Chapter 2 - Bluebird
Celeste lunged for the mop.
Vincent caught the handle.
“Don’t.”
“Mia wrote that yesterday,” Celeste said. “She’s obsessed with Grace.”
Mia pressed closer to Vincent. “Mommy told me.”
“Your mother has been gone for two years, sweetheart.”
Mia flinched.
Vincent felt it.
He turned to Patrick, the house manager. “Call Dr. Rivera. And tell security nobody deletes one second of footage.”
Patrick hesitated.
“Sir, the interior cameras were disabled last night.”
Vincent looked at Celeste.
“She requested privacy for birthday preparations,” Patrick added.
“I asked for the dining room cameras off,” Celeste said quickly. “Not all of them.”
Dr. Rivera arrived twenty minutes later. The bruise, she said, was recent. Mia’s hands showed irritation consistent with harsh cleaning or friction.
Vincent crouched beside his daughter.
“Are you in trouble?” Mia asked.
“No.”
“For writing on the floor?”
“No.”
“For telling?”
“Especially not for telling.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she whispered, “Mommy made me promise something before the bridge.”
Vincent’s throat tightened. Grace had died when her car went over a bridge.
“What promise?”
Mia twisted the teddy bear’s ear.
“She gave me a little blue glass bird. She said if the mean lady ever came back, I had to give it to you.”
Vincent remembered the bird. Grace had bought it years ago in Prague.
“Where is it?”
Mia looked toward the hallway.
Toward Celeste.
“She took it.”
Celeste’s face hardened.
Vincent stood.
“What did you take from Grace’s room?”
“Nothing.”
May you like
Mia whispered, “That’s a lie.”
And the room went silent.
