Laurel
Chapter 08 - Laurel
The message came with a photograph.
A woman stood outside a red-brick building in a winter coat, dark hair loose around her face, one hand lifted to block snow from her eyes. She looked to be about thirty. Maybe thirty-one.
She had Nora’s mouth.
Evelyn knew it before reason arrived.
Nora’s mouth. Richard’s brows. Evelyn’s own stubborn chin.
The phone nearly slipped from her hand.
Owen read over her shoulder only after she turned the screen toward him.
His face changed.
“Do you know her?” Evelyn asked.
“No.”
But something in his voice said the opposite.
“Owen.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“I know the building. It is the old Arden House clinic. Closed years ago.”
Celeste moved.
Not much. One step toward the door.
Adeline blocked the doorway with surprising speed for a woman in slippers.
“Don’t,” the housekeeper said.
Grant stared at his mother. “Mom?”
Celeste’s composure returned in pieces.
“You are all being manipulated. Nora was unwell. Richard was grieving. Evelyn is emotional after tonight.”
Evelyn looked at the hospital bracelet in her palm.
“Say unstable,” she said.
Celeste blinked.
“That’s the family word, isn’t it? Emotional when you want me small. Unstable when you want me silent.”
Celeste’s face hardened.
“You have no idea what your mother was capable of.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “But I’m learning what you were capable of.”
Richard stepped toward Celeste.
His voice was low and rough.
“Where is Laurel?”
Celeste looked at him then, and something old passed between them. Not love. Not exactly fear. A bargain with its edges showing.
“She died,” Celeste said.
Evelyn held up the phone.
“She’s alive.”
“Then that is not Laurel.”
Grant whispered, “How would you know?”
Celeste turned on him.
“Because I would know.”
The room went silent.
There it was.
A slip. Small enough to deny. Large enough to open a grave.
Owen’s phone rang.
He answered, listened, and looked at Evelyn.
“Miriam traced the number. It belongs to a prepaid phone purchased in Rockford yesterday.”
“By whom?”
“A woman named Laurel Arden.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
Grant sat down again.
Richard’s face emptied.
Evelyn stared at the phone.
Arden.
Celeste’s maiden name.
Her sister had been raised under Celeste’s name.
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
No one answered.
So Adeline did.
“Because Mrs. Mercer found out about the affair.”
The room changed again.
Richard’s head snapped up.
Celeste said, “You know nothing.”
Adeline’s voice trembled but held.
“I knew sheets. Lipstick on glasses. Phone calls after midnight. I knew Mrs. Mercer cried in this nursery after reading letters from you to Mr. Mercer. I knew she almost left him.”
Evelyn looked at her father.
He did not deny it.
The slap. The insults. The years of being told she was disloyal because she resembled her mother.
All while Richard had brought Celeste into their home before Nora died.
Evelyn felt a coldness settle in her.
Not surprise.
Clarity.
Owen said, “Celeste, did you take Laurel because Nora threatened to expose the affair?”
Celeste laughed sharply.
“You think this was romance? Richard was useful. Nora was in the way. Laurel was leverage.”
Richard whispered, “Leverage?”
Celeste looked at him with contempt.
“Oh, don’t look wounded now. You loved being worshiped. You loved being told Nora made you small. You loved having a woman who never corrected your math at dinner.”
Evelyn almost smiled despite the horror.
Nora would have corrected the math.
Celeste continued, voice rising but still controlled enough to sound cruel rather than frantic.
“Laurel’s guardianship was temporary. My aunt took her. Nora was supposed to recover, cooperate, and transfer the company restructuring without scandal. Then Nora became difficult.”
Evelyn stepped forward.
“What does difficult mean?”
Celeste’s eyes flicked to Owen.
No answer.
Owen said, “It means we stop this conversation and preserve evidence.”
Richard looked at Celeste as if seeing her for the first time.
“You told me the baby died.”
“I told you what you needed to believe.”
Grant stood slowly.
“And me?”
Celeste turned.
“What about you?”
His face looked younger suddenly. “Was anything true?”
Celeste’s expression softened for half a second.
Then hardened again.
“You were true enough.”
Grant flinched.
Evelyn felt no triumph. Only exhaustion.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another text from Laurel’s number.
Celeste will say I am unstable. She has said it my whole life. If Evelyn Mercer is real, tell her I still have Nora’s lullaby box.
Evelyn’s breath caught.
She remembered the lullaby box.
A small wooden music box that played an old Spanish melody Nora used to hum when Evelyn was sick.
After Nora died, Evelyn searched for it everywhere.
Celeste told her grief made people misplace things.
Evelyn looked at Owen.
“We find her.”
Celeste said, “If you go after that woman, you will destroy what is left of this family.”
May you like
Evelyn turned toward her.
“No, Celeste. I think that box already did.”
