wooden stairs led up to the tiny attic rooms under the slate roof.
The door to Clara’s former room was unlocked.
He pushed it open. The room was immaculate, stripped of every personal trace except for one item left deliberately on the center of the iron cot: a small, green clay flowerpot containing the mint plant that Clara had watered every morning before the dawn she vanished. Two fresh, bright green leaves had unfurled since Friday, reaching toward the small, high window that looked out over the boxwood hedges.
Dominic stepped inside. The air smelled of damp earth and peppermint.
He reached down, picked up the small clay pot with both hands, and cradled it against his chest the way a man might hold something fragile and irreplaceable—something he had spent a lifetime failing to notice.
May you like
Below him, through the floorboards, the grandfather clock in the grand hall struck six times, its deep, resonant chime vibrating through the old oak timbers of the house like a slow heartbeat winding down to its final tick.
Dominic Valente walked back down the stairs, carrying the mint plant into the study, and placed it right in the center of his desk, directly over the child's drawing of the tall man with no mouth.
