Chapter 8 - The frozen locket
Richard left his brother and sister-in-law locked on the freezing concrete floor, surrounded by armed guards. He had all the confessions he needed to bury them in federal prison for the rest of their pathetic lives. But a massive, burning question still haunted him. If a random ambulance driver had dumped the baby, who had raised her? Who had taught her the secret song?
Richard went back to the penthouse. Lucy was still sleeping deeply, her rosy cheeks glowing with warmth. He gently woke her up, wrapping her securely in a thick wool blanket. “Lucy, sweetheart,” Richard said softly, carrying her toward the door. “I need you to show me exactly where you were living. I need to find the woman who took care of you.” Lucy rubbed her sleepy eyes and nodded, wrapping her small arms around his neck.
Richard’s heavily armored SUV drove them back to the dark, snow-filled alley next to the Waldorf hotel. The cinematic Christmas lights felt miles away in this desolate, freezing space. Lucy pointed a small, mittened finger toward a deep alcove behind a massive green dumpster. Richard approached carefully, his rugged face tight with a mixture of hope and profound dread. The makeshift shelter was built out of heavy cardboard boxes, discarded wooden pallets, and a few tattered blankets. It was completely empty.
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Whoever had been living there, the woman who had kept his daughter alive for seven years, was gone. Richard set Lucy down gently, keeping one large hand securely on her shoulder. He pulled a small silver flashlight from his pocket and swept the beam over the pathetic shelter. There were empty soup cans, a few drawing crayons, and a pile of rags. But tucked into the far corner, half-buried under a frozen wool blanket, something caught the light.
Richard reached down and pulled the object free from the ice. He wiped the snow away with his thumb, and his breath caught painfully in his throat. It was a heavy, custom-made rose gold locket. It was deeply scratched and tarnished, but the intricate engraving of a sunburst on the front was unmistakable. Richard pressed the tiny clasp, and the locket popped open. Inside was a tiny, faded photograph of Richard and a beautiful woman with a radiant smile. It was the exact locket Richard had personally locked around his wife Sarah's neck as she lay in her casket seven years ago. The woman raising Lucy wasn't a stranger.
